Love vs Hate

I needed some relief today. The best therapy for me, outside of therapy itself, is writing. It’s a beautiful way to expel all the thoughts trapped in my mind. It allows the tears to flow if necessary, especially when I’m in a safe space to do that.

I used to write when I was married, but it was rushed. Even though it was private, I always felt exposed, like my darkest thoughts would be discovered at some point and held against me. However, that was one of the things he respected—my words were mine, and he didn’t try to intrude. Or at least I don’t think he tried.

Today I’m sitting in a park, under a tree that Mother Nature has tended and helped grow so large I can’t wrap my arms around it. It’s serving as my privacy in an open space surrounded by people. I can see water flow, and people of all shapes and sizes walking, running, biking. Some are with friends, and some are alone, like me. But this space invites me to slow down. There is no fear while I write these words.

I need this today.

Part of healing is letting your feelings flow through you. Healing is not linear, and it’s not all happy smiles and painless days. Sometimes water flows from the depths of your heart. Sometimes the days are shadowed or lonely. They can just be hard.

Lately (I’m not sure how long), I’ve been feeling a sadness, or the need to feel free of whatever cloud has been hovering over my head. This week I fell into anger. Frustration lit a spark that I couldn’t ignore. It was like I discovered that this person I loved for 20 years has become my nemesis. It’s like I keep having small boss battles with this manipulative villain. He is still torturing me, even though I’ve escaped the dungeon he kept me in for several years.

In this week’s episode, the villain had the upper hand. The protagonist struggled to figure out how to beat him. Basically, he trapped her, yet again. It wasn’t really a significant battle, but my feelings made it seem much larger. So, what happened?

Well, for starters, he actually read our divorce decree for once. The kids were on spring break this week, and in our decree, when the kids don’t have school, our exchange times happen on Saturdays at 9am instead of Fridays. I was the one who didn’t read the decree this time. I sent a message telling him that I would drop off our kids at 1pm on Friday, like we typically did before I suggested we follow the rules outlined in our decree more strictly. He shot back a message crafted by ChatGPT summarizing the fact that I got it wrong this time. Why this blew off my cap, I can only assume it was an accumulation of things.

One of those things—just a few weeks prior—he forfeited his time with our oldest daughter because things didn’t go as he wanted them to. The anger is rooted in my constant forced acceptance that it’s okay for him to ignore the rules when he wants and then use them when it benefits him. He literally threw our daughter away, and I had to pick her up and show her that at least one of her parents still loves her no matter what. And this week, although this situation was slightly different, I felt like I was rescuing them from that trash can again.

Looking back at it, the interaction was just annoying, but in the moment I transformed into some version of a fire-breathing dragon. My only saving grace was that this was over text communication. If it were in person, I’m sure I would have reached in somebody’s bag to pull out a can of whoop ass. I’d probably just be standing there holding the can, because I refuse to use the can opener again and go back to who I was in my 20s—the girl who would crack a windshield with her fist or key his car because he pissed me off. No, instead I responded like a majestic elephant with an excellent memory. I elegantly let him know that I’ve been flexible when he decided not to follow the outlines in our decree and that he needs to be consistent. I was the bigger person again. I was conceding, yet again. In every argument we ever had, I was always the one to apologize—the one to take one for the team.

What I realize now is that my frustration that fuels the feeling of hatred is not the opposite of love. It’s actually another version of love—like side B on a cassette tape. Think about it: someone who doesn’t matter to you can piss you off, but your whole being isn’t invested in seeking validation in their wrongdoing. You don’t feel like throwing dishes or slashing tires when they disrespect you. You kindly put them in their place, no matter how they feel—even if you know they may do it again—and you move on. You don’t wade in that feeling.

I have to be stupidly honest with myself and admit that love for him still coats the outside of my heart. And all the things he did to me—all the ways he tore me down, neglected me, disrespected me—linger in that film that was left behind, that wraps around my heart. It’s thick and crystallized now. The love is tainted. It’s not happy thoughts that flood my system; it’s disgust and hurt. Because I wish he could just remember how much that residue used to flow like living sap that seeped through my pores. I wish he could remember how much he used to love me. I wish he could just come back and apologize for all of the years he beat my spirit to a pulp with his words—the times he choked the breath out of me, literally. I just want him to take accountability.

But that is just a dream.

Those dreams have actually been haunting me every night. I have dreams of him apologizing and asking me to love him again. I tell him no, but he understands. I have dreams where we are happy again. I just have dreams about him. When I wake up, it’s like my mind remembers those dreams as nightmares. That is just my mind trying to figure out how to make sense of his actions. That is just my brain trying to deal with the fact that I will never receive any reciprocity.

These are the feelings I need to let flow through me. What better place to allow that than by the water, seasoned with a soft breeze and pollen from this strong tree I’m sitting next to? Nature is grounding and healing—free-flowing, chaotic, and calm. I’m introducing another fluid of love, rinsing what was so one day my heart is malleable, open to vulnerability again—open to redirecting all of this energy in a positive way to someone else. Someone else deserving of all that I am. All that nature has taught me to be.

Healing also means you won’t always have the answers, but as long as you know how to sort through the mess of your emotions, you are still holding on to joy. That is what I know now. No matter how long this feeling hovers, I can remind myself that this isn’t something that will be here forever. One day the tainted love will fade from animosity to indifference.

I’m still rebuilding and becoming whole.