I Will Love Myself In Spite Of You

You came into my life like a whirlwind. One moment I was steady, the next I was walking in circles, trying to find solid ground. I wasn’t afraid. I guess you could say I was wrapped up in the excitement, in the rush of your hands holding mine, of your kiss falling so delicately on my cheek. It was easy, as love should be before it actually becomes love. I found myself slipping into a rhythm with you. We just made sense. Effortless.

And then, maybe because we were only an almost. Maybe because we fell too deep, too hard. Maybe because I had invested too much already, and that seriousness scared you. Maybe because you were selfish. Or maybe for no other reason than we just weren’t meant to dance to one another’s rhythm for too long, we drifted apart.

We slowly unraveled, like thread on the hem of a worn out waistband, unwinding and loosening until all that’s left is a scrap of cloth. I tried to twist us back to how we were, tried to wrap parts of myself around you, desperate for you to stay.

I fought like hell to sew our pieces together, but eventually I was fighting alone.

And I watched you shed the remnants of us, trading them for a new material, a new embrace, a new body that fit yours just like a sweater, snug and secure around your frame.

For a moment I wanted to hate you. I wanted to hate you because it seemed easier to blame you than to acknowledge that maybe we weren’t right, maybe I had romanticized us a little too much, maybe I had given myself to something that wasn’t going to end up as love, no matter how hard I tried.

I wanted to hate you because you were happy, and here I was—scraps of thread and yarn and cloth and regret—trying to remember who I was without you.

But I’ve always believed that some of the most incredible things in life rise from the heaviest, some of the brightest lights shine in darkness, some of the most random shreds and strings and fragments come together to build a pattern, a quilt, a masterpiece.

I’ve always believed that love is to be celebrated, no matter the outcome. And even though our stitches came undone, I don’t regret us, or you. In our ending, I will create myself a beginning.

I will make something beautiful out of your leaving.

I will construct myself into something that no longer resembles who we were and how we fell. I will break, yes, but I will break boldly. And I will use every piece of who I was, who I am to rebuild.

I will disregard the idea that I have to be forever heartbroken over you. I will ache, yes, but I will allow that pain to be both felt and let go. I will heal loudly and confidently. I will give myself all the chances you didn’t give me. And I will forgive you, for not being what I needed, for choosing everything else but me.

I will discover all the things I desire, rather than what I lost. I will search for parts of my heart in places that will strengthen me, not destroy. I will stand with pride for the person I am, for the way I love, for how I will continue forward, even when you are not by my side.

I will not let myself be defined by a man who walked away.

I will love myself because of you. I will love myself in spite of you. I will love myself, simply because I am worth that, and infinitely more.