We moved into the new place on Tuesday, March 31st. By Friday we had guests. "J's" dad was on the same continent for work so he wanted to "swing" by and see the new place. We also had "Little J" for the first time in the new house. We spent Thursday night organizing her room so it was perfect when she got there. I only wish I could have seen her face when she saw it for the first time.
"J" had to leave for work on Saturday, so I agreed to stay with "Little J" and host her mom and baby sister for a few hours. I know it might sound weird to people outside the situation, but I like "N". She's a great mom and a good person. But, I think I also like her because she's never posed any threat to me. There is no history. No relationship. Nothing for the imagination except one night - and even when I TRY, I can't get that to bother me.
However, something about this particular visit just didn't sit right...
I ordered a pizza as soon as she got there, knowing I couldn't spend the entire afternoon visiting because I had a limited amount of time to spend on unpacking the seemingly endless number of boxes we had between the 2 of us. Bathrooms needed to be cleaned. Laundry done. Pictures hung. I sat on the couch in a puddle of my own anxiety as she spoke at me, wishing I could be alone in this mess so I could get lost in it. I wanted to be alone in MY new house to enjoy the things I hadn't seen in years. MY things.
The conversation was strange, to say the least. We talked about "Little J". We talked about "J". We talked about our first marriages. Photo albums. Letting go. Then we started talking about "J's" ex-girlfriend. This particular ex-girlfriend, "L" decided to end the relationship after 4 years because they wanted different things. He wanted a family. She didn't. "Little J" is still in pain, wondering what happened. Wondering why "L" suddenly disappeared. She brings this up with her mom, but is scared to bring it up with "J", worried she'll make him mad, or me upset. That is an insane burden for a 5-year old to bear, isn't it?
"N" continues by telling me that she recently told "J" when "L" left him, she didn't leave him because she fell out of love with him, but because she knew it wasn't fair to continue in the same direction when they both needed to ultimately go separate ways. I listened. I engaged in the conversation. I felt...out of control. Alone. Like a stranger.
I was sitting on OUR couch in OUR house, and this woman was telling ME about my boyfriend's past. About a time I didn't exist. I'm new. "L" is old. She experienced things I will never know. "Little J's" birth. Her first words. Seeing "J's" face as she took her first steps. And, she's still in love with him. I felt like an intruder. In his past. In his life. In "Little J's" life. I felt the painful pull of "L's" longing for it to be different. I felt the pain she must have experienced when she read about me. The look in her eyes as she saw the man she used to call hers. That I now call mine. How must he have felt when he heard "N" say those words: she's still in love with you?
After several hours, "N" left and I got busy cleaning. I didn't think much about the conversation that took place here. I knew I felt weird. For a moment I looked around and didn't recognize anything around me. They were someone else's memories. Someone else's life. Mine is in boxes. My memories are scattered along the many miles I've traveled over the past 2 years. And lining the walls of places from which I have run.
"J" called me that night to talk about what happened after we exchanged several text messages. He got angry. I cried. I didn't even know I was upset. The tears just started to fall. I wanted to stop talking about the past. Talking about a time I didn't exist here. He wants to protect me. From his past. From the pain. From the baggage he brings. The thing is, I bring baggage, too. Mine is just hidden. And silent. Mine doesn't come into his house and tell him about my life before him. I love him for caring so much about me to want to save me. And, just as the realization is setting in that this "baggage" is here to stay, I no longer seem to care. All that matters is what we have - and what we're building. Just because I'm not a part of his yesterday, doesn't mean I won't be a part of his tomorrow. (I like to think a very important part, at that).
My next challenge is setting my own boundaries and keeping to them. I need to be aware of my feelings, and give them a voice. I need to tell "N" when I'm not comfortable with where a conversation is headed. "J" wants to protect me so it will never come to this. But I love "Little J" and him too much to shy away. Loving "J" means embracing this situation. ALL of it. And, if that means faking "comfortable" in the midst of conversations about the past, then so be it. After all, it's MY future that's among these walls that have been built on the past.
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