Standing at the ocean’s edge, I feel like a woman who has lost everything. I am as worn and diminished as the grains of sand beneath my feet, desperate for a tiny scrap of light to break through the clouds. Needing a sunrise like I have never needed one before. It is one of those mornings when it is hard to tell where my tears end and the gray mist begins. This was me in mid-October…

going silent

Let me back up a bit. I know I’ve gone silent. Pulled into myself like a turtle who needs to hide for a bit. As much as I love words, they fled from me. Vanished. Refused to be crafted. I feel like a woman who has lost everything, even my words.

And I suppose it was a good thing, to be left alone with raw and wild emotions. To fully feel them before I tried to express them in a way that can even begin to make sense.

Yet, even now, these words are getting in the way of me going back to where the story of this grief journey began. Back to October. Back when the leaves were in their riotous dance of color and the sky still held enough blue to make one stop and stare in wonder.

Days that reminded me of the moment, twenty five years ago, when I knew Austin was finally going to ask me out. It was a perfectly glorious Fall day in Brooklyn and I had gone on a long walk to process this news that seemed to good to be true. Feet crunching through piles of bright yellow leaves, giddy with excitement, I felt seen and loved in a way I never had before. And the whole world looked different because of it. More alive. Bright with a hope that lingered on every street corner and whispered through the few city trees. Even the light itself seemed golden and alive.

Broken bits

And now, twenty five years later, I discover that he broke our agreements. That I wasn’t the only one he chose to be intimate with. This October, as my feet crunched through piles of bright yellow leaves, I felt as if I’d been shattered into a thousand pieces. While rain dripped down the cheeks of my city, I stumbled in a world gone dark.

I took a week to go to the ocean and grieve. To be alone and think. To move out of shock and begin to process what this means. And I still don’t know what all of this means. I do know that the world has gone very dark and much of what I thought I knew is now as uncertain as the ice on an Ohio lake after the first spring thaw.

listening

One thing I do know is that I am not going to clean up a mess that I didn’t make. I’m not jumping to fix things. I’m developing a practice of listening. Listening to the little girl inside who is surprising me with her insight. Listening to wise and trusted friends. Leaning into the wisdom of my therapist. I am holding my kids the best I can. They may be grown but they’re hurting a lot right now too.

I’m also listening to Austin, curious to know why he cheated on me. It took me a while to get to a place where I can truly listen without being constantly triggered. We are having deep and vulnerable conversations. It’s hard work and often painful. But we are not hiding our truth from each other.

There is much that I’m holding close and not sharing publicly right now. Truth is, I love Austin and have always believed in him. I have no desire to smear his reputation and I don’t feel a need to share details. But I’m sharing this here because you deserve to know there’s been a hard twist in our story.

Please hold our family in as much love and grace as you can. We are all so broken right now. I ask that you honor our privacy. Give us time to grieve the collapse of life as we knew it. The future, no matter what we decide to do or not do, will be difficult.

And, in case you wonder, after a long walk under a gray sky, this amazing ribbon of orange light shone through and reminded me that darkness is not forever.

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