In Relationships, Healing is Not Linear

It’s the golden hour and my 12-year-old daughter and I are sitting in front of an art gallery during the local art walk. There are lots of people walking in and out, sipping on cheap wine and cheese, artists on the corner hustling their latest creations. Some jazz music wafts in the air from down the block. It’s winter but the Southern California night air feels balmy.

I hear the familiar sound of a skateboard and look up to see one of my sons. Right behind him is his father on a bike. It doesn’t feel awkward at all, even though we haven’t been a couple for months now. While he talks to the kids I look at him, really look at him, and I take stock of his appearance. He’s gotten much thinner, leaner (probably all the bike riding). He’s wearing beaded jewelry that I don’t recognize. He looks tired and his eyes — the crinkly eyes that I searched for whenever we were in the same room together — they look sad. This is the second time we’ve bumped into each other tonight and I’m relieved it doesn’t feel weird. When you live in the same town as your ex — just know you will bump into each other often, especially at the art walk.

Because…he’s an artist…and I’m an artist. It’s just one of those things I expect, that I mentally prepare myself for.

After some small talk, he leans over and kisses Xixi’s forehead, says goodbye to us all and rides off. We sit quietly and watch the figure on the bike become smaller and smaller.

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As I watch him pedal away my heart doesn’t beat faster.
My heart doesn’t falter.
My heart is like a stone — cold and steady in my chest.

I exhale. Then I hear Xixi’s voice.

“Doesn’t it make you sad? Seeing him just ride away from us? It’s so sad.” I turn my head and I see the grief on her face. It’s all red and blotchy and her eyes well up with tears.

The expression on her face and in her voice is familiar. I know the pain. I want to say, girl I’ve BEEN feeling this way! Watching my husband bike away would have broken me two or three years ago. I would’ve been a pile of tears. I was still struggling with confusion, sad realizations, anger, the pain of the loss of love. But of course, she didn’t notice because she’s just a kid. She was jumping on the trampoline, drawing paper dolls, watching YouTube videos, playing with the dog, eating cereal, dancing, bickering with her sister, doing schoolwork, asking me for ice cream, playing in the grass during soccer games, etc. While she was busy being a child I was going through some shit.

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All these years later and she’s feeling my pain too, much like a pebble you throw in a pond. The water ripples and vibrates and effects the entire pond. She’s just at the outer edge of the pond. It took some time to reach her and for her recognize what the vibration was.

Do you believe that pain — it’s called ancestral trauma — is cyclical? I do.

Because I also know my daughter’s pain on another level. I was once that little girl too, watching my dad drive away from me only he wasn’t on a bike he was in a tan Volkswagon on a Sunday night. Back to his own life, his own home, to the life he lived separately from me and my brother and sister. So, I know it, I know it well.

I want to shield her from the pain that stems from her parent’s relationship but I can’t. It’s her own journey and although I have directly affected it, it’s still hers to contend with.

No one wants to see their child sad, so I try to reach out and console my daughter but she is unmovable. I suspect that she wants me to be sad with her, so she can know that I haven’t moved on because that’s a really painful thought for all of us if I’m being 100% honest. So I did the only thing I knew how to do: I sat beside her in silence and just loved her. I could manufacture some sort of emotion for her, to make her feel better, but sis I’ve been going through this for a hot minute [insert handclap emoji] and I won’t allow myself to become unhinged at the slightest provocation, even for my baby girl because it helps no one.

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How can you explain to a person that the pain they have is fresh because they are young but yours is old and dusty and familiar? It still hurts, no matter where you are on the healing spectrum. Again, all I can do is love her by respecting her pain and also respecting her father’s pain because I know he has a lot. That is really all we can do for each other, to show that we care.

My biggest lesson in this is the realization that healing is not linear. Everyone has their own pace and journey in regards to grief and pain. With that knowledge, I know I have to try my best to honor my child’s timeline of healing — not just hers, but my other five children as well. And my stepson. My parents. My siblings. My ex. And of course, my own. Funny how they all add up.

Image sources: Unsplash