One of the things the
internet has revolutionized for us is the expansion of sharing, sometimes so
far that an alienation of labor occurs. I came across this quote today, author
unknown, and it just made me laugh in awe at how ironic my life can often be.
“A relationship without trust is like a car without gas. You can stay in it as
long as you want but it won’t go anywhere.”
I remember the moment I
looked deep into my ex’s eyes, beneath the magical skies of Disney’s fireworks,
and truthfully and faithfully confessed, “I trust you. With all my heart.”
Trust far exceeds love in my scale and I guess he didn’t realize what value
that confession carried.
It’s quite a difficult
thing to trust someone, definitely when it’s someone who made it difficult to
do so. However, it’s even harder to trust yourself, especially after for so
long you were made to believe you were too unstable to be trusted.
They say time heals all
wounds. That’s what I’ve been hearing from a few these days. Deep down I knew
they were right, but I couldn’t quite express to them what it felt like to
realize my trust and self-trust was just as tarnished as my heart; my intuition
too betrayed to speak up again. That was until this very morning, when I found
myself sandwiched between two totaled cars, on my usual two-hour commute to
work.
The whole incident
happened in literally a blink of an eye. Red lights flashed before me. Brakes
slammed beneath me. Car behind me swerving away and into its neighboring car. Both
cars ricocheting in a spin, knocking into me before bouncing straight into the
center divider. All that remained were visions of smoke, air bags and shattered
metal.
It took a good 75 seconds
of shock before I was awoken by a knock on my window. “Ma’am! Ma’am! Are you
okay?” I must have nodded because he replied, “Yes? Just a little shocked huh?
I’m an off duty fire officer and the authorities have been notified. Stay put.
You’re going to be alright.”
My knees were shivering
so violently that I fell against the side of my car as the officer spoke with me. The
electric zap of pain kept shooting up and down my spine, knowing that surely
the real damage would be felt later. That’s how my heart had been for a while.
Too absorbed in the shock of a very ugly divorce that it took a few weeks before
the pang hit me, just as hard as the silver Mustang did. And both were
ridiculously hard.
I even recall the scene
in my rearview mirror, watching the car approaching me, knowing the inevitable
was going to happen, while still praying that that 1% chance of hope would kick
in. It’s the same percentage I hold on to in other aspects of life, although I
usually call it faith. The 99% won and I know that’s destiny, as was my
marriage.
When the police officer
said I was good to go I sat in my car for a while, watching the ambulance wheel
away the people in the two other cars. “I’m blessed,” I kept repeating to
myself. “I could have been one of those on the way to hospital. I’m going to be
okay.” I looked at the two cars, hoods thoroughly crushed to a pulp. “Even my
car is blessed. It’s only the entire left side and the tire and the bumper, but
it still runs. We’re okay.”
It was on the traffic-less
drive home that I faced a literal experience of mistrusting myself. Despite
knowing that the morning’s collision was not my fault—the woman behind me
swerved into both cars—I couldn’t help but be paranoid at how fast I was going, how much space I placed between me and every car around
me, how instantly I hit the brakes
when necessary. It made the drive all the more intolerable. I silenced my
phone, kept the radio off and seriously drove with my eyes peeled, constantly
monitoring every mirror and every window.
Suddenly the confident
(sometimes speedy) driver was starting all over. I remembered the anxiety of
driving with my instructor during training. “Faster!” he would often say
because I was too scared to press it with even my toes.
I praised God upon
arriving to my driveway, the car making very awful screeching noises the whole way over. When I
got out and stared at the damage, I felt like I was looking in the mirror. That
was me. We had both been hit, hard. We faced the damage and were banged up, but
you know what? We are both going to be okay. With some time, some repairs and
some absolutely amazing spirits (like loving family, loving friends and loving
coworkers) we are going to return back to our true selves or even better.
Regardless of the efforts
aimed at destroying every piece of who I am, piling all the blame on me, I know
the truth. I know my strength. I know my faith. I know myself. Some of the
final few un-regrettable words I said in my relationship were, “I am
happy and content with who I am and that’s something beautiful. It’s what made
me give you a chance, being told that you loved all of me…I don’t know where
that changed.” Maybe it never existed.
After a year of almost
losing every ounce of self-respect and self-love I owned, it took a lot of
courage to remember them and state them with utmost confidence. And it is the
truth. For a while I know I will live (and drive) with some hesitation. The
thing about me is I always have a destination, so no matter what bump in the
road I face, I can’t help but get back up and keep moving forward. All I really
need to do is to trust and go. Trust and go.
