The Life of Bon: break up

Sunday, May 05, 2019

break up

I broke up with my boyfriend this week.

Was he my boyfriend?

I don't know.  He called himself my boyfriend.  He was my take me to dinner, talk about basketball, call me every day, miss him when he's gone, tell my worries to, make plans with, watch scary movies together, help me pick out tile for the bathroom, pick up my prescription, kiss me late at night friend.

The breakup happened quickly.  Almost instantly. 

My heart- already cautious and scared- trying to take baby steps but finding it impossible to keep up with his long, confident strides.  A wobbly baby giraffe trying out new, shaky legs being asked to keep up with a 70 mph cheetah.

I asked him to slow down.  He tried his hardest.  Maybe wobbly baby giraffes and 70 mph cheetahs just don't mix?

With time, a few concerns developing.  Blurry under the water, but rising to the surface.  And in one 24 hour period, on a weekend trip, back to back concerns and it's a "Hey, I'm out" from me.

"You haven't even given us a chance to work through any of this." He says. "This is the first I've heard of these concerns."  It doesn't matter.  My brain is in protection mode.  It perceives danger.  You are not safe. It tells me.  Run. It tells me. Fight or flight.  The thing about fight or flight is when you chose fight year after year after year and that fight left you battered and bloody and almost dead on the side of the road with your two babies you don't choose fight anymore.  You fly.  As fast as you can.

I'm still reeling from the shock of the breakup.  Shocked by the end of a relationship that I chose to end.  Even as I was saying the words, I was surprised.  It happened so quickly.  We were talking summer plans.  Trips in the camper with kids.  Jackson Hole.  A road trip to Canada to meet his mom. And then the next day I hear myself saying actually this isn't working for me.  I need a break . I need space.  I can't do this.

I have my space now.  What do I do with my space?

I question.
I doubt.
I worry.
I cry.

Did I pull the trigger too quickly?  Is my brain accurately perceiving danger?  Will my heart ever feel safe again?

All week long I repeat the mantra my therapist has helped me with,

I am in control
I can trust my judgment
I can get what I want

If I say it enough times maybe I'll believe it.


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