Gratitude Letter #7

Perhaps The Most Surprising Of All?

Dear Marianne,

[I think it’s important that you know I am writing this with My Favorite Murder playing in the background. I know you’ll appreciate that.]

I never thought I would thank you for anything. In fact, there was a time I blamed you for almost everything going wrong in my life. You were a threat, “the other woman” and even though I didn’t really know anything about you, the one thing I did know was that you had taken my life.

Or rather, what I thought was my life. I had wrapped my identity up in being someone’s girlfriend so much that even after I ended a relationship that clearly wasn’t going anywhere, I didn’t know how to function. I actually remember saying, “I don’t know how to be in Seattle without being Curt’s girlfriend.” Which is so funny to think about, since I’d managed just fine for 18 years before meeting him.

So, when you took over that role, I was devastated. Not because of Curt,(Sorry, Curt!) but because I was so lost in myself that I didn’t know or like who I was. And if you were suddenly living the life I thought I was supposed to have — well where did that leave me?

It left me depressed, angry and drunk.

I’ve documented my struggles lately, but as you can probably imagine from a lot of my behavior ten years ago, I was dealing with similar things then, too. Unfortunately, you and I were caught in a tangled web of relationships and small town gossip and alliances that seemed to grow ever-more complicated. At least that’s how it felt on my end. I admit I didn’t spend a lot of time looking at things from your perspective, back then.

Thankfully, we grew up and time lessened the pain and my pride healed and all of us moved on. (Hopps and I were giggling about this over text the other week. After all that’s happened, who would have thought that you and Curt would end up married with a kid, Chris and Molly would be married with a new baby, and I would be rich and famous like this? That was my version, at least…hehe) But still, there was that complicated history. Blurred lines, confusing dates, old wounds…

As I told you, I’ve been on a “social media diet” for many months, afraid to log on and see the realities of what life will inevitably bring for my ex-boyfriend, and so it took me awhile to see your message about my writing. But I couldn’t resist logging in on my birthday to read my well-wishes, and when I did, the first morning after turning 32, I saw your note. Your wonderful note.

Not only was it beautifully written, but it was so beautiful in its message. I honestly started crying as soon as I began reading it. In some weird way, you — this woman who for so long I’d held as a symbol of hurt, anger and deceit — seemed to understand me. I think in that moment, reading your note, I let go of the last little bit of resentment I had toward you, which of course, was never really about you. Maybe in that moment I finally forgave myself for the awful way I acted in my twenties, or the ways I lost myself in boys and relationships and bottles.

But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. Your kind words, your ability to put the past squarely in the past and to present someone so in need of encouragement with words that mean so much. You gave me the courage to share my words, my story, my faults and pain. You could have easily read my story and never reached out. You could have read about my struggles and smiled with satisfaction. But you didn’t. Because that’s not the type of person that you are. And regardless of how much I wanted to paint you as the bad guy, I don’t think that’s the person that you ever were.

It might seem weird to you, how much that one single note impacted me, but it did. It was so encouraging that my writing resonated with you, and that you took the time to tell me. I often write, pouring my heart and soul into these posts, onto the page and then hit “publish”, sending all that energy, hope and pain into the abyss of the Internet. You reminded me that sometimes, people read those words, and react to them and feel things.

So thank you. And I’m sorry. I guess this is a weird gratitude/apology letter. Thank you for giving me the strength and courage to share my story. Thank you for being someone I can now randomly text about MFM. Thanks just for being a pretty rad chick, all around. I wish I had seen that sooner. (And thanks for not holding that against me!)