How I Broke Free and Entered an Odyssey of Unbecoming

Part 3 - Final

This is part 3 of 3 and the final installment of this series. To catch up, you can start here and here.

I didn't get a response from Larry that day or the next.

Not hearing from him confirmed my worry about contacting him had been baseless, and now I could release more faux fears from my mind. As each day passed, the reality set in that he had a full and happy life, too busy to tend to old girlfriends. I imagined him thriving and living his best life with his family. I was glad for him.

But on a day about two weeks later, LinkedIn notified me that I had a new message. I grinned as I read his note. It began, "Hilona," a silly greeting he'd used many times in his letters to me from law school.

We bantered back and forth as if we were picking up on a conversation from yesterday. Larry proved that his sense of humor was intact and that he could still crack me up.

We exchanged details about our lives since our last written correspondence, which occurred shortly after I’d given birth to my first daughter seventeen years ago.

I told him I was happily married.

I didn't hesitate to tell this bald-faced lie because it was what I wanted others to believe, especially him. I had maintained the perfect family façade with almost everyone, and the words slid out on cue. I had only admitted the unhappy truth of my marriage to one person, a neighborhood girlfriend, once while we were on a family vacation.

As far as I knew, everyone else believed my charade.

Larry, it turns out, had never married and turned uncharacteristically serious in his writing. He'd had a series of girlfriends over the past 24 years and went so far as to list the significant girlfriends in order, up to and including his current one.

Then he said, "You were the one I should have married."

My heart stopped. So did my breath. Everything was still for a moment.

Knowing I was happily married, he assumed it was safe to unburden himself.

Except what I'd said hadn't been true. I had lied, giving him a positive impression of my marriage.

This truth deserved truth in return.

I still loved Larry. That had remained despite the years, and the book my daughters had been reading uncovered it. He still had my heart, even though I'd tried to give it to someone else, someone who had left it unattended.

"You have a piece of my heart my husband can never have," I wrote back.

It was his turn to be stunned.

With this admittance to Larry, I understood why I had hesitated to hit the send button on that initial LinkedIn invitation. My inner knowing was signaling my entire house of cards was about to topple.

Larry and I tried to return to our light-hearted wisecracks, but it was impossible. Our love still had a heartbeat, and it was very much alive. There was no place to go with it, though. We decided to stop writing to each other, and we had little contact for a while.

When my husband and I were dating, I shared with him the gravity of my relationship with Larry.

Larry had meant the world to me, but we, as a couple, hadn’t worked out. We were in our early twenties and too immature for the next step of a committed relationship.

Likewise, my husband told me of a serious love he'd walked away from before we met. He knew that Larry had been someone special, yet he said nothing when I mentioned our new connection on LinkedIn. He barely acknowledged I’d said anything. I kept talking, filling him in on Larry’s life, but he wasn’t interested.

I wanted him to react, to say something.

I was used to him not talking to me, but it felt like his lack of caring had transformed into contempt.

Undeniably, I lost touch with my husband a long time ago. Yes, my heart belonged to Larry, but I refused to consider ending my marriage.

The dissonance caused me to stop eating and sleeping. Each day I lost another pound until I was 25 pounds lighter than I'd been a month ago. My family never noticed my body wasting away or the dark circles under my eyes.

I began going on runs to get out of the house to be alone with my thoughts. Mostly, I wanted the privacy to cry. I cried whenever I was out of sight of my family, even if it was just moving the wet clothes to the dryer in our cramped laundry room.

I’d wake up with swollen eyes. Every morning driving to work, I sobbed some more, the tears leaving black streaks on my cheeks. I'd fix my face in the parking lot before entering the office and then managed to distract myself at work for a few hours.

I had no one to talk to about what happened.

How could I admit my marriage was a sham and I loved someone else? It was too much to bear.

To stay true to my faith, I went to confession. I didn't want anyone who knew me at church to hear the biggest secret of my life. Instead, I visited a shrine a half hour away and told a young Polish priest what had happened.

"It's not a sin," he said drily. He offered nothing else. I wondered what part of the story he failed to understand. Was it an English translation problem? I left with my guilt in tact.

One day, a wise friend picked up that I wasn't myself. I was barely functioning and sent her an email containing only a few nonsensical words.

She immediately called and asked, "What's wrong?"

At last, the dam broke, and a cascade of words and tears gushed out. She listened silently to everything. My friend didn't judge but encouraged me to pray about what to do next.

In my mind, there was no decision to make. I was married--for life. I pushed back.

"Pray about what? There's nothing to do here," I said.

Spring turned into summer, and my body continued to betray me. Looking back, I was experiencing a nervous breakdown, although no priest, doctor, or husband noticed.

I had a constant stabbing pain in my abdomen. Several tests later, the doctor determined there was nothing wrong with me.

My friend checked in on me every few days. After she found out about my ER visit, she said, "You've got to make a decision."

"There is NO decision," I said, exasperated that she was still on this.

"God would not approve of me leaving my husband," I said.

After weeks of dealing with my stubborn mindset, she was desperate to get through.

"How do you know what God wants?"

She was yelling at me now.

"You're going to implode. Decide something. Whether you stay or go, it's going to be ok. It’s all going to be ok."

Her words finally had their intended effect. Had I made myself equal to God? I was a lowly sinner. There was no way I could know God’s mind, let alone what he wanted for me.

I had to get my head straight because now I was completely unraveling.

I went back to the shrine to pray. I stopped at the stone images of the Holy Family, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and realized I didn't have the family I'd imagined. My daughters had been trying to tell me in so many ways our family was fake, and I'd refused to acknowledge it.

They were right.

I’m sure they didn’t know that one day I’d go about fixing it.

There was only one way then, and it was through.

Back then, I wasn't into yoga. I had never experienced the union of mind, body, and soul. I was a fragmented person who decided to leave my marriage. It was a painful time when everyone in my family suffered immensely.

We all bear the scars of my decision. That's the part that hurts to this day and that I regret the most. I still feel disappointment, guilt, and shame that I couldn't create a perfect world for them as I'd dreamed of years ago.

I learned that two people coming together from two dysfunctional backgrounds would replicate that dysfunction. Now with new awareness, I see things differently as I watch my children evolve in their adult partnerships.

Larry and I reunited after I filed for divorce. We are married now for twelve years. It’s been a helluva ride. I owe my husband a lot.

Through Larry’s support, I’ve been able to disrupt old patterns and become a more conscious person. He’s allowed me to leave corporate life and given me the freedom to explore old limiting beliefs.

Yoga has been the tool for my unbecoming.

My friend asked me why I am telling my story now.

I’m not really sure, but I’m acting on a feeling that my story needs a re-airing, another chance for me to process it again. My story explains who I am today, and my experiences inform my writing.

Telling my story is healing not only for me but for anyone who hears and relates to it.

Maybe you’ll tell me your story one day, which’ll help heal both of us.

Thanks for reading along.