On Letting Go of What No Longer Serves Us…

I woke up to a reminder from Facebook. Today, last year, I had posted: “Let go of what no longer serves you.”

I laughed at this because, while I’ve let go of a lot of the white noise in my life since then, I still haven’t let go of the specific person I was thinking about when I shared those words. Isn’t life funny like that?

I was always a fond advocate of second chances. Third chances. Fourth. Thirtieth. I suppose it’s because I tend to see potential in people and have a very hard time accepting that I’m wrong. A year later, I am still hurt and heartbroken by this old friend, yet I am still granting her space in my life.

All of you have probably been here.

It takes years, maybe even the better half of a decade, for me to really put the friends I deeply care about behind me. Eventually, I become so depleted that there is no longer any shred of hope for resurrecting the relationship. Once it reaches that point, there’s no going back.

So where do we go from here?

In the last year, I’ve learned something crucial about myself. For me, the breaking point doesn’t happen during a fight or argument. It doesn’t happen after one or two or three instances of disappointment. It doesn’t even happen when hard words are flung across the room. It doesn’t happen when my mother and husband say “you are being used” to me over and over… and over.

It happens when the silence comes.

It happens when I start feeling dis-serviced, disrespected, neglected and taken advantage of… and I don’t have the energy to say anything about it. It happens when I find myself spending time with someone who pretends everything is OK, who continues to act in a selfish way, and who doesn’t bother to say “I’m sorry” and mean it.

I notice it when my mind starts blanking. I’m staring at you as you tell your funny story and I am not paying any attention, because I’m overwhelmed with the feeling of regret. Regret that I let you hurt me, and regret that I can’t get past it. Regret that I wasted my time and effort on someone who would come to my home, and then tell me she has done me a favour by showing up. Regret for loving a person who would decide, last minute, to cancel attending my wedding, and then not bother to even give me a nicely worded congratulatory card. I regret the small behaviours that show me how different our value systems are… they add up slowly, until they become unbearable.

I strongly believe that a blessing shared is doubled… except in very rare circumstances, when sharing the blessing actually splits it in half. The difference is entirely dependent on the value systems of the people who have access to the pot: are they adding to the blessing as they take from it, or are they only taking from it?

Silence is the trademark of all the small occurrences that add up to insurmountable pain. It is the trademark of relationships and friendships that are so burdened, so heavy, that they split without so much as a rattle.

And yet, one year later, I have plastered a smile on my face and celebrated birthdays, shared food, laughed at old memories, exchanged hugs and listened… and listened. And now, I’m no longer angry. I am laughing at myself, at my childlike hope, at my steadfast commitment, at my reluctance to say “I’m hurt” for fear of hurting the other person. I’m laughing at the fact that, if she read this, she probably wouldn’t even realize that it’s about her because I continued to open my heart and home to her without saying a word about it. Or, perhaps, she would say the same words to me that she has said before: “You have inconvenienced me by inviting me to your home and events. You should have less of them. People don’t have time to be with you whenever you feel like celebrating something. It takes a lot of effort to attend a bunch of events.” I’ve seen people accept and deny invitations in many ways, but this was new. Funny, how the small words bite.

You have all probably been here. Maybe you are here with me right now.

So where do we go from here?

And remember… we design our own luck!

M.

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