How to heal?

[bluecastle]

Jen, goddess: y'all are very kind.

 

And it goes both ways, so thank you back.

[jenberry]

Jen, goddess: y'all are very kind.

 

And it goes both ways, so thank you back.

 

Well, perhaps you should seriously consider writing a book! I think your words would help a lot of people...

[reinventmyself]

This is so true. I am focusing on the lessons, and grateful that I have learned now that he is this type of person, and not 20 years down the line. My instinct is to write him a letter to let him know how I feel, but I realise that it will fall on deaf ears (or blind eyes!). I know that this experience will make red flags abundantly clear to me in the future, because I spent my whole relationship ignoring the warning signs. xxx

Oh! Write that letter, just don't send it.

I have folder full of snarky, scathing letters I have never sent.

It's very cathartic.

 

Going through my divorce years ago, I journaled a lot. I came across about 8 wire ring binders full last year.. I glanced at a few pages and thought better of it. The lessons were learned a long time ago and I didn't need to relive it. So I made fire in my fire place and set them on fire. OK. . it was a little messy. Just make sure you have a good fire screen. :)

But watching them burn was really symbolic. That and a glass of red wine in one hand to watch the show.

[Coonsy]

Some great posts in here already.

 

I might suggest reading Emotional Blackmail by Susan Forward. My last relationship was pretty toxic (I believe he may be a "covert" narcissist), which made my actions and the pain of the breakup just that much harder to understand. I have found this book helpful in the past (when dealing with a toxic parent 10 years ago) and I am re-reading it again after this last breakup. It helps me a lot with understanding and accepting what and why I did what I did, and why the heck it hurts so much even though you KNOW it was toxic.

 

(((HUGS))) There is always the other side, we just don't always get there as quickly as we'd like.

[bluecastle]

Well, perhaps you should seriously consider writing a book! I think your words would help a lot of people...

 

Oh, I don't know about all that. But you're making my day.

 

And, speaking of words and writing: the letter. I know that instinct well. You kind of think (even while knowing the thoughts are misguided, even while telling yourself this isn't actually why you're writing the letter) that if you could just get it all down, in the right words, then maybe, just maybe, you'll trigger an avalanche of feelings and epiphanies inside of him and—presto—he'd look up from that letter a new man, appreciative where he was previously a dunce, caring where he was careless, able to see and hear and feel you in the way you deserve to be seen and heard and felt.

 

Alas, doesn't happen like that. If a dunce can't see it when it's in front of him, he ain't gonna see it on a page.

 

But I do find writing can be really cathartic. During my last breakup—I'm almost embarrassed to admit this—I wrote her daily for, like, months. Nothing was sent. Maybe in the beginning I was trying to get all those words in the right places to trigger that avalanche, but the very act of writing all those words kind of just made me realize what I was doing: blowing off steam, letting go of emotional exhaust.

 

Anyhow, something funny happened on that front, my version or reinvent's fire and wine ritual. I had my computer stolen on a surf trip, and realized I hadn't backed it up in a good while. All those plaintive words—gone, into the ether, or, more specifically, a 4x4 in Central America. Never had getting robbed felt so right.

[reinventmyself]

 

Anyhow, something funny happened on that front, my version or reinvent's fire and wine ritual. I had my computer stolen on a surf trip, and realized I hadn't backed it up in a good while. All those plaintive words—gone, into the ether, or, more specifically, a 4x4 in Central America. Never had getting robbed felt so right.

 

I love stuff like this and I would wonder if there was a divine reason behind the pc's disappearance.

If nothing else, I bet it put a hard stop to your letter writing :)

[boltnrun]

I wrote a long email but sent it to my friend instead.

[bluecastle]

I love stuff like this and I would wonder if there was a divine reason behind the pc's disappearance.

If nothing else, I bet it put a hard stop to your letter writing :)

 

Oh, I totally chalk it up to the divine.

 

Because what's funny is: I'd stopped the OCD letter writing by that point. No contact for months, feeling pretty solid, healing away, and so on.

 

BUT a few days before the laptop was stolen, she'd texted me out of the blue—some nonsensical two sentences that, per wounded head/heart protocol, ruffled my feathers, spiked the adrenaline, had the nostrils flaring, the spins spinning.

 

Which I dealt with, of course, by reopening the letters file and drafting yet another of THE LETTER OF ALL LETTERS. Nothing to send, per usual, but just a little excuse to dwell and obsess and wade back into that swap of emotional masochism.

 

So instead of fully enjoying my present environment—emerald green 88 degree waves begging to be ridden, a lush jungle, the company of my best friend and surf buddy —I had momentarily reverted back to Breakup BC, slashing away at the keys, getting it all right, lost in the wrong sauce.

 

Then came the robbery and, with it, pure relief. Just had to laugh at myself. Enough. There were much better waves to ride, literally and figuratively.

[jenberry]

Oh! Write that letter, just don't send it.

I have folder full of snarky, scathing letters I have never sent.

It's very cathartic.

 

Going through my divorce years ago, I journaled a lot. I came across about 8 wire ring binders full last year.. I glanced at a few pages and thought better of it. The lessons were learned a long time ago and I didn't need to relive it. So I made fire in my fire place and set them on fire. OK. . it was a little messy. Just make sure you have a good fire screen. :)

But watching them burn was really symbolic. That and a glass of red wine in one hand to watch the show.

 

Yes! I have done that before. If you are spiritual, you may believe that burning the letter still reaches the recipient subconsciously. Obviously difficult to prove, but I like the premise!

[jenberry]

Some great posts in here already.

 

I might suggest reading Emotional Blackmail by Susan Forward. My last relationship was pretty toxic (I believe he may be a "covert" narcissist), which made my actions and the pain of the breakup just that much harder to understand. I have found this book helpful in the past (when dealing with a toxic parent 10 years ago) and I am re-reading it again after this last breakup. It helps me a lot with understanding and accepting what and why I did what I did, and why the heck it hurts so much even though you KNOW it was toxic.

 

(((HUGS))) There is always the other side, we just don't always get there as quickly as we'd like.

 

Thank you so much. I love a good book recommendation so will definitely look into this. I am reading Women who love too much just now. It's pretty incredible, so many revelations with each page. Unfortunately, women who are overly caring, sensitive and empathetic (also codependent) seem to be bait for covert narcissists who end up treating them increasingly poorly, with little to no consequence. This is my experience anyway.

[jenberry]

Bluecastle, I guess things do happen for a reason, even burglaries.

 

I totally agree with you. I am a writer for a living and find words so cathartic. However, because I do it as a job, I find I struggle to get the motivation to write in a journal or a letter. I came across a letter I'd written my ex a while ago, at 5am when I'd been up all night mulling over his poor treatment of me. I never gave it to him, but reading it post-break up was a stark reminder that our relationship was not as hunky dory as my mind had somehow convinced me it had been. After the event, you tend to idealise your ex, but it's all a phantom. As you rightly stated, the reality is that any letter would not have been well-received, just another reason for him to call me ridiculous, too sensitive or needy.

 

I feel in terms of communication, I have reached an impasse with my ex. I always hated that phrase but now I'm feeling it very strongly. I have considered saying several things to him, none of which would be received with grace or understanding. Anything I present to him would be rejected, so the best thing is no contact whatsoever, possibly ever again. I'm starting to come to terms with that.

[boltnrun]

The best "consequence" would, of course, be to walk away.

 

Learning to love and value oneself and to live without the fear that saying "no" will render us loveless and friendless is the best lesson.

[bluecastle]

Bluecastle, I guess things do happen for a reason, even burglaries.

 

I totally agree with you. I am a writer for a living and find words so cathartic. However, because I do it as a job, I find I struggle to get the motivation to write in a journal or a letter. I came across a letter I'd written my ex a while ago, at 5am when I'd been up all night mulling over his poor treatment of me. I never gave it to him, but reading it post-break up was a stark reminder that our relationship was not as hunky dory as my mind had somehow convinced me it had been. After the event, you tend to idealise your ex, but it's all a phantom. As you rightly stated, the reality is that any letter would not have been well-received, just another reason for him to call me ridiculous, too sensitive or needy.

 

I feel in terms of communication, I have reached an impasse with my ex. I always hated that phrase but now I'm feeling it very strongly. I have considered saying several things to him, none of which would be received with grace or understanding. Anything I present to him would be rejected, so the best thing is no contact whatsoever, possibly ever again. I'm starting to come to terms with that.

 

Thought I detected a fellow traveler in you, Jen. I'm a professional writer too—one also abandoned by dad during the formative years, no less—so I get the instinct to find solace in language. And, really, it's more than solace, on a certain level: it's control. When you tell the story you get to pick the beginning and the end, infusing meaning along the way as you see fit, as serves you best.

 

Those of us with control issues—and a flair for using words to control—tend to reel hard during breakups. The truth at the heart of every relationship—that you have zero control, never did, because that other person is inherently untamable—has been exposed. The bitter edge of it. The story no longer holds. Was the story even the story? What was the story? The mind spins, much the way it does when trying to make a piece of writing. Except no matter what it never adds up. Language becomes useless, which can be very disorienting for those of us who rely on language to feel useful and in control.

 

Took me a long time to get that—or to begin to get it, as I'm still very much a student in this—to allow the other stuff, the stuff language can't touch, to wash through me during these moments. To clean me out.

 

I'm talking about feelings.

 

"How does that make you feel?" my therapist asked during an early session, referring to something having to do with my ex. Me being me, I produced a quick riff, a tidy little narrative. To which she said, "That was good, what you did right there. More articulate than I've got. But you didn't answer the question." I was confused. Then came the zinger, bless her: "I think you may sometimes use the language of feeling to avoid the weight of feeling."

 

In that moment, I was just about leveled. Hammer to kneecaps. I also maybe grew a few overdue inches. I was silent and I cried, two things I don't do often. I felt. I spent a long time after that—and allow myself time to do so, when needed—to just be silent and to cry. Purging without the pen, you could say. No beginning and no end.

 

Why am I sharing this with you? Because I sense, in both your ongoing posts, the slightest reluctance to just feel. If the gift exchange could go like x, y, and z then you don't have to feel wild and debilitating emotion a, b, and c. The ones, you know, scratching at the basement door. Ditto something similar with the instinct to write him a letter: using language to extract something from someone else, that missing piece to the story.

 

That thing you're coming to terms with—that he can't give it—takes a while. Or took me a while. And, I hate to break it to you, it's not because he's a piece of sh*t, though he sounds like a candidate for that title. He could be a saint. It's because you no longer speak the same language, as I mentioned earlier.

 

The more you try, the more it's frustrating, and sometimes people like you and me need to wear ourselves down by trying in order to finally stop for good. But I promise you that when you do stop—stop seeking contact, stop seeking words, and let more silence in—you'll find real freedom. A little sour and lonely, at first, then very sweet.

[pippy longstocking]

Yes! I have done that before. If you are spiritual, you may believe that burning the letter still reaches the recipient subconsciously. Obviously difficult to prove, but I like the premise!

 

Burning letters is a very strong move ...jen you should read the law of attraction , I think it would suit you right now !