The Picture I Shouldn’t Have Looked For
Last night Nolan called me three times.
Nothing major happened. He was just checking on me, making sure I made it inside safely, talking to me about random things. And for a little while, it felt normal.
I hate how easily “normal” can still feel good with him.
After everything we have been through, he can call me and for a few minutes I forget that we aren’t who we used to be. I forget that I’m supposed to be learning how to live without him.
Then we got into an argument.
We were talking about his brother watching the dogs. I brought up how different things were when I watched them. When it was me, I felt like everything was left for me to handle.
He told me that things were different back then because he was going through a lot.
Then he said something that stuck with me.
“My brother isn’t my partner. You were.”
You were.
Two little words that somehow hurt more than the argument.
Because I WAS his partner.
That’s exactly why I wanted him to consider me.
That’s why I expected more.
That’s why it hurt when I felt like I had to carry things by myself.
I wasn’t asking to be treated like his brother.
I wanted to be treated like his partner.
Eventually he got mad, said he didn’t want to continue the conversation, and hung up.
I sent him a message afterward.
No response.
And this is where I made the mistake I already knew I shouldn’t make.
I went looking.
I went to her page.
The woman Nolan cheated on me with.
The woman he had a baby with.
And there it was.
Their baby dressed as Chuckie for Halloween.
Such a simple picture.
A baby in a Halloween costume.
Something completely innocent.
But my heart didn’t see an innocent Halloween picture.
My heart saw the betrayal all over again.
It saw the nights I cried.
It saw the questions I asked myself.
It saw the family I thought I was building.
It saw another child existing because the man I loved stepped outside of our relationship.
And suddenly all the progress I thought I had made felt like it disappeared.
I cried.
Not because that baby did anything wrong.
That baby is innocent.
I cried because sometimes I still can’t believe this is my life.
Sometimes I still can’t believe the man I spent seven years loving could hurt me in a way that changed our family forever.
And maybe that’s why I keep looking.
Maybe some part of me thinks I’m eventually going to see enough that it won’t hurt anymore.
Maybe I think if I keep exposing myself to it, one day I’ll become numb.
But that’s not what happens.
Every time I look, I just give the wound another opportunity to bleed.
There will always be another picture.
Another holiday.
Another birthday.
Another family moment.
Another reminder.
And I cannot spend the rest of my life searching for things that I already know are going to hurt me.
So I blocked Nolan.
Every number.
And this time I don’t want blocking him to be about making him miss me.
I don’t want it to be a test to see if he’ll find another way to contact me.
I don’t want to secretly hope he’ll panic when he realizes he can’t reach me.
I want it to be about me.
Because I’m tired.
I’m tired of wondering if he cares.
I’m tired of analyzing phone calls.
I’m tired of waiting for replies.
I’m tired of feeling good because he checked on me and broken a few hours later because I remembered everything he’s done.
I’m tired of giving one person this much control over how my day feels.
The hardest part is that I still love him.
I probably will for a long time.
But I’m starting to understand that loving someone doesn’t always mean you’re supposed to keep giving them access to you.
Sometimes love has to exist from a distance.
Sometimes you have to miss somebody and still not call them.
Sometimes you have to wonder what they’re doing and still not check.
Sometimes you have to accept that closure isn’t going to come from one final conversation.
And sometimes letting go isn’t waking up one morning and suddenly not caring anymore.
Maybe letting go is smaller than that.
Maybe it’s blocking the number.
Not checking the page.
Crying when you need to cry.
Writing instead of calling.
Choosing not to look for the next thing that’s going to break your heart.
And waking up tomorrow and choosing yourself again.
I wish I never looked at that picture.
But maybe I needed to.
Because it reminded me of something I’ve been refusing to accept:
I can’t heal from something I keep checking on.
So today I’m going to stop looking.
Not because it doesn’t hurt.
But because it does.
Sincerely,
Her — The Girl Who Stayed