â€œI donâ€™t love you anymore. Iâ€™m not sure I ever did.â€
His words came at me like a speeding fist, like a sucker punch, yet somehow in that moment I was able to duck. And once I recovered and composed myself, I managed to say, â€œI donâ€™t buy it.â€ Because I didnâ€™t.
He drew back in surprise. Apparently heâ€™d expected me to burst into tears, to rage at him, to threaten him with a custody battle. Or beg him to change his mind.
So he turned mean. â€œI donâ€™t like what youâ€™ve become.â€
Gut-wrenching pause. How could he say such a thing? Thatâ€™s when I really wanted to fight. To rage. To cry. But I didnâ€™t.
Instead, a shroud of calm enveloped me, and I repeated those words: â€œI donâ€™t buy it.â€
You see, Iâ€™d recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. Iâ€™d committed to â€œThe End of Suffering.â€ Iâ€™d finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. Iâ€™d seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it.
I said: â€œItâ€™s not age-appropriate to expect children to be concerned with their parentsâ€™ happiness. Not unless you want to create co-dependents whoâ€™ll spend their lives in bad relationships and therapy. There are times in every relationship when the parties involved need a break. What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?â€
â€œHuh?â€ he said.
from The New York Times
A story of love in the face of rejection.
via Happy Catholic