The Scars This Time
By: Scott Gilman
Tags: Relationships, Love, Personal Development, Life Lessons, Breakups

I once struck up a conversation with a man seated next to me at a bar. (Remember bars?)

He told me he refused to be a part of long-term relationships as a matter of self-defense. That he emotionally and physically could not handle the stress, the pain, the difficulty, the eventual heartbreak.

I remember disagreeing with him, that, despite the costs, love was worth the fight.

The deepest scar I carry from my latest break-up is the one that has me believing that man was right.

Love leaves scars. They are proof of having loved. This one just feels more visible, central, and significant.

And I don’t want any more of them.

We Get Do-Overs

When a relationship ends, it’s common to experience stages of grief and loss: pain, depression, anger, denial, shell-shock, and loneliness.

And finally acceptance.

But one of the differences of grief from a breakup or divorce than of mourning a death is reconciling with the concept of replacement, of returning again to love, of hope of recovering what was lost but with someone new.

Part of healing from a break-up is knowing that while this particular love is gone, it remains possible to love again. Not the same person and not the same way, but a different love.

It’s important to examine your feelings and reactions to that possibility — because they can tell you where you are, and more importantly, where you want to be, in terms of future love and relationships.

In Place of Hope, There is Doubt

After my divorce, the notion of falling in love again felt distant but possible.

I was able to see, even while I was getting over the hurt, the demise of that relationship didn’t portend anything about the potential of what might be possible in the future.

And over time, after the healing, it happened.

It was a bond built over years through friendship that on its own, unexpectedly, evolved into a deep love.

But just as that love felt different, so too does is this break-up.

There is again the depression and pain, as one would expect.

But there is also an all-encompassing doubt.

Doubt about myself, and the place I occupy as the common denominator in the relationships that ended.

Doubt about my ability to successfully navigate a long-term relationship, and doubt the enterprise at all. It’s not that I no longer believe in love or find it something worth fighting for.

It’s just in the game of love, I feel defeated. And I’m not sure I have the stomach for another round.

And you know what? That’s OK, and in some respects, it’s natural and good.

What For?

Break-ups force you to ask hard questions about love and relationships. And really, you should be dealing with these questions even while in a relationship, too.

We choose to be in a relationship. They are wholly voluntary. For many, not being in a relationship is involuntary.

But what do we expect and want to get out of a relationship? What do we bring to our partners, and what do we want, need, and expect in return?

How will or does a relationship make life better, make you (and your partner) more content, fulfilled, and satisfied?

What will make the sacrifice and hard work involved in a relationship worth it?

In the throes of a break-up, we ask these questions from a place of solitude and loneliness — and heartbreak.

We shouldn’t let the pain we feel in the present influence our perception of the future

Heartbreak will skew your perception of love and relationships. This is very much the phase I’m currently in.

Over time, though, as healing occurs, you can ask these questions from a more balanced perspective, from a place of emotional equilibrium.

That balance isn’t a sign of being ready to love again. It’s a sign of emotional neutrality — of no longer experiencing hurt and pain from your last relationship, allowing you to envision the future more than reliving the past.

Maybe you’ll want to fall in love again — and perhaps you won’t. But you’ll make that choice from a place of clarity rather than one of hurt.

The Flood This Time

The regrets I have from my past relationship stem from my inability to be the kind of partner she wanted and needed. I don’t regret, for a minute, trying, repeatedly, to make it work.

But it’s not just the fear of going through heartache again that makes me doubt my romantic future, nor is it the challenges imposed by the pandemic.

It’s my pattern. It’s what I saw of myself in my last relationship that I also saw in my marriage. It’s in my failings in both relationships, both in how I related to my partners, and what I did or didn’t on behalf of myself.

My most recent partner communicated the things she wanted from me, in so many different kinds of situations. But I couldn’t do those things. I just wasn’t wired for them, no matter how much I wanted to be the kind of partner she was hoping for.

And I know it’s not just on me. There were things I wanted, too, that I didn’t get as much of or as often as I needed or wanted — and that was a sacrifice. So too was receiving unwanted behavior, that surfaced, repeatedly. It was the frequent build-up of these mutual failures that lead to the break-up.

So, the argument will go, I just need to find someone who is a better match, with whom I’m better aligned.

Perhaps.

I struggle envisioning becoming emotionally available again, despite my knowledge of the power of time and distance.

While I exit my last relationship without any regret over trying, repeatedly, to get it to work, and try, try and try again to salvage the love we had, I honestly don’t know if I have the emotional fortitude to try again.

The goal of healing from a break-up is not about loving again, but feeling whole enough to love again if you choose to.

That’s not the concern now anyway. Right now it’s about healing, feeling better, recovering, rediscovering myself, becoming stronger.

But at this moment, I am torn between what my therapist refers to as the time of the flood — and the time after the flood, when the waters recede. I have to believe, he tries to persuade me (or rather, encourages me to think) that things will get better.

Yet each day I am sad, each day I miss her. As much as I intuitively know that time will heal this wound, even through the added adversity of social isolation because of the pandemic, that does not soothe the pain.

Instead, it makes the road to that hypothetical future seem so much longer.

When I look into the future, I don’t think I can stomach being on this road again. And I know for certain, that for right now at least, for the first time, I’m too afraid to try.

Part of My Anger is At Love Itself

Losing love, especially this love, to me is a tragedy. It was a love I lost and regained many times — but now must let go of for good.

It will not pain me that our best option was to part, to let go of that love. It’s only natural, of course, to want to feel that kind of love again. The fact we had so much difficulty replicating it ourselves was a big part of our own frustration.

But looking forward, I am unable to see that kind of love again. One built over years of friendship and bonding, through supporting each other through good times and bad. Sure, I might be able to fall in love again. Even with all the difficulties I’m going through right now I can still recognize that.

Yet, even thinking hypothetically about finding love again, especially during these trying days, I feel tapped out. I feel knocked down from my relationship failures. I fail to see not eventually winding up here again.

The worst thing I will take from this relationship, besides, of course, all the memories I have of falling short, is the sense that all relationships end.

I hate that cynicism, I hate that pessimism, and I hate even more that now after all this, I’m closer than ever to believing in it.

Running On Empty

“It’s just a break-up.” “It sucks, but you’ll get over it.” “It happens to everyone.” “Don’t worry about it so much.”

These are the things people tell you after a break-up. Those statements aren’t wrong.

Because the truth is, even if we come away with scars from break-ups, we do get better.

I have to remind myself, with my brain, of what I’ve experienced before, and how I recovered. Of all the advice I read and hear — it applies to me as much as anyone else.

In the lonely hours, I go through the social media feeds, I look at pictures, I open browser tabs in private mode.

The urges are still there, proving, if nothing else, that I’m still alive. Buried deep under the emotional weight I now carry is a sliver of curiosity.

But for now those urges and curiosities will remain buried — and not just because of the pandemic.

Because I have nothing in my tank. I’ve given all I’ve got and while I’m grateful for the love I’ve received, given, and shared, and would much rather have had and tried and fought for that love than not having had it all, I’m wiped out.

I feel emotionally bankrupt, which I suppose is why I remain unavailable.

I am still tending to my broken heart. It, and I, are fragile. I don’t yet feel safe giving any of it, much less all of it, to someone else.

That’s the way I felt yesterday, and it’s the way I feel today.

What’s important to remember — and part of the reason I wrote this piece was a way to remind myself of it — is that doesn’t have anything to do with how I might feel tomorrow.

There is nothing better than love. This is why losing it hurts so bad. That loss carries a cost — and I’m still paying that off.

One day, and I don’t know when, and nor do I really care since I can’t control that, the ledger will even out.

And that’s when I’ll start wondering if I want to put myself on the market again.

Have any feedback? I can be reached at scottmgilman @ gmail.com.