Letting Go of Myths

For some it’s as easy as...well...letting go.  It’s a concise decision followed by concise action.  Not to say there are not ramifications or consequences—but what’s done is done for some.  For others, like me, letting go is a process.  I’m a “last woman standing” kind of girl.  I am forever, trying to fix or salvage or amend a situation.  The phrase “pried from my cold dead hands” is probably pretty appropriate for me.  

Recently, a relationship I’d had for more than half my life was dealt a final blow from which there will never be recovery.  The usual agony at the end of something was followed by an enlightenment I felt compelled to share.  My MO is to over analyze and over think something until every syllable uttered, every word written has been deconstructed, and I am sufficiently satisfied that whatever transpired was my fault  and that I must do better to ensure it never happens again.  However, this ending was decidedly different and, although bitterly sad,  one I hope to learn from.   When the last nail was pounded on that coffin lid, I felt horrible, confused, and heartbroken that it had come to this.  As the familiar threads of self-doubt and blame began to well up inside of me, two things happened. 

First, I realized that this relationship needed to end.  It hadn’t been healthy for a really really long time and that despite my best efforts, it wasn’t going to ever be healthy again.  Sometimes things break and aren’t fixable.  Sometimes people lie and aren’t sorry.  Sometimes we do the best we can and it’s just not enough.  Once I was able to see that, it didn’t take a huge leap to  get to the second thing: I had written a mythology around her that I became invested in over time—once I became a believer in the myth, I had to protect it.  So no matter how egregious the wrong committed, the myth always provided a reason to forgive.  This was no light bulb moment.  It was a harsh, cockroaches-will-scurry-from-the-blinding-light-of-reality, wake up call. This person hadn’t been a friend to me in a very long time.  This person hadn’t honored her word or promises.  She had failed me more often than I care to recall.  None of that makes her a bad person.  She did the best with what she had, but I failed to see it.   Once I realized that, I didn’t need to invest in the mythology any longer.  People weren’t going to judge me.  I hadn’t failed at being a friend.  I had only failed myself by putting someone else—and the myth—ahead of my own well-being.

Letting go for me was an arduous and painful process.  Perhaps because I invest so much of myself into those I love, the letting go felt like losing pieces of me.  I have learned through this most recent agonizing excisement that sometimes letting go isn’t always a loss. Sometimes letting go allows us to shed the myths and stand tall and unfettered in our own true selves.