» Life Topics » Grief & Loss » Ending Relationships
Becoming the Ground Beneath My Feet
By: Judy Martin, MFT
Recently, amidst ending a relationship, I was wracked with grief. As we said our goodbyes, my beloved said, "I’m going over to Julie’s to let her take care of me. Who will take care of you tonight?" "No one," I replied, "My life isn’t set up that way. Melissa (my 7-year-old) will be home in a few hours, and she’ll want me to play with her. It’s not that they don’t care, but between careers, partners and children, my friends can’t just drop what they’re doing to come tend my heart."
Like acid boring into steel, this painful reality ate away at me throughout the evening and consumed my dreams at night. I awakened frustrated and furious that I’d accustomed myself to expecting so little (even from those who care about me). I vowed, "I’ll be darned if I’ll spend one more day feeling so empty and unsupported!" Taking immediate action, I called each and every one of my friends. (I was amazed at the ease with which I reached them.) Juicy, teenaged, spoiled-brat-determination fueled me as I shared with them my new vision of friendship--one in which we tangibly show up for the other even if it IS inconvenient, even if it IS a stretch. All of my friends committed, without hesitancy, to the re-creation of our friendship.
Though the shoring up of friendships was an important act of compassion for myself, the starkness of breaking up had already spiraled me into unrelenting emptiness. At night, when my daughter slept and chores could no longer distract me, I wandered aimlessly from room to room crying out to a deaf universe, "Doesn’t anyone care?" Alone for the first time after twenty-two consecutive years of being in relationships, my life appeared to me the desolate and ashen remains of a firestorm passage.
Most nights during the next weeks, I lay awake, imprisoned by anxiety. Often my anxiety had no face or fact to it. It was raw and inescapable. And during those nights, no action--not deep breathing, meditation, nor even over-the-counter sleep aides--freed me from that taunting fiend.
Then, in a moment of grace, as if I’d discovered the eye of my own hurricane, I faced my truth, "Judy girl, there’s no one here but you. You expect yourself to feel better. Well, forget it. Hold your hand, stroke your cheek--don’t expect anything of yourself--JUST SHOW UP--without conditions--keep yourself company."
In the ensuing weeks, with gentle innocence and curiosity, I discovered, through trial and error, how to befriend myself. I gave myself wide berth to try out new ways of thinking. Over and over again, I interrupted my knee-jerk response that expected life to turn rancid, and coached myself with simple statements like: "What if you really don’t know what’s going to happen? What if things can turn out ok?" Reminding myself that my half-empty glass could also be half-full filled me with the warm ease of a cat stretched out upon a sunlit rug.
Like Dorothy throwing water onto the wicked witch of the east, these shifts in attitude often dissolved away my fear demon. But with equal frequency they failed to bring relief. During those tenacious moments, by accident or clear intent, I "switched channels" by going for a walk, listening to a beautiful piece of music, or slowly, lick by lick, savoring a Jamoca almond fudge ice cream cone.
I have not yet earned A’s in the self-study course, "Becoming Your Own Beloved." Some days ARE still suck-o. But then I remind myself, "This too shall pass," and I find merciful ways to pull the plug on misery: I order out, rent a movie or phone my friends.
During these days of trial and error learning, I’ve discovered that the same tides of life that deposit fear and loneliness on the shoreline also coat it with sand dollars, pebbles of multicolored glass, and sculpted driftwood. Regardless of what my beachcombing efforts yield, I’m comforted by the fact that I’ve begun seeking treasure instead of preparing for tsunami. I’m bringing into focus a new picture of my future: I’m good company for myself. I live more lightheartedly. I now grow flowers in my "pity pot."
Though I’m still a work in progress, I feel better than I did a few months ago. Whether it’s a hard day or an easeful one, now I find I can support myself. I’m grateful. Life had become far too difficult.
About Judy Martin...
Judy Martin is a therapist based in San Francisco and specializing in marriage/couple issues, adolescent issues, self-esteem, supporting parents of troubled teens, and more.
Click Here to learn more about Judy Martin.
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