Whoever says they simply move on and get over someone is not telling the truth. Perhaps what they are saying is that they have managed to convince themselves that humans do not carry the power to impact each other’s hearts. I can appreciate that sentiment, I just don’t buy it.
I have never understood heartbreaks. Whenever my girlfriends have told me about theirs, I would be quick to comfort them, but I did not resonate with their feels. I avoided dating for good reasons, and because I genuinely enjoyed singleness, for me, heartbreaks were never a thing. When guys asked me out, I said no and moved on. I never let anyone come in close enough to hold and cherish my un-stepped on heart. If I ever thought dating was weird and confusing, heartbreaks are downright disorienting. Who knew that months after a decision is made, feelings can resurface and hijack the mind? I certainly did not. I genuinely believed things were closed for me. The decision I was making made the most sense at the time and the aftermath seemed fairly straightforward. Besides, I was on the verge of entering the worst season of my life, so I did not really have the time or headspace to process a breakup. Someone asked me out recently, and like an uninvited visitor, the floodgate opened up and I found myself swimming in feelings, feelings I was convinced were no longer there.
I am well acquainted with loss – a dear one passing away, a strained family relationship, endless goodbyes from a nomadic life. Romantic loss? I was clueless. I have always known that when we care for someone, there is no “moving on” or “getting over them”. I just sheepishly did not know this applied to romance as well (ironic, I know…). My profession equips me to be well-versed on the topic of emotional bonding – the notion that, as social-bonding mammals, we are wired for emotional connection and naturally rely on others, and for some of us, God, for secure attachment. I am also a huge feeler so organically, I experience plenty of emotional connections in various relationships. However, I did not know what experiencing this with a guy looked like. I understood the concept but was unfamiliar with the process.
Regardless of how short the getting-to-know-each-other-stage-tiered process, a no-longer-getting-to-know-each-other is still a loss. We lose what once was: enjoyment of each other’s company, mutual attraction, butterflies in the tummy, common vision and dreams, shared playlists, physical touch, scavenger hunts, talks of the future, personality quirks and differences, fights over bullshit and deep shit. The process of dating had inevitably drawn me out of my familiar comfort zone of singleness and taken me to places I had never ventured before. For the first time, I felt safe in a guy’s embrace and could begin to entertain the (once foreign) idea of marriage. Even if just for a little while, I gave myself permission to be needy, to accept a guy’s pursuit, protection, and provision. He provided a respite from the familiar need to fend for and protect myself. When he said he was sure he could make my dad come around, I believed him. I trusted he could do what I no longer had the strength to do.
I guess I am too inexperienced and a bit too much of an idealist, but I do not see the point of getting to know someone if it does not lead to walking through life together. I am also learning that although life experiences have caused me to become a skeptic, deep down, I am a romantic at heart who wants her happy ending. As much as I can appreciate knowing that all things work together for those who love God, at this moment, I cannot see how this was for good. It seems unnecessary. I know one day I will look back and see God’s fingerprints all over this chapter too, but right now, all I can see is the cover page. I understand why the decision to not go forth was made, but just because a decision was made, it does not mean that feelings dissipate. I hate that. I wish they did. I see now that we can end things even when we want things.
We shared the same dreams but needed different things. I needed him to be sure of Jesus and set his gaze on him. He needed me to be sure of him and let him in. I could not deal with his unpredictability. He could not deal with my expectations. I thought he was quite immature and worldly. He thought I was quite guarded and anxious. I was pouring a jäger, he was holding a whiskey glass. Does my mind still go into “what if?” I would be lying if I said it did not. It would take a frickin miracle, but the child in me is okay with leaving a crack in the door for the impossible.
I can feel the cultural undertones pulling me into a “thank you, next” dance. I can hear shame whispering my name and telling me how embarrassing it is to have feelings reappear this late. I can see fingers pointing at how unconventional I am being in choosing to verbalize my processing of a very short-lived getting-to-know-each-other-ship. I sense the pull to either label it all bad or call tabula rasa (blank slate) and act like nothing ever happened. If I label it as bad, I get to focus on his flaws and my fears. I get to villainize, point the finger, label things as black and white. But the truth is, life is complex, and things are barely ever black and white. Despite each party’s flaws, there is no villain in the story. It is just two souls crossing each other’s paths, leaving a mark. Despite the annoyances, frustrations, and things being where they are now, I still hold on to what I thought of him before even having met him in person: I think he is a diamond; a diamond in the rough but a diamond, nonetheless. If I call tabula rasa, I get to bury all the feels, put on a façade and act like nothing significant ever happened. Except it did happen. It was real. It pulled at the heartstrings. It grew longings and it provided a sense of belonging. Besides, I really don’t like façades – never did, never will. I would rather stick out like a sore thumb and challenge the status quo than live a life of pretense.
So, here’s to admitting that heartbreaks are aches, that humans leave a mark, that love is confusing, that people are complex, that we do not simply “just move on”. That when humans bond, a dance unfolds. That it is okay to expose ourselves and admit that we carry the memories with us. And when we do, let’s make sure we give the person the dignity they are due because they are just as human – sacred, frightened, fragile, wanting to belong and to be loved – as we are. Heartbreaks suck. But at least my first one is serving as a reminder of what I have known all along: that to love at all, regardless of who the recipient is, is to be vulnerable.
“There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” – C. S. Lewis
What do I do with the shame that calls my name as I share this? I talk back to it and expose it for what it is. And as I do, I bring to light new desires – a desire for marriage, family, a life of stability and a permanent home – hidden underneath. As the layers of my callous heart get peeled back, I watch and see my sweet Savior’s smiling face call me his beloved. Whether married or single, with him is where I belong, regardless of the aches and seasons I find myself in.