The first weekend apart

NOTE: For background, please see the about section of the blog.

So, TJ left on Saturday. As you might imagine, it was a tearful day for me. Like, eyes-swollen-all-day tearful. In true Rachael fashion, I immediately found something else to immerse myself in as a means of distraction - reorganizing my bedroom.

While this may not be the text-book healthiest way to handle the situation, it worked for me. I stopped crying and I was actually incredibly productive this weekend. And, more importantly, it made me feel for the first time like we might actually make it through this.

My doubts haven't been about whether or not we love each other enough, or if we would be faithful, or if we'd make enough time to see each other. The doubts have all been about myself. About whether or not I'd sabotage this, as I am prone to do. Historically speaking (I'm actively working to change this attitude going forward), I'm always waiting for the bottom to drop out of any situation. The minute I feel like things might not go perfectly, I attempt to control the situation. Control, for me, often means jumping ship when it comes to personal relationships. If you choose to follow this blog, you eventually learn a bit about why I'm like this.

But anyway, back to how this weekend made me feel like we're going to make it. As I said, I just totally immersed myself in organizing my room. Anyone who knows me realizes this is no simple task - I'm a little on the messy side. So I cleaned my room, boxed up books to be donated, took down two sets of various closet doors, and started thinking about painting. How does any of that help me feel like this is going to be OK? Because, it showed me that I'm learning new ways of coping. Instead of wallowing in sadness over TJ's departure or turning the possible difficulties of the situation over and over in my head, I chose to deny those kinds of unproductive thoughts in favor of something useful.

Maybe this kind of extreme bounce to the opposite side of the spectrum is a tad on the unhealthy side. I'm sure my therapist would want me to spend a little more time than I did actually feeling my emotions and processing them. But she'd also know that just the fact that I let myself cry as much as I did was a big step.

So, I think we're going to be OK.

I think I can continue to live my life here in Cincinnati and start planning for a life elsewhere. And I think... just maybe... this could turn out to be one of the best things that's ever happened to us. It might even be fun.

But I still miss him like hell.

-R