“Nothing is more desirable than to be released from an affliction, but nothing is more frightening than to be divested of a crutch.” — James Baldwin
Anyone else find themselves in this predicament of trying to release a love that feels like an affliction, and yet holding on to it, like a crutch? The crutch has a lot of power, doesn’t it?! For a few months now, I’ve been trying to shed a love that is no longer mine, and one that never belonged to me in the first place, even. Yet I held on, through the promise of pleasure and through the probability of pain. It’s an excruciating rhyme and riddle to be caught in — the push between the will to release and the pernicious pull to hold on. But if a love that has left you is still holding you hostage, read on.
Ultimately, love should feel good, most of the time. It should not ache, it should not hurt, it should not afflict the lover, crippling one to the point of needing a crutch. As the testy Bible teaches us, it’s patient and kind, trusty and dependable. It has a steady undercurrent that catches you when life’s waves hurdle over, when you tread water and gasp for breath, when you’ve lost sight of the shore. Good love is actually quite boring at times, sorry to say, but rustled by extraordinary moments of passion, understanding, and human connection. It’s organic and pure, and illuminates more than it casts shadows.
If you, too, are stuck in a torturous, tumultuous love cycle that has long ended, wishing to be released of the affliction but holding on by your fingernails to the crutch, welcome to the club. We’re not that different, after all. Here is some salve to the wounding, an ailment to the affliction, a few gentle suggestions to divest yourself of the so-called crutch.
1. Allow. Before we can fully accept something that is unacceptable to us (i.e. I can’t have this thing that I really want yet relentlessly think of) we must just allow that vicious desire for said thing to exist. It needs to be there, inside of us, with room to breathe. Excising it or chasing it out does not work. Otherwise, it will go away like an ornery toddler for a few minutes, only to re-emerge later on and terrorize you in the middle of the night like a boogie monster.
2. Accept. After we allow this sad reality of ours to exist, that we are weakened and afflicted, once we allow it to settle in our psyches and take root in our bodies, perhaps we can finally accept it being there. We can finally say yes to it. (Therapist side note: saying yes to what you are feeling is generally a good idea). “Yes, me. Strong, powerful but powerless, invincible little me. I am intoxicated by this desire- it won’t let go.” And it’s OK. Just accept it. You don’t have to let it all go at once.
3. Permission to feel. Give yourself permission to have this part of you that you don’t like, this part of you that tortures you. You may pray that this devilish weasel would just latch on to the succulent, achy artery of another victim. Go ahead. But no, for now, that victim is you. Play the victim and give yourself permission to feel some defeat for the time being. It’s only temporary. The shackles will lift.
4. Permission to release. This one makes me cry — the possibility that we can actually be free and walk unshackled. Because who would we be if we just released this thing that is binding us, and holding us hostage? Alone? Scared? Frightened? You tell me. I have been all of these things. I am all of these things, and yet I survive. Let go of that familiar thing that hurts you reliably. Let go. Give yourself permission to let go in parts, in layers, in chunks, in whole pieces if that’s all you’ve got. But grant yourself that permission. It is safe to release something that no longer serves you. And terrifying.
5. Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself that you chose this person and that this person chose you, that this afflicted love story of Tainted Disney is yours. You chose each other because you needed to, because you wanted to, because desire overpowered wisdom, and because your soul ordained it. Some might say this is nonsense, but if you could have chosen otherwise, wouldn’t you? Don’t hate yourself, please. You needed this experience at some level of your psycho-spiritual development, to learn something, to be weakened and toughened, to be stretched and strengthened.
6. Forgive the other. Forgive the other person — the person you loved, the source of your pleasure and tumult, for the aches and the longings they encumbered, and for the perseverance they inspired in you to fight on in spite of the pain. They, too, are a struggling human, trying to break free of a mold, trying to learn something new in their lives. Sorry you had to be part of their battlefield. But it’s part of the life contract- to learn through pain and pleasure. Perhaps they learned something, too, awakened to some truths about the hideous and beautiful parts of themselves. One would hope. Forgive them.
7. Be with yourself. Once you’ve allowed, accepted, given yourself permission to feel, and forgiven yourself and the other, just be with yourself. Sit down, don’t move. Pour yourself a cup of tea. Don’t jump into things, don’t find solace in other people, in their hearts and in their bedrooms. I won’t blame you if you do, because sitting with yourself without finding new crutches is hard and heroic, unmanageable at times. I’ve failed at this mission, too. But try anyway. You are a tender and wounded creature, underneath the flesh and muscle. Be with yourself. Don’t abandon yourself with other crutches- in the ashtray, in the bottle, through the flesh of others, through their afflictions. It’s hard, but worth it.
8. Re-open. Once you feel that you are ready, even at 50% capacity, re-open. We can ache and heal at the same time, release and regenerate, shed old skin and grow anew. Re-open your heart, your body, in either order. Heart first is better, I think. Re-open to a love that nourishes and sustains, an honest love, an earthly love, a grounded love. Just an ordinary human love. Sorry it’s not more exciting than that.
