You Are the Sun

I normally start off with a funny story, or a story I can at least laugh about now, but today’s post is a little different. It’s a story that has stuck with me for two years, and I feel is important to share, even if it’s not quite as humorous.

I dated someone for nearly two years; we were living together, and to spare you the details, we broke up. If you haven’t broken up with someone you’re living with, imagine having a chain connecting you to one of your exes for a month after the two of you broke up. It’s not super fun.

We were living in a house, and luckily the lease was ending soon. Unluckily, I had several weekend trips planned that delayed me from leaving as quickly as I’d have liked. So I lived with my ex for one whole month. He was in the spare room. I was in the master. I would come home from work and he’d be on the couch. I’d wake up and he’d be on the couch. As you might have noticed, he spent a lot of time on the couch (a quick #blessup for this relationship ending).

The problem was that I wasn’t totally ready to move on from the relationship yet. I had to pretend like everything was fine, because he acted like everything was fine, but things were not fine. We still saw each other. We could still talk every day. But I knew that when I moved out, everything would change. It would be real. Right now I was living in this fantasy world, where for a few moments every day, I could pretend things were the way they used to be.

The reason we broke up was fairly mutual, but it’s so hard to let go of someone who was such a huge part of your life. My home, my routine, my love life, all out the window. Even though deep down in my heart I knew this was the right choice, it was one of the hardest. I couldn’t bring myself to pack. I couldn’t bring myself to admit this was happening. When the movers showed up, I still had piles of my things just sitting around in rooms. I felt so alone, so unsure of where my life was going to go from there. The guy in charge of the two other boys comes into my room after loading up the furniture to see what else needed to be loaded. I looked around and frantically waved at everything in piles, profusely apologizing for not having it ready, when I started to break down and cry.

I wish I could say it was dignified tears rolling down my cheeks. It was not. When I get going, it’s a production. I was heaving. I had snot bubbles. I could barely get out words. Now, he kind of knew the situation coming into this. I told him when I called him to schedule that I was moving out from the house I shared with my now ex-boyfriend because we recently broke up. However, I doubt he knew this was the situation he was coming into.

I wanted to be the one that packed up my life and got outta there, like a woman who knew her worth. Instead, I was sobbing over my hamper. What this man did next amazed me, and still amazes me to this day. He told me it was okay that I didn’t have things packed, that’s what they were there for. He had his guys come in and walked around the house with me, while I just pointed to what was mine so they would know to take care of it. I did that, through sobs (I was obviously incredibly dehydrated after this), and then he took me to a seat and sat down with me while they loaded it all.

He grabbed my hands, looked me in the eyes, and said “That man isn’t God.” Let me say it louder for the people in the back: That man is not God. He was right. I felt that.

He does not have the power to destroy my life, nor did he give life to me. He is not someone to be worshiped. He is not someone I cannot live without. I was incredible before him, and I will be incredible after him. He only has control over what I let him have control over, and it was time to take my life back. To love myself. To respect myself. To stand up for myself. To leave. He is not God’s gift to Earth, nor is he God himself. He is not worth me curled up on the floor, heaped over the box of extra cables no one quite knows what to do with.

You, you right there reading this, you are incredible. As Grey’s Anatomy taught me: “You are the sun.” (Though please don’t ask me anything about the last four seasons; those poor people have been through enough and I haven’t been able to bring myself to continue watching my fake friends die.)

No matter your religion, or what you believe, or what you’re going through, I hope you can look your problems in the face and say “You are not God” (or whatever variation of that feels right to you). The point is, that life-sucking job or that terrible ex-boyfriend or that manipulative relative or friend, they are not miracles. They didn’t create the universe. They didn’t hang the stars in the sky. It’s okay to leave something, or someone, and feel hurt or afraid. That’s natural. But don’t for one second think your life ends with it. You will get to the other side. And it will be better.

In these two years since, I’ve learned that leaving was absolutely the best decision. I think back and am grateful for the experience, and for the man who pulled me out of the abyss that day. Every heartbreak, personally and professionally, I’ve thought of the girl who was afraid there wasn’t better out there waiting for her. And I remind myself that the girl did find better, and the guy wasn’t God.

So be bold, babe, and take your power back, because you are the incredible one.

xoxo

Bold Babe