“Relationships are like glass. Sometimes it’s better to
leave them broken than hurt yourself trying to put them back together.”
~Unknown
A
couple of months ago my dear friend and I were chatting over coffee.
The
subject turned into past relationships and the reasons why they didn’t work. My
friend shared a story about her ex-fiancé—one of those
this-clearly-isn’t-going-to-work-but-I-sure-will-try-my-hardest-since-I-don’t-give-up
ones. Yeah, that kind.
It’s
the kind of story that, telling it now, with hindsight and time on our sides,
seems absurd. It’s the kind of story you think only happens to other people—the
kind you never want to admit is a part of you. The details may be different,
but most of us are familiar with the story’s main plot.
Maybe
it involves someone lying, someone leaving, or someone cheating. Maybe it
involves a dramatic climax like someone crashing your car, jumping out of your
moving car, or disappearing for days (yes, all these happened).
It’s
the time when someone went too far and then maybe tried to backtrack. It’s the
moment when you feel like you are having an out-of-body experience because you
don’t recognize yourself or the person in front of you.
They
all end the same, those stories. The grand finale involves your heart being
shattered into fragments so small that you think you will never heal, but
eventually you do.
This particular story ended with my friend telling me, “You
know, it’s never enough when the person’s not the one.”
I
made her stop and repeat that.
It’s
such a simple, sensible, and yes, obvious idea, but for some reason when you
are in the midst of a relationship that clearly isn’t going to work out, it can
be so hard to see this, know it, accept it, and end it.
We
reflected how in the past we buckled up and stayed on, committed to a fault,
trying everything in our power to make the doomed relationship work.
Loyalty
prevailed over logic. Lines blurred and things appeared acceptable, even though
they were far from it. Giving up wasn’t an option, yet somehow crying, begging,
yelling, excusing, and rationalizing seemed completely reasonable.
Instead of just gracefully letting the relationship go and
moving on, we stayed until finally, we hit our breaking points.
(Coincidentally, our breaking points involved a lot of crying, hiccupped
breathing, and being huddled on the floor—not pretty, but hey, it’s the truth.)
How
much trouble, anxiety, worry, stress, and time would we have saved had we
listened to what our intuition had been telling us all along—or at least way
before the floor became our friend?
“It’s
never enough when the person’s not the one.”
Do
relationships take work? Absolutely. But there’s a difference between doing the
work needed and working yourself to the ground. There’s a difference between
giving what’s necessary and giving your whole self away.
Sometimes
it may feel like things are falling into place or transforming for the better,
but eventually it turns bad again. Because ultimately, when the person is not
the one, no amount of trying, praying, begging, wishing, or hoping can change
that. And that is a blessing in disguise—even if you can’t see it right away.
When I think of the best relationships I have
had—friendships, romances, colleagues, mentors—they all have one thing in
common. They came easily, naturally, and without the drama of crying, cursing,
screaming, hair pulling, and intervention from my loved ones.
Was
every moment picture perfect and the stuff movies are made of? Of course not.
But always, the laughter and smiles outweighed the frustrations and tears.
I
will say this, though. That was then; this is now.
It
may have taken me a while to learn the lesson that relationships aren’t meant
to be so difficult—at least not all the time—but now that I have learned it, I
hope to never forget it.
I
believe I’ve become better at acknowledging what falls in the normal boundaries
of a healthy relationship and what crosses the border into that dark, stormy
place that is difficult—but not impossible—to navigate out of.
It’s
something I have to remind myself of and something I work on, but today I
listen more to my intuition, pay closer attention to signals of warning, and
trust myself more. Whenever possible, I choose peace over chaos, happiness over
distress. Above all, I choose love—love for myself and love for others.
It
turns out it’s just a lot easier that way.
Because
the floor? It’s a hard, cold, uncomfortable place to be. I prefer to be
standing on solid ground with my head high and my soul smiling.
Source:
Tinybuddha.com