Showing UP for Sophia: Duets & Debuts

“Wow, he really hurt you, didn’t he?”

I looked at her puzzled, “John?”

“Have you dealt with it? Let it go?”

That was last week. Since then, I’ve dealt with it. But not without a little help from my friends — real and surreal. For days my activities revolved around crying my face off to music, one song in particular, paying close attention to the shit talk that arose as I listened, and breathing through the passages of pain.

I listened and wrote, forgetting facts about Covid-19 and wiping tears and snot from face to sleeve. I lost my appetite, wanting to feed myself answers instead. Why was I hurt? Why was I being led to find the answers in music? Why was I unable to stop listening to the song? 

Fast forward to yesterday, when the script flipped and not only could I receive and believe the lyrics as truth from me to him, but from him to me. All verses. Our duet.

My blog thoughts turned into seventeen pages that nudged to be further explored, but before I do, let me save face. Because I almost forgot what this blog was about — showing up for Sophia. Not blaming John. Not guilt-tripping myself. And certainly not to further complicate our already complicated situation. Otherwise, how are we going to co-parent positively? Effectively? 

Still, I don’t want to stop being me and sharing my healing journey with you. It’s my calling, my purpose. It’s certainly not because I enjoy discussing drama, though there are those who would tell you I do.

Let’s face it, I’m a professional survivor-to-thriver. It’s what I do for a living, who I volunteer to support, and why I’ve found success in speaking. Because people don’t want to talk about their shit. Other people’s shit on the other hand — all day, every day. Watch a movie, read a book, listen to a song — people’s shit. And we love it. Especially because it’s not ours.

But it is. Which is why we watch it, and read it, and listen to it — to connect. That’s why I speak out, for those who can’t. I know what it feels like to be in the shadows, searching for light. I did it all this week. I dealt with it. And I didn’t do it alone. I’ll tell you all about it soon because there are modalities that have helped me see my shit through honoring it. Until then, I’ll leave you with a few from the seventeen:

“Since then I’ve been with her questions. The answers were inside, afraid to be seen. No matter how I tried to coax them, they refused to tell me what he did to hurt me. Until I remembered the magic that works wonders whenever I shut down — music.

Music is my meditation. When I stay still and tune in, I find puzzle pieces in lyrics and see my story weaved into the artist’s.”

“I found a song. Or it found me. Jhené Aiko’s ‘None of Your Concern’ went on repeat. Was I punishing myself? Hurting my heart with lyrics I could’ve written? It was us. It was me — my fears and doubts. Our story had been captured for me to see what I missed when I was blinded by love. I felt him in every word. Almost. I still hurt, a lot. I didn’t know I did. Am I allowed to be hurt?”

 “John helped me discover what love was, and wasn’t. He stayed long enough for me to learn. I wish I learned sooner to stay longer. I thought we’d be forever.”

“I wanted him. I wanted him to want me. He did. Then he didn’t and I couldn’t understand why. I felt rejected and second-bested to other women who weren’t me. John claimed he never cheated, but I disagree. Crossing lines and blurring boundaries isn’t limited to physical or sexual connections. What he gave other women was the one thing no lover has given me, friendship.”

“I replay the song, again and again, listening to every word, taking them in, and imagining myself singing them to him. Then him to me. They still make sense, reminding me how we didn’t.”

“Her last verse makes me afraid. I can’t imagine him with someone else. I can’t imagine myself with anyone else. The thought makes me feel like I’m cheating. He was the first man I remained faithful to, in every way. I didn’t step out. I stayed true to him, to us. I gave him all of me — my trust, my body, my first calls of news. I... I... I... it’s none of my concern anymore.”

“I cry out the hurt I harbor for John, for ignoring my needs for help, for support, for friendship. I forgive him for not apologizing for hurting me. I imagine myself hugging him, pulling him close, tightly. I let my gratitude flow through my fingertips. I tell him: I love you. Thank you… for staying, for leaving, for loving me the only way you knew how. I’m sorry I didn’t know how to receive it and appreciate it until now. You deserved better.”

For the record… I’m no longer hurt — I’m happy. I did it, I dealt with my shit.

Now it’s time for my debut. I will no longer deny myself in the future. Friendship is B.A.E. (before anything else)! Thank you to my friends for showing up, and to John… you owe me nothing in return.