This Summer

Part 1

I fell in love this summer.

Wait. A breath before a story.

Hi. It’s been a minute (six months of them) since I published anything. I don’t have reasons or excuses or even new promises to give you yet; I’m just ready to be back here and so I am. Thank you for staying in my absence.

For anyone who’s not quite sure what they subscribed to: I write to feel my way through the world. I post some of that writing here loaded with hope that my humanness makes even one person feel less alone in theirs. You can expect personal stories, thought spirals, vulnerability, and typos. If anything I write speaks to you, every like, comment, or share, truly means the world to me. I’m also working on a book, and having an audience helps these days, I hear. :)

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I fell in love this summer.

It was fast and intense and I was so. deliriously. happy.

I thought:
This is what I’ve been waiting for.
Part of me had given up; thought this would never happen
Is this what they meant by ‘when you know you know’?
Do I believe in soulmates? I don’t believe in soulmates. Right?
He’s magic.
Do I deserve this? Is this real? Can someone really love me like this?
Yes.

We:
stretched ourselves through the phone lines that spanned our 1000 mile distance
carefully shined lights into each other’s deepest corners, exploring with curiosity and brushing off cobwebs with care
laughed so much.
wondered how four, five, six hours flew by every single night
were fired up and achingly tender about the same things
trudged through our pasts and into our dreams, the future
wrote and played music on my fire escape, on his cabin’s porch
made easy friends with strangers in cafes
held our hearts in our hands and said, “will you watch this for me?”

I was skeptical at first but my skepticism was met with solid ground and I planted both feet on it. Anchored my flag. Said okay, I trust this. I trust you.

My friends, my family, my therapist said:
I’ve never seen you like this before.
You’ve never said that before.
We can’t wait to meet him.
Be careful.
Nothing.
I’m so excited for you.

I felt like I was time traveling. I was a teenager, giddy. A part of me, the young part that believes in big love and fairy tales and read too many Nicholas Sparks books, cautiously, joyously crept out of the shadows that she’d receded into. And he saw her. She reveled in being seen by him. She drew paintings of a future - of home and helping and art and small hands.

I asked
How are you so sure?
Is this romance?
Are you ready for me?
Where have you been all of my life?
Will you read me to sleep tonight?
How do you want to be loved?

I felt seen. like I’d never been seen before by anyone other than myself. I felt heard. He liked to reflect things I said back to me to make sure he understood; I’d be confident in my verbal clumsiness and inability to be clear, and he would say exactly what I was feeling and thinking, better than I knew how. And all I’d have to say in response was,
yes.
Yes, this. Yes, you.

He said:
You’re brilliant.
I want-
I just know.
You make me want to be a better person.
I’ll call.
This is for you, about you.
We’re going to figure this out.
I’m ready for you.
You’re the love of my life.

I believed him. Our openness and genuine enthusiasm calmed me. I felt secure for the first time ever in a relationship. All of a sudden, after decades of insecurity that I thought was innate to me, I didn’t understand jealousy anymore. What could be better than this unique connection and surety? Where would either of us go that could be better than here? He made me feel safe in a way I’d never imagined was possible. I have always seen an end coming in every relationship I’ve been in, expected it, gotten ahead of it, manifested it maybe, but I did not see this ending. I did not have one foot out the door. I did not have a shield up. I allowed myself to be innocent and vulnerable and I felt safe.

I wrote:
It’s 3am and I am beside you, not sleeping, because I had to finish reading a book. You’ve been asleep for hours and even in your deepest sleep, your hands find me. Your hand on my waist makes my eyes hot and my chest swell. At the ease. The heat. The comfort. The casualness, like it had always been there. Had been there a thousand times before. Was always meant to land in that place. I feel so lucky to be loved by you. To sit across from you on the couch and talk about how we’ve been hurt and make easy promises to each other. Ones that feel simple and also life altering. Inevitable.

I love you beats a new rhythm into my bones.

What is a love letter when it turns out love is exactly what you dreamed. When it’s all the cliches, how do you write something new?

This happened so fast. But it’s also been coming my whole damn life.

I felt new. I told my therapist I couldn’t make any decisions based on a man. She asked why not and I repeated a story I had been telling myself for decades: that’s just not what strong women do; it’s silly and not practical, especially after such a short amount of time. She suggested that perhaps, instead, it was actually empowering to say, I know what I want, this is it and this is how I pursue it. And so I let that old rule go. I decided to make choices with my whole, most brave, heart.

And then he disappeared. Completely. “No contact,” like I was a hot stove. Or something that could be discarded.

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This isn’t a love story. It’s a piece about grief.

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I fell in love and I got wrecked this summer.

I thought:
if I finally really put my heart on the line, without holding back anything, without any walls up —
I thought —
I —

I wrote:
I’m so confused
I feel shattered
I thought he was my person.
Was I wrong?
Why was I so sure? Is my intuition broken?
Am I delusional? Was I delusional?
Was none of it real for him?
How could someone say the things we said, feel the way we felt, and leave?
Am I an idiot for believing him? For getting so swept up?
Am I blind? Stupid?
How do I look to him now? Like a mistake? Like a delusion? Like nothing?
Will the parts of me that finally felt seen recover?
I’m so sorry little ones
I tried to be careful, but also to pursue joy.

It felt so real
So connected
So true
So stable
So consistent
So calm

Why can’t I have it?
Is love this hard for other people?
I love me but am I broken?
I love him but did he break me?

Was I selfish and reckless? Do I deserve this?
Did I ignore red flags?
What is selfish and what is taking yourself seriously?
What is the story here? Do I need it?
Why?
What is real? Was it real?
What is obsessive vs passionate vs knowing vs mania?

I try to fill the cracks with words and ink, the margins with doodles.
I don’t know if I can feel this again.

It was still new.
You had big brave feelings
You said them out loud
You wanted to pursue them - you learned about yourself and what you want.

You will recover from this.
It doesn’t have to be this dramatic
Yes, you can feel hurt and disappointed and confused
(the confused makes it harder)
But you will survive it
A learning lesson laced in heartbreak
A romance tinted with embarrassment.

It was special but you’re okay.
Okay?
You’re okay.

Can I trust myself?
How do I recover?
Why recover?
This thing is over. This beautiful magical thing is over.
Was it beautiful and magical if it wasn’t real?

Did you break my heart so that I would learn to cry in front of people I love?

I didn’t exist.
I don’t want to exist.

Did you break my heart so I could write this?

That was Day 1.

A month left of summer.

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This is a story about grief (because that’s what my therapist said this is), or something like it. Something with the prescribed stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. But also a few more: embarrassment, confusion, guilt, concern, friendship, pride, gratitude, and love.

It’s a story about how all of those things have been tumbling around together in my washing machine chest.

It’s also about growth. The ways I was different this time. (You can read about last time here.)

And the rest is coming to your inbox very soon.

Oh look at that, I made you a promise after all.

Thank you for being here.

Part 2