Oops… One More Little Thing

“I used the towel to wipe the toothpaste off my mouth and then to catch the tears. I found my worth being falsely held by a small but precious piece of jewelry. And as that piece of jewelry sat packed and ready to be donated my heart sat cold and alone. I wasn’t crying over a person or a failed marriage. I cried because a dream was lost, temporarily, but lost nonetheless. In that dream was a man telling me that I was worthy, worthy of a fine piece of jewelry, worthy of commitment and love. While the promise was long gone, that ring held a reminder that at one time a man found me worthy. And while I had kept that ring hidden in the back of a drawer all this time, the…”

I slammed my laptop shut for fear that I would be caught. The night was cold and lonely, and I sat warmed under my comforter ready to go to bed. In a last minute effort to describe the emotional process of giving up my wedding ring, I had typed quickly, my room illuminated by the computer screen. When I thought I heard my sister coming home I panicked. I wiped the tears from my eyes and put the laptop on the floor. Pulling the covers up to my ears I waited. No one was there.

Earlier that night while driving to the local pub to meet a friend the tears found their way to the corners of my eyes . As I stepped out of the car I put on a fake confidence and proceeded to carry on a conversation for the next two hours, mostly my mind being somewhere in the bottom of my heart.

I thought I had it all figured out. But what I didn’t realize was that hidden in the back of my dresser drawer was something so small but yet something so bonding. While I have dealt with the end of a marriage, the loss of love, the abandonment of my leader and best friend, I somehow failed to see that I still believed that my worth was found in that person’s love; no matter how long ago it had left.

It was the proof that someone at some point had loved me. And that proof had become my validation. It was as if I thought that ring told every guy in my life that it didn’t matter if they loved me because someone already had. But obviously I cannot live by that. Now it has been some days and I think about that little ring gone. It’s a relief, a freedom, but one that can’t come without a brief sting. Pulling that band-aid off has made me realize the wound I still have to tend to. It means taking a time out to heal. It means facing a lot of things that I have easily hid from under my covers. It means taking care of me and my heart. Because I am worth it…with or without that ring.