Three weeks ago my world was turned upside down. The worst part of a breakup is not only the death of a relationship, but the fact that friends and family feel like they have to take a side. Sometimes it’s required to take a side, and sometimes it’s voluntary. Or, sometimes it can get ugly because your ex-half feels the need to make sides by posting it to the global world through Facebook.
Friends reached out and travelled from all over the United States to be by my side, both physically and mentally. I have found strengths in a sea of tight knit women and men, who have come to my side through checking in or offering to just let me cry and eat candy. Their wisdom and strength still keeps me in disbelief of their kindness. My grandmother always told me that it said a lot about a person by seeing the kind of company they kept. I’m so lucky to be in good company. In person and in text message sent encouragement telling me to put the phone down, not be so nice to my unwanted tenants, drink more wine, etc. The past 21 days have been an emotional roller coaster.
Someone doesn’t just ask you to leave their house nor do they break up with someone for no reason. Someone doesn’t dream of a future and a family and larger steps and just cut through them one day. The most frustrating thing about this shit show of a break up is that my side will never matter. I’m not even sure why I want it to matter. But taking away emotional level of what I wanted or loved in him, the end of the story is I was sleeping with a lion in sheep’s clothing.
When I finally realized that he loved the idea of me rather than me, I knew it was time to cut loose. Knowing that someone didn’t love you for who you were or appreciated you for what you did can be suffocating. After the initial shock comes the grief, and then comes the anger. By ending the relationship, I pulled the lion out from under his camouflage. As if a child without mommy’s credit card, he rebelled by breaking, stealing, and name-calling. By seeing his true colors, my own rose colored glasses were off, and I needed him to just move out.
After looking at all of the half finished projects around my house, I realized one night while sitting in sweatpants that I too was another one of his unfinished projects. At first, I was shiny and new and exciting. The idea of me was intriguing and limitless. I had offered him an adventure, new ideas, and a chance to start fresh.
But like the half of a lawn seeded with grass or the piles of wood he left behind, once he realized that it took a little work and some love put into it, he was checked out.
I was devastated. Frankly, I still am. I did everything I could, and it wasn’t enough. I didn’t have control of my house or my unwanted guests, and they took pride in making it as uncomfortable for me as they could. I didn’t have control over what they stole, what came out of his or his best friend’s mouth, or what women he wanted to sleep with. The only thing I had control over was how it made me feel.
And the weeds that were growing around my house.
Sometimes you just have to break something or pull weeds.
So I did.
I find it funny to think back on the emotional fit of the night that they finally moved out. After drinking a few glasses of wine, I decided that at 9pm in a transitional neighborhood on a Sunday, its completely normal to go outside in your pajamas, high rubber Hunter boots, and pull weeds in the front lawn. I channeled the anger, the fear, and disappointment into each of their little tiny green stemmed necks and I uprooted them as fast has my life has been uprooted in the past three weeks. I concentrated from one patch to the other, as my emotions flooded out of me and my sweat poured from the humid Carolina heat onto the half unfinished yard work he always gave me excuses for.
So, dear neighbors of Plaza Midwood, I apologize for the sobbing woman in pajama pants yanking weeds out on that Sunday night. I’ll be sure to have her locked up going forward. Or, at least the wine cabinet locked..because that stuff is crying juice.
But in the meantime, I will think back on that night, as the night that I had entirely too many mosquito bites, too many glasses of wine, and too little control in a nasty situation. It was a cathartic kind of night that I will remember when my life not only restarted, but it was the night I took the control back. I crossed off two of his unfinished projects from his list: the weeds and myself. I was no longer a trophy collecting dust, but one muddy, sweaty, and boss ass bitch.
Don’t judge. Someday, you might find yourself pulling weeds.