I’ve written a lot about it.

And you’d think that any emotions or wounds connected to ending a 12+ year relationship would’ve been mended by now.

But divorce makes you see patterns in your life, the interweaving of similar choices made in slightly different ways, in somewhat different relationships; but pretty much the same story. Just a new version each time. 

I’ve been given the opportunity in this process to come face-to-face with the roles I’ve repeatedly played over the years: the effusive caregiver; the lenient, understanding lover; the tolerant, forgiving wife; the “nice girl”; the empathetic friend.

There’s nothing wrong with these … except when used to avoid painful emotions, a violation of some sort … a sting to your heart.

Since childhood, these roles have been my golden shield, protecting me, ricocheting the penetration of betrayal, manipulation, judgment, and not feeling entirely loved, accepted, or cared for.

They’ve kept me safe from truly experiencing the full range of my feelings. It has been a way to numb out in some respects … without even noticing.

When a hint of anger would enter my throat, I’d swallow it down, place that nice girl shield in front of me and absorb my tears, letting them swim quietly inside.

Lovers have seemed confused by the calm veneer when they might’ve been a bit shady and exclaimed, “It’s OK to be upset! Aren’t you upset? You’re not mad at me?” Friends have nearly yelled, “Why aren’t you ANGRY!?”

The shield has been so intricately integrated inside of my veins, in my marrow, that I didn’t even think I was covering rage. I truly had no clue. And I’m only now beginning to see this truth.

That’s because the shield is not effective; it just allows me to not take the full hit of hurt.

Part of this comes from an intertwined and rooted inner story that demands perfection.

This story says: If I stay true to these roles, maybe then I’ll be accepted. Good enough to be loved on the raw days when dullness comes over me, when my bones are tired and an inner-ache softly cries, yearning to be gently held, then told – genuinely – that I’m beautiful.

Maybe then, all my flaws – my size, this body – will be overlooked and I won’t hear that old diatribe that slithers through self-love and hisses: “See … there’s a reason you weren’t chosen. You won’t ever be enough. Look at you! You were warned about this your whole life. Maybe this time, if you lose the weight you’ve gained it will be better. Someone might see past your size. What makes you think being exactly who you are right NOW is enough?”

This gets triggered when a scab, nearly healed, gets picked … an event that loops you back, reminding you of the web of patterns you’ve created and played a role in.

As challenging as it is to write this (even embarrassing), I know I am not alone.

So many of us feel similarly from time to time.

Most of us, probably.

Our culture, society, familial structures, churches, and even school systems teach us to compare ourselves to others, to measure our worth against something or someone outside of ourselves.

Rarely are we taught that our imperfections are just as sacred and holy as the magnificent light within us. Rarely are we taught that it’s OK or safe to fully own and express all of our feelings, like a musical scale, singing each note – whether sharp or flat – accepting the range of them in any moment as a way to honor and nurture ourselves while recognizing that we are truly beautiful – scabs, tired bones, and all.

These patterns and roles that I’ve clung to throughout my life are reaching their hands out, asking to be dissolved along with the marriage.

And that’s hard. Scary. Change would be required.

It means truly feeling and acknowledging painful emotions. It means creating firmer boundaries.

It means ripping off the masks of being nice all the time: because I am not always nice, forgiving, lenient, understanding, free of judgment, or compassionate! I absolutely can be selfish, self-centered, and wrapped up in my teensy little world.

… But most of all, it means letting go and trusting that I AM really enough. Just as I am right now.

I have choices to make.

Will I allow myself to be imperfect, to feel rage along with ecstasy, and be true to myself, knowing my real worth?

Will I release, with love, relationships that no longer nourish?

Because this is life, right?

We are imperfect.

There will always be scabby little scars.

And that is OK. In fact, that’s more than OK. It’s the place where we can pour our love the most.

So as I begin to dissolve these patterns and roles and very slowly lay down my golden shield – and as you join me to do the same – it feels that there will be a place of inner warmth and embrace, holding us, loving us, and cherishing us.

There, we will hear the whisper: “You are enough.”