The Ones Who Walk Away

Did somebody leave you behind? Were you the one who walked away? It's not uncommon, but that doesn't mean every experience isn't unique in some way. When it's your pain, it seems like you're the only one who could possibly understand it.

I should start by saying I've been one of those who walked away. It cost me more than anyone knows. Perhaps it cost me even more than I know. Anyway, because I've done it, I know a little bit about it --- and I also know about the experience of being left behind by someone else, and not just in romantic relationships, but in friendships. I'll leave the friendship discussion for another post because I think it deserves it.

The image above (borrowed from http://freedom-escape-velocity.blogspot.com/) appealed to me because sometimes the one who walks away does so like a child, petulant or uncertain. I remember once when I was a child, I told my mother I was running away. I was maybe four or five. She asked me what I would need for my trip. I gathered some things up. She said, "Do you have food? Do you have clothes and shoes? Do you have a place to sleep?" I ended up not going that time. Sometimes all it takes is for someone to say, "I don't want you to go." But maybe it was said, and nothing magic happened.

Somebody we loved and wanted to love us back -- somebody we wanted to stay, said goodbye, and all we could do was watch him or her walk away.

(image borrowed from rudebaguette.com)

Let's put away the blame for a minute. Most of the time, the one who walks away does so after much reflection and deliberation. An obstacle has emerged between him or her and the loved one; it seems insurmountable. To avoid the leaving, she (I'm going to stay with one gender for now) tries alternatives: 1) pretend everything is okay, 2) try to address the problem one or two or one hundred times or for five years or twenty-five years, 3) retreat into herself --- maybe into a dark hole of depression or anxiety, and 4) try reckless experiences to satisfy the urge to both run and stay. You fill what you want for #4 (drinking, drugs, sex, bungee-jumping, bowling, getting more or less religious, quitting her job, joining the Peace Corps). She may, as a friend of mine did once, take a bottle of pills, wrap herself in dry-cleaning bags, and lie down to die because she knows the terrible struggle she is engaged in is hurting other people. Thank God, my beautiful troubled friend changed her mind and walked away instead.

So -- the leaving takes place. Let's say "he" now. He thinks this is the only way; he can't go on with the internal suffering. He can't love her enough. He loves her too much, and he's mad with jealousy, and they fight all the time. They argue over money. He's addicted to ... God knows what. She's addicted. He feels bad about himself, his work, his education, his missed chances, his lost talent. He wants to be happy, to feel young, to be understood, to have crazy sex, or to be alone. He wants to travel; she doesn't. He thought it didn't matter, before. It matters. Okay, he's selfish. That goes without saying. But maybe he wasn't always selfish. Maybe he gave and gave and gave and cried and tried and pleaded and damn it all, he DID love her.

There are just all the mixed feelings that we all live with.

"After you go, I'll have a lot more room in my closet; after you go, I'll stay out all night long if I feel like it. When you're gone, I can run through the house screaming and no one will ever hear me."

Michael Johnson told the story beautifully in this story/song:

It makes me think of a line from a Paul Newman movie when he says to his daughter, in regard to his bitter and angry ex-wife, "Your mother is afraid I've been happy. Tell her not to worry."

The bottom line here is that I think, most of the time, the one who is left behind doesn't need to worry if you've been forgotten... the leaver will probably suffer a thousand barbs. You may never see that person's pain, but you can be reasonably sure of it. Really, though... if you loved... truly loved, you don't want that person to be in pain, right? If I love somebody only when he or she loves me back... well, that's mighty shaky love. So, tonight I open my heart to the ones who left me... may you be in peace. I'm perfectly good and well. I hold no resentment. To my own heart, even, I offer forgiveness for the leaving, and I wish peace to those I've hurt.

I encourage anybody reading this, the leavers and the left behind, to open up the space that forgiveness brings. The ones who walk away are probably just as vulnerable and barefoot in the soul as you are.