January 14, 2017
Dear Cherished Heart,
I just noticed this week that my ego is feeling bruised. I wasn’t particularly aware that I had an “ego”, but my inner voice kept on saying…Why not me? How could he not be enthralled with ME? WTF? It warranted further thought.
When I was in my early-twenties, I dated and then lived with a guy who was an avid cyclist. Consequently, I did what many 20-something girls would do—I bought a bike and took up cycling. One day I rode from our little house to the corner grocer, all downhill. I had been practicing curb hopping, so I would not have to stop and lift my front tire over the curb. I had some speed built up when I reached the square curb in front of the grocer; I lifted out of my seat and did a quick down-and-up motion that, in a perfect world, would have floated me onto the curb like a Canada goose breezing in for a landing.IMy world was not perfect.
I squarely hit the curb, which brought my bike to a sudden—and dare I say, unexpected—halt. I flew straight over the handlebars and landed with the UMPHF of a WWF wrestler on the concrete sidewalk. Directly across the street at the neighbourhood ice cream parlour, I imagined a collective gasp as all eyes turned to me. I bounced back up as if enclosed in rubber, instead of a fragile and now bleeding layer of skin. I picked up my bike and hobbled away in the direction I had come from. My unspoken words and head-down retreat said, “Yeah! I totally meant to do that.”
Many times we adults trip and fall. “It can seem worse when other people see us, and the pain is so much greater when it comes with a bruised ego. We start thinking we are the only ones struggling so much. We fail to understand what’s happening in our life and what to do about it. In short, we feel like losers.”1
Remember in “Mr. Not-So Right” I spoke about being embarrassed to speak the words, “My husband and I have separated”? Yeah, that.
Now I am splayed on the cement after a big fall, like Wile E. Coyote “beaten” by the Road Runner again! Peering over the cliff-edge are scads of witnesses, saying, “Damn, that’s gotta hurt. What’s she gonna do now?” And then they call out, “Hey, do you need any help? Is there anything I can do?” I lift one bruised and battered arm into the air and say, “No, I’m good. I got this.” (Note to self: must reflect upon martyrdom.)
I have been an easy bruiser my whole life, but with a big bounce-back factor. I regularly got knocked down on the soccer field, but before the ball even hit the ground I had bounced right back up and into the fray. Somehow I could fall off my bike when it wasn’t even moving. I’ve had bruises that I couldn’t account for. It may also be said that I’m emotionally sensitive. However, I live a life of resilience, perseverance, and growth. I have (mostly) managed to stay stronger than the hurt-provoking words and actions of others.
You know what I mean? Laura Croft merges with Dorothy.
But. . . face-down makes breathing difficult, let alone getting up. Three of the most important people in my life are witnesses to the fall—my kids. In order to heal and move back into myself, I am going to have to acknowledge the bruised and seemingly mortally wounded parts of myself. I have to realize the experience of separating has bruised ME—not my EGO—I am not less valuable, or less important for the fact that I have stumbled.