It was a warm July evening, our first night in our new apartment in Elizabethtown. That night, we danced barefoot to Bob Dylan, made a million promises and put together a department store coffee table without a screwdriver. It took almost an hour to carve our initials into the leg of that table that broke apart last Christmas.
A. C. and A. G.
I still have all the pieces in a room somewhere, tucked away in a corner with a box of keepsakes I couldn't bring myself to throw away.
We spent 40 dollars on a sofa colored with blue flowers to put in our living room. We searched for a month before we found that little flowered sofa. It was tattered and used, but it was ours. I was so proud that, finally, I belonged to someone and something belonged to us.
I left that sofa behind when I left Elizabethtown, along with every memory I made with the one I thought was, well, the One. The relationship with my One ended without solutions or resolutions. It was rocky from the beginning, rocky in the middle and ended more abruptly than it began.
Like those bits of broken table I've held onto over the years, we tend to hold onto pieces of the past when we should just let go. There’s no use keeping something that doesn’t function, but all those fragments are a reminder to me of something that used to be beautiful.
Although letting go of those relationship reminders was hard, I was able to pick myself up, dust myself off and find beauty in things other than silly wooden shards. I never thought I would be where I am today, and even though I was successful I made a million mistakes along the way.
Never Fearing Grief.
We all know the steps: denial, grief, anger and, finally, acceptance. The first big mistake I made in the beginning of my break-up was feeling like I had to skip all the other steps and go straight to acceptance, before ever having a chance to grieve. That approach resulted in a two-month stint of tear-free denial, followed by a resounding eight-month sentence of pure misery.
I thought I could side-step the sadness by avoiding it. What I didn’t understand at the time was it’s more than O.K. to grieve. Wallow in it if you have to. Curl up on the couch with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s like you’re Rory and it’s your first big break-up with Dean.
#GilmoreGirl4lyfe
Never fear grief, only fear never loving enough to feel it.
Remembering Anger Is Healthy When Done Right.
I always thought anger was throwing things and screaming profanities, but as it turns out there are many different shades of anger. I exercised a great deal of them during my anger step. What started as crying over a box of keepsakes turned into ripping up Pink Floyd tee shirts (love the band, not the ex), burning photos and throwing away anything that reminded me of you-know-who.
I tried to keep it bottled up, but once the tears came so did all the anger. I had to channel it into my daily life to allow myself to grow. I channeled it into sports, songwriting, karaoke in front of the mirror, academics and into anything else worthwhile.
Write a song, knit a sweater or learn a language. Channel that anger into doing something that won’t destroy you. If you’re going to be angry, do it right. Climb a damn mountain and scream. Scream for the things you’ve lost, for the fear of never loving like that again, for the pain they caused and the scars they left. Let the world know you’re angry, let yourself know you’re angry, and leave it all up there on that mountain.
Knowing Acceptance is Worlds Away.
Acceptance may be the final step but it doesn’t come easy. It’s miles away, just on the horizon, but you will get there eventually. I thought acceptance would never come. Years went by before I realized that pain is a part of letting go. There can be no resolution without discomfort, however the relationship reminders we cling to must not become idols to us.
If we must burn the reminders, then we burn them. If we must store them away then we put them in storage. If we must keep them on our dressers as a reminder of why that one wasn't our One, then we set them up proudly and string lights around them, letting the rest of our furniture know they are safe from future destruction.
