It’s Hard to Leave and It’s Hard to Stay

I write about the anguish of failing relationships. I explore the complexities of tenaciously refusing to give up. The misery of the in-between. The space where it feels as if no decision can be made.

I understand how it feels…

When the past no longer exists.

The present is untenable.

And the future no longer holds promise.

I know the heartache, torment, pain, and grief, of letting go of a life built.

It’s devastating.

Someone left a comment on one of my recent pieces. It gave me pause. It was a simple thought that cut between the complexity of a failing love, a failing hope, and a failing promise.

A few words can erase confusion

They can bring clarity.

“It’s hard to leave, and it’s hard to stay,”—Andy Spears

It’s that simple.

A strong comment to slice between the obvious.

It’s why we lament our decision to end our investment in love. It’s why we perseverate over it, marinate over it, agonize over it, fear it, and resist it.

But it’s simple.

Neither road, neither decision, nor outcome seems desirable.

And neither is easy.

We ping pong between ‘two worlds and a future.’

One world (the past) that no longer exists. The love, connection, and intimacy vaporized. The second world (our present) is full of discontent. A lonely, unwanted space where we search for not only love but our lost selves.

And then there is the future.

Or promising lack thereof.

It can’t even be imagined let alone seen.

We continue to languish. The past doesn’t exist, the present isn’t pleasant, and we’re not sure we desire that type of future. But this is our love, our world, our people, we built it, and we’ve revolved around it.

We’ve lived for it.

How can we abandon it?

There will always be the side of us that resists letting go.

Even when it no longer works, or is a part of our present. We will fear letting go. We will fear losing love. Even when we believe it may be the healthier choice.

We will hold on.

Why wouldn’t we?

Love is the center of our being.

It feeds us. It gives us strength. It’s what all else springs from. Why would we walk away from that? Why wouldn’t we convince ourselves it’s simply bruised, resting, hidden but sure to reemerge?

So we wait.

And we chip away at being.

We lose ourselves bit by bit. Why? Because love has left the room. We are no longer being fed. We are no longer gaining strength. We are losing it.

It’s tragic to see love run its course.

But love alone can’t save a relationship. No matter how well-intentioned. The human condition is too messy. It muddies the waters. It mucks it up. It interferes with love.

I’ve spent years as a love, divorce, and relationship columnist.

Most people don’t choose divorce. It’s the unfortunate result of exhausting all of our options. It’s the moment we surrender. It’s the moment we stop fighting.

It’s the moment we give up.

My friend used to tell me that no one fought harder than me to save my marriage. She was correct. I didn’t just beat the horse. I beat the horse, flipped it over, and beat it again.

I loved my husband.

I didn’t want a divorce.

At the same time…

I’m grateful there was a restless side of me that could not tolerate living between ‘two worlds and a future.’ My journey was painful and unwanted but I am grateful to be free.

I made the right choice.

I know that.

If only I could have told that to the woman who laced her pillows with tears. The woman who argued with a man she couldn’t reach. The woman who begged him to understand that he didn’t make her feel loved or heard.

If only…

That woman had realized her past evaporated because it hadn’t been what she’d ever imagined it to be. It was never founded on the type of love that was familiar to her.

The unconditional love that she’d grown up with.

It was meant to be her path for a while.

Not or a lifetime.

And that’s okay.

Because it’s hard to leave and it’s hard to stay.

—

This post was previously published on medium.com.