The coffee shop was filled with the expected Saturday afternoon buzz. It was April 30th. My mother's birthday, and it was lovely and temperate. The windows were open, allowing the unfiltered sounds of the city to pour in with the breeze.
Some caffeine seeking cliental walked in and out, ordering their espressos and iced lattes and some snatched up any available real-estate they could. I had arrived early to insure we had a spot. The only available one was a small round table, close to the register. I set my hot tea down after trying (and failing) to sip it without burning my mouth and the table teetered ever so slightly, squeaking loudly in protest to my liquid burden.
He had arrived ten minutes ago, ordered his drink, and joined me. I braced the table, trying to muffle its protestation. Immediately he had begun to talk about....I can't even remember. This was the café in which we first met which is why I had picked it. As a theatre artist I enjoyed the poetic symmetry it established. As he talked, I wondered if he noticed or would notice, since he heralded himself a great theatre artist. Since it wasn't really about him, I doubted he would.
Stopping himself, he asked himself what he was talking about and why, and then asked what I wanted to talk about.
I pulled a deep breath in, gathering as much strength from the sweet, warm spring air as I could and looked him straight in the eyes. I let my heart peek out from behind the walls I had built in order to protect it from him.
I said that we were done "seeing" each other, or whatever term ambiguous term we were using.
I said that I had loved him.
He opened his mouth to begin what he would do - tell me I was wrong and manipulate my emotions with his words to eventually make this all my fault. Make me look and feel stupid. Small. Weak. Unwanted.
I cut him off, my tone slicing through his words. I said this was my truth and he could not tell me what it was I felt.
I said I did love him, but that if this is what love looks like, I want no part of it anymore. I said he no longer gets to touch me. He no longer gets to use me. He no longer gets to make me feel little and insignificant.
He told me he wanted to be friends. He told me he cared about me. He told me that he wouldn't have come here at all if he didn't care about me.
Guilt began to rise from my heart up into the back of my throat like bile.
I swallowed.
I said if he really cared about me, he would have ended it with me when he wanted to see other people rather than cheating on me. I said if he cared, he wouldn't be trying to make me feel guilty. I said if he cared he wouldn't have been such an asshole. And I said that I didn't want to see what friendship looked like if this was how he did relationships.
But I couldn't stop there. For months I rooted through myself looking for the weeds he planted in me.
I found the one that said being in an unhealthy relationship was better than nothing, and I told it that it was wrong. And pulled.
I found the one built on loneliness, that cultivating the lies that I was alone, isolated, and no one understood me. The one that told me the best way to fix it was to ignore it. I told it no, and pulled.
I found one with that said I was worthless and unlovable, one that was able to grow deep roots from all the years of memories from other people doing and telling me the same. I told it no, that it was bullshit. And pulled.
I found the one that told me it was all my fault, and that I deserved this. And I told it to shut the fuck up.
Thing is, this garden which flourished under his care was not originally planted by him. It had been tilled and tended for years of people saying directly or indirectly that my worth as woman was tied up and summed to a romantic relationship. What he encouraged to grow were seeds dropped from the words of people assuring me that God's faithfulness to me would be evident in me having a someone. And each person who would nod their heads in agreement that singleness is a gift but then want no part of it, who wanted to cure my singleness with their grandsons, made me feel like I was worthless and unlovable. This garden was able to grow because we as a Church spend so much time telling women to be in relationships rather than telling them how God loves them, just as they are. We don't face the actual pain of their loneliness, their additions, their insecurities, and their failures. We would rather don't teach our girls and women to love themselves with the love that God has for them, which beckons us to leave our Egypts behind. I'm not trying to place blame on one person or one group of persons - the responsibility for our neglect is all of our to bear and wrestle with.
It was hard. I thought many times it would break me. There were moments when I almost went back because having something (even something unhealthy and destructive) seemed better than having to learn to love myself. But with time, tons of tears, and a wonderful therapist, I was able to leave them behind.
And any time they grow back, I pull them up again and leave them, some easier than others. You see, I leave these things, this relationship and even harmful friendships, because no matter how deep these lies get planted in me have grown, deeper still was God's love for me. And I am only able to leave not because of my own strength or because I innately understand my value but rather because of God's steadfast love for me. A love that wants me to leave Egypt, to leave behind the things that weigh me down and the lies that keep me enslaved. A love that wants me to find healing and wholeness in ways that may hurt but that are truth-filled and healthy.
Beloved sisters who are reading this and struggling, you are worth being loved. It is not your fault. You are not alone. You don't have to be perfect and you don't have to pretend to be perfect. You are loved, and I pray that you trust in God enough to start loving yourself by leaving the garbage behind.
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