It’s been a week since he left, and I just miss my friend.
That afternoon in the parking lot, as we stood under the warm sun, he wrapped his arms around me. He told me he loved me and in that moment, his love filled me with warmth and strength. He doesn’t even realize it, but he’s the one who got me through.
It was around 10 p.m. when a man handed me the 100+ page document. I remember smiling, almost reflexively, when I saw the name on it, and the man apologized for being the messenger.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, because what else could I say?
I flipped through the pages quickly at first, honestly impressed at the sheer level of detail. I didn’t need that much effort, but I suppose if you want to give someone a hundred reasons why you don’t want them in your life, a hundred pages is one way to ensure they’ll never come back.
The next day, I couldn’t get out of bed. Knowing I needed to face it I texted my work wife, and she came over without hesitation. She crawled into bed with me, wrapped her arms around me, and only then did the sobs begin. They shook me until I could barely breathe. Tears soaked my pillow, and I felt myself unravel.
When the wave finally passed, we poured two glasses of wine and she went through the document with me.
Each page was a sharp stab.
Each lie cut a little deeper than the last.
Each “discovery” burned.
And then there it was – the weaponization of my past. In that moment, he crossed a line I will never forgive. Rage and hate tore through me in a way I never thought I’d feel toward someone I loved so deeply.
My work wife hugged me again, left me with the rest of the wine, and I immediately called the only person who could ground me: him.
He didn’t hesitate to apologize yet again. His regret was palpable, his voice steady, as if he were physically pulling me back from the edge. This old wound had been reopened and used against me and he stayed with me through every jagged moment of it.
Over the next six months, his love, our shared past, our healing journey – they sustained me. They kept me warm and alive as I healed from the 100+ wounds that nearly killed me.
I always write when I need to process pain. In that first month alone, I wrote nearly ten thousand words – rage, hate, disgust spilling out of me.
But as my friend and I healed our relationship, my wounds began to heal too. The rage softened. The hate dissipated. I could finally swallow my disgust. Months ago, I set the document aside.
Last night, out of curiosity I picked it up again and I was struck by sadness as I read my own words. The broken woman in those pages leapt out at me – her pain so raw, her late-night despair so vivid. Her words were biting, desperate to convey damage she believed could never be fixed. All hope was lost.
But last night wasn’t just about revisiting the pain. It was also about seeing how far I’ve come.
As my friend held me, during our goodbye, I couldn’t help but feel gratitude. Gratitude for him. Gratitude for our shared journey. Gratitude for the power of love to do what I once thought impossible: keep me alive, keep me moving, keep me believing.
Our love for each other – not romantic, but deep, abiding, and true – is why I believe in the power of Love. Genuine and unconditional love can save even the most brokenhearted people.
And it saved me.
with all my love, xoxo J
Journey Coaching 
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