Words I Didn’t Want To Hear

I was emotionally attached to her.

Those were the words I didn’t want to hear. If I had known an admission like that was coming, would I have blocked my ears? Tears welled up in my eyes and streaked down my face hearing those words. I was justifiably angry and deeply grieved.

I went into this conversation with bated breath, not knowing what to expect. I certainly didn’t expect this—or at least, I didn’t want to believe it was true.

So I was right.

All the scenarios I made up in my head were real. They say it’s paramount you assume positive intent of others to maintain relationships, but what happens when all the alarming accusations have been true? That it wasn’t your imagination?

It’s hard to trust when your reality was once distorted by a false assurance that, “you have nothing to worry about”. I was betrayed. That’s the reality.

I didn’t care about your feelings and chose to spend time with her anyway.

And I think that’s the hardest part about loving someone. You desperately want to be wrong about them—wrong about how they’ve deceived you, that the harm wasn’t intentional, or that it wasn’t true in the first place. It’s hard to come to terms with the reality that they did, in fact, hurt you. In lots and lots of ways.

I at least have the sense to know one’s worst doesn’t define a person. But when you’ve suffered because of it, it’s a challenge to see past the bad patterns and not characterise them with such things.

Perhaps you think of me as a fool for even trying to see reason. It’s so much easier to give in to anger and rely on self-destructive habits to cope. The world tells us forgiveness is foolish—that ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves—but to God, the Creator of the universe, He says forgiveness takes a tremendous act of love. He modelled it out to us first in the death and resurrection of Jesus.

And I’ve committed to living a life of holiness, striving to become more like Jesus every day… but it’s not easy. To deny yourself and selflessly do what is right can be one of the hardest things to achieve.

I wasn’t faithful.

There were words I didn’t want to hear, and I thought I was done crying about how I was treated. But I now have more to grieve. To relive the betrayals and neglect with full admission from the one who wronged me has taken hold in the form of uncontrollable and ugly sobs. Is it pathetic I needed that validation for the pain to be real? I think it was somewhat understandable, but pathetic nonetheless. As I sift through all the times I believed I had been overreacting, it grieves me to think I couldn’t trust my own thoughts.

I’m sorry.

It was strange to receive apologies after so long. Perhaps it was even stranger that someone with a tendency to avoid accountability, upon realising how his actions detrimentally impacted me, had actually owned up to the wrongs. The lies, the lack of integrity, the judgement, and everything else. I don’t really remember the contents of the apology, and I don’t think the entirety of the wrongs were remotely covered, but even to have them acknowledged stung. And I wept at this revelation.

I-I’m sorry.

For so long, I thought there was something wrong with me because I felt hurt about a silly little comment about a time I wanted to do something nice. The memory attached to that critique brings up a lot of negative feelings, and I’d consider it the biggest trigger of insecurity in me until the emotional unfaithfulness occurred. During this period, there was a huge disconnect, and no matter how much I tried to communicate, important conversations just weren’t happening.

So I had a thought. If there was something wrong between us, I could show that I was still committed, and love in service to him.

I worked up the courage to put myself out there, only to later be scrutinised for “being weird”. I remember it vividly. It was as if the moment and off-putting comment had happened yesterday. I went out of my way to bring doughnuts to his youth group, and the one friend who regularly attended just happened to be absent that week. I remember the deep sensations of social anxiety, feeling like I would be judged and not welcome there. But the back-and-forth between my friend and me over Instagram messages gave me the courage I needed to enter.

You kept showing up, even when it was hard.

I recall telling my friend that high school kids are intimidating and sure, that was one of the reasons I was afraid to enter the building. But the main reason was that I thought my presence would be met with his disdain. If only I knew how accurate my thoughts were at the time. For the many things I did right—in mustering the courage to pragmatically love others when I was terrified, I was judged for the one thing I had done wrong.

I was a humiliating presence to him because I froze up and forgot how to interact with strangers. And I have not forgotten. It was the reason I could no longer interact with his friends or family without some sort of apprehension looming over me. Every interaction I had with someone, he was watching… and judging. And it was always my fault.

I wasn’t in your corner.

Back to the present, upon hearing the admission of judgementalism and his consequential apology, I remember a sense of bitter relief washing over me. It was a relief to know those “irrational feelings” were real, but it was also profoundly bitter and sadly more valid than I wanted them to be. I thought I was being insecure and that I was a problem that needed to be fixed. But my behaviour was nitpicked, and I really was scrutinised for being less than perfect. In hindsight, it’s so much easier to recognise he was actively avoiding me and, perhaps at the time, he may have even hated me.

I enjoyed spending time with you.

It would be so much easier if things were just black and white. There would be no confusion about good and evil, but the world and its circumstances are imbued with a nuance that complicates everything. I mean, on the back of that doughnut fiasco, I also remember a time I was held softly and tenderly in a cinema parking lot. From memory, it was the only instance I received an unprompted apology, and it meant a lot to me. For the first time in a long time, I felt seen. “I’m sorry if my family or I have ever made you feel like you needed to be perfect.”

It was a random Sunday night, when we watched Greta Gerwig’s film, Barbie. During America Ferrera’s monologue about the impossible double standards women face, I just sobbed. I don’t normally cry in public, and very rarely do I even cry in front of my friends. I even kept all the tears down watching Inside Out 2. But I didn’t expect to be bulldozed by a relatable spiel and cry in the theatre—not even quietly, mind you. I was so embarrassed, but it was also one of the times I didn’t feel alone.

And that’s where the train of thought stops. What started with words I didn’t want to hear ended with the validation of my pain and with a complicated mess of feelings in a non-linear fashion. It was easier only remembering the bad things. After all, we needed a compelling antagonist for this protagonist’s rage. I avoided all photos and only pulled memories from what I remembered off the top of my head. What was the mistake I made?

The entire time, I avoided so much as looking at him. I haven’t earned the nickname, Ice Queen for nothing. But still, I didn’t trust myself to slip up or reveal anything I didn’t want to reveal. I wore a hat and shielded my eyes. And at the last second, I messed up. I met his gaze after handing him a book… and he smiled.

Ah.

Thank you.

I wish I could say I was a cold-hearted bitch. It was easier when he denied all wrongdoing and continued to sweep things under the rug. But at that moment, my heart sunk under a heavy weight, and I knew I had lost somehow. I remembered that he was human—he was someone I had loved and someone who God cherished. I was beside myself with despair when I walked away. My steady breaths became increasingly frantic as I made my way to the car before being overwhelmed at the door.

They tell us the stories we make up in our heads are often just that. Only stories. And I wish I could say the same. But they weren’t just stories; they were a devastating reality that I lived through over and over again. It was hard not knowing what thoughts to accept or reject and whether I was crazy or not. But there is a silver lining to this woeful tale. I have since walked away knowing that I can trust my own judgement.

There were many tears writing this. Among the sweet, sour, bitter… inedible. I joke. In trying to make light of a bad situation, I know God is with me. Just this week, He has pursued me in ways that others have failed to do and provided me with things I desperately wanted AND needed. Among my unexpected outbursts—the tears, hiccups, sorrow, and more—there was one good thing that came from it. Knowing I can trust myself.