Betrayal:

A beginning

Beginning

A memory from August 2009 appeared today and started me thinking. It was my post about a great morning rowing crew on the lake. This was me celebrating something that was all my own, that I was good at and that brought me such joy. I would get up in the dark while everyone slept, get out on the water before dawn, and row into the sunrise of a peaceful morning.

Reflecting on my post from sixteen years ago also made me sad. I observed a version of me who wanted to connect, who wanted to be celebrated and centered for a moment, instead of centering everyone else. Especially instead of celebrating my ex’s athletic accomplishments, which was always a “whole fam-damily” kind of celebration every time he put on a pair of running shoes.

But when I competed, no one came. I asked him to come, and to bring our children. I don’t remember the reason he gave, but I remember that he wasn’t there. And I took that in, noted that lack of care in juxtaposition with all of the times I had packed up the little ones, stroller, diapers, sunscreen, water, food, bug spray, bandages, entertainment, love and other supplies to watch him run. Which, if you’ve ever watched a marathon you know, is a fleeting moment at some point along the course, then maybe rushing to another, then getting to the finish line. And all of this with a toddler and infant in tow.

My August 2009 post was only three months after the betrayal, a dalliance with a neighbor during his birthday celebration. I tried to find out the details but the blur of alcohol and lost time that night interfered. He swore nothing happened at the same time he said he couldn’t remember.

How do you know nothing happened if you also can’t remember?

He said, “I’m not that kind of person.”

But I saw the text.

This is one of those moments I can now look back on and see with such clarity. A moment when, if I’d had the wherewithal, I would have said, “Enough.” “No more.” “I deserve better.” But I was insecure, my youngest child was not yet two years old, and I had a lot more work to do.

This betrayal shook me. It brought into question the one quality I had hyper-focused on when deciding he was the one I would stick with: I wanted someone who would not cheat on me. That’s it. The lesson I took from my parents’ relationship. Just find someone who won’t cheat. Who won’t abandon me. And although I was the one who would ultimately leave fifteen years later, he broke both of those commitments. He abandoned me, and our children, often without physically leaving the room. And he did it over and over again until I finally said “Enough.” “No more.” “I deserve better.”

I have mourned the “lost” time, the “wasted” years. Now I try to think of them as the Universe’s timing, allowing me the space to learn and open and bloom, according to what must be, to become. Some days it is hard to believe, and I am not kind to myself (Why didn’t I leave sooner?). I grieve what more I could have done and been, had I believed in myself enough to have left then. It’s getting better though. I am getting better. And I give that version of me her due. She was so strong in her way, I’m amazed she pulled it off. Until she couldn’t any more.

Beginning

Until one day she cried uncle and her body and soul demanded rest, a complete removal from her life for a few, hard fought precious weeks. And that was the beginning, though I didn’t know it then. A beginning to inquire: How do I feel? What do I want? What do I need? What is getting in the way? A beginning of becoming quiet so I can hear answers from my body, my soul, my ancestors. A beginning of speaking up, of being seen.

Betrayal broke me, but it also gave me this beginning.

I don’t have it all figured out, but I am finding joy in the discovering. Honoring the things that light me up, free of judgment, dismissal, ridicule: The music I love, art that speaks to my soul, writing I am compelled to create, stacks and stacks of books, the lush greens and blues of the mountains, trees, and water, the rosy hues of sunsets, and the moon that calls to me every night.