“I miss my husband.”
Those were the words I heard as my head hit the pillow last night.
“What!? Where did THAT come from?”
I’d just come off a long, emotionally charged day, and while I’d anticipated some lingering feelings, that wasn’t one I was expecting.
Then I heard it again:
“I miss my husband.”
And I felt the urge to say it out loud: “I miss my husband.”
I didn’t dig any further– I just let myself think it, feel it, and say it.
Even though I no longer have a husband.
Then I drifted off to sleep.
When I woke up, I was in a rare rush and forgot all about the night before.
I quickly jumped from task to task, but then as I was eating breakfast, it was there waiting for me, and I heard it again:
“I miss my husband.”
Then I felt tears welling up.
“Shit. Not right now.”
I needed to be present for someone in a few minutes, and I wasn’t prepared for a red face and puffy eyes just yet. So I took a few deep breaths and told myself, “I’ll cry when I can. For now, let me just dig.”
Then as I munched on my broccoli and sweet potato, I began to ask myself why.
“Why is this coming up? What does this mean?”
And I heard “Grief. It’s grief.”
“Grief around what?” I asked. “You mean there’s more? I don’t even LIKE this person.”
It’s been over since it was over, and I did my best back then to let myself feel all the feelings before running as fast as I could towards my new life– my real life. The life that held all of my potential.
“So, what could I possibly miss? I mean, come on! After everything that’s happened?”
Then I saw a flash of “The Healing Hut.”
The name I affectionally called our apartment where we put ourselves through “rehab.” (I even had a dream about being in a rehab facility last night– a clue.)
And I knew that’s what I’d need to dig into.
In our “rehab,” there was no drugs, no alcohol, no partying, no inflammatory foods, no Netflix binges and numbing out, no expectations, demands, or obligations from people we needed to heal from.
Mostly, there was peace.
And sunshine, swimming, laughter, morning walks, long talks, good music, great food, inside jokes, high-fives, healthy rituals and routines, and silent understanding– being able to say everything without saying a word… or with words. Because there were many of those, too. A lot more.
“You’re talking more than me now! Your voice is getting so loud!” they’d exclaim in awe and amazement.
And I was. And it was. It seemed all those years of being dubbed the “quiet one” and them the “loud one” were coming to an end.
I’d never felt so free to express myself to them, let alone to anyone else – from my wants, to my needs, to my desires – and I experienced what I thought was a genuine interest in who I was becoming and a connection through common goals.
All of which mattered so deeply to me.
After years of walking on eggshells – having to predict their moods and if and when they were open to hearing me – I finally felt like I could say anything and be met with presence and curiosity instead of indifference or anger. Even if they had a different perspective. Our values were the same (or so it seemed at the time), so we could just… talk.
Whereas before, I was often made to question my ideas, my dreams, my intuition, my womanhood, and to feel that it was all just… too much.
That I was too much. And that I needed to turn down and tamp down. Settle for some of it but not all of it.
Until all of that changed.
And I felt heard. I felt held. And I felt human. Especially when I began facing the sexual abuse I’d experienced in my childhood.
There in the “Healing Hut,” where it all came to a head, they gave me a shoulder to lean on, which only deepened the bond I felt. (Something I’d come to realize was just another trauma-bond.)
No longer was I being ignored if I was crying or in pain, or being pushed for sex or objectified, or needing to ask for basic decency.
Instead, without a single word, they would curl up with me on the floor, with my big, orange blanket and roll of toilet paper, and tell me to “let it out” as I sobbed, sometimes sobbing along with me.
They’d dance with me to slow songs that helped me to release the tears some more, and they’d tell me how sorry they were, that they’d always known something had happened to me.
Then they guided me through a cleanse to heal my body more deeply– offering to do it with me despite just doing it for themselves. They were so excited to show me all they’d learned and how good they felt, and for me to experience it, too.
So I let myself receive it. The act of service. The chance to drop into my feminine and just be nourished. And I was nourished.
And it was fun, and bonding, and special. And I felt glimmers of hope, like “Yes, this is it. This is what love feels is.”
But just as quickly as it had begun, it then began to fade.
They began to relapse, the bubble burst, and I rushed to try and patch it all together again– focusing more on their own recovery than on mine.
Co-dependency. My other drug. My other habit that I needed to kick.
It would take a few more months before I finally would.
And a few more months after that before I’d be willing to face who they truly were instead of the potential of who they could become.
So that I could finally free myself for good.
After processing all of this today, I realized three things:
That what I actually missed last night was the feeling of what it was like to have a partner in life.
It wasn’t them that I missed. It was a feeling.
The next is that I actually feel gratitude towards them.
Something I haven’t wanted to fully feel or admit to myself.
Gratitude towards a person who’s committed heinous acts against me and other women?
Gratitude towards a person who supported me through a hard time, and me them, only to have them stab me in the back?
Can I really genuinely feel GRATITUDE towards them?
Today, the answer is “Yes. I can. And I do.”
I feel gratitude for that brief moment in time when this person allowed themselves to be human and to see and treat me as human, too.
To provide me with glimmers of what it’s like to be respected and valued by an intimate partner.
And that’s when I realized the most profound thing of all: those glimmers of goodness and hope only helped get and keep me closer and closer to Jesus, which was and is my top priority in life.
Recovering from a drug addiction, clearing the trauma of sexual abuse, helping my body to get stronger and healthier– all of these things they were around for and supported me in were also supporting me in my path to know and to be in service to Jesus.
There are even other people who’ve hurt and betrayed me who’ve had glimmers of goodness and hope shine out of them, too.
Like my half-sister who told me to ask Jesus to show himself to me. So I did. Which ultimately set me on my path and changed my life forever.
Like my mother who always made Christmas bright and beautiful, the spirit of the holiday keeping me close to Christ, before I ever even knew that it was.
Even my father, who’d created the deepest wound of them all, who showed by example that a person should question the status quo and could build something from nothing.
I can find glimmers of something in all of them – things I’ve wanted to deny, turn away from, reject – that I am now open to receiving.
It doesn’t – not for one single second – absolve them of the things they’ve done or from being held accountable.
But I do see now that, in some ways and in some instances, Jesus had worked through them to touch my heart until I felt ready to fully lean on Him and let the house of cards fall away.
I don’t miss my husband. I don’t have a husband. And I never truly did– not for long, at least.
But a couple of years ago, I got a tiny taste of what it can feel like to have one.
And that’s the part that still needed to be grieved through a few more tears and the acceptance that it’s okay to have some good memories of someone who betrayed me and to even feel some gratitude.
I feel that’s a big part of what life is about. Finding gratitude in every single thing so that we can feel lighter.
The other option is bitterness which only weighs us down and eats us from the inside-out. Not something I want. That’s just a prison of our own making. Not a life uncaged.
So, yes. I can feel gratitude for a person who was part of helping me free myself, only to turn back into someone who wanted me caged.
If that’s what it takes to release another layer, to keep me on my highest path, and even to one day have something I desire – a loving partner and family – then I can be okay with feeling gratitude in my heart towards them for that fleeting moment in time.
And not just towards them, but towards every person who’s ever given me a glimmer that’s gotten me closer to Jesus– even if they’ve turned the light off for themselves.
– Malana
Questions:
What can you find gratitude for in something that’s caused you pain?
Have you ever experienced glimmers of goodness and hope from someone only to have to move on with those glimmers but without them?
What do you need to let yourself feel today without shame or judgement?
Some of the resources that helped me during my “rehab:”
(not affiliate links– I don’t earn a commission)
Liana Shanti’s Father Wound, Mother Wound, and Life Path Manifesting Program, and her free Womb Healing Ceremony (and Liana’s Healing from Narcissistic Relationships program helped me immensely during my divorce)
John E. Sarno’s book The Mind Body Prescription: Healing the Body, Healing the Pain
HMI Nutrition’s Heal Candida Now Cleanse (also created by Liana Shanti)
Author’s Note:
If you’re new here, A Woman Uncaged is my publication inspired by my journey of freeing myself from abuse and addiction, and the trials and triumphs I’ve experienced along the way. For more content and to learn more about my work, you can visit my website awomanuncaged.com and follow me on Instagram.
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥it takes courage to be this raw and face what you thought was behind you only to experience it, again, at a deeper level so you can continue to drain the sludge and puss of your wounds to allow more healing! Right there with you and grateful for your courage.
Thank you for this Malana. 💜🙏🏼