The Melancholia Of Healing
It is a warm day in June. The sun is shining, the bugs are out. I’m sitting with my friend Sara on her back deck drinking coffee. The woods are lush around us. Hummingbirds buzz by.
I’m talking about being sad.
It isn’t a sadness I feel, really, it’s more of a general melancholia, a sort of soft wave of sorrow that pulses at my feet. I’m not immersed in it, but I’m aware of it. I am sad, because I am happy. It’s strange, but it makes a kind of sense to me too. I think this peculiar melancholia I’m experiencing is because I’m healing, from past hurts, from disappointments, from not really understanding, until now, what it means to be loved.
I’ve been dating a man for almost four months and everything is new and tender. Soft. Gentle. Exciting. But in these few months, I’ve learned so much, and it makes me sad to look back at the previous 48 years of my life and realize that I did not know what being loved well meant. I didn’t know it was possible. And what makes me sad, the melancholy I feel, isn’t for where I’m at now. Where I’m at now is wonderful. The sadness is for where I’ve been.
I try to explain it to my friend: “It’s like when you go through a really stressful situation, maybe it’s a situation that lasts for years, like the end of a marriage, and until they’ve moved out or you’ve moved on and you can finally take that full deep breath, only then, do you realize the enormous stress you’ve been under. You didn’t even know you were stressed, because you got used to it. Only when the stress is over, can you feel it and recognize it. That’s how I feel right now. It’s like I’m looking back at all the tiny things I thought meant love, and seeing those things for what they really were. I accepted so little. I expected so little, but what else did I know? I didn’t know that things could be good. I didn’t know what being treated well meant, because I’ve never really experienced it. Not consistently. I’ve always had to work so hard to get someone to love me, that I didn’t know it could be easy. And it makes me so sad that all these years, I didn’t understand. ”
I’m emotional writing this and I was emotional telling it. It’s hard to put into words, but I keep trying with my friend. “My aunt and uncle and I have had amazing conversations about mental health. We’ve talked about my mom and stepmom, the things they went through, how their minds changed over the years. For very different reasons, they were both women who were shaped by trauma and in turn it made them create trauma in others. I understand psychosis. I understand what can happen to the mind, but what I don’t understand, what I asked my aunt and uncle countless times was: ‘But what does a healthy mind look like? What’s a healthy mind like before trauma? What’s a healthy relationship?’ It’s so foreign to me, what healthy looks like. I wanted to know. I still do.”
My friend looks at me and her eyes are watery too. “You’re learning what a healthy relationship is,” she says.
“I didn’t know, until now. I didn’t know how hurt I’ve been. I thought that was just how life was. Now I know, now that I can see it, I’m so sad.”
She nods. “I mean, I feel that too, sometimes. I look back on things I experienced, and now that I’m through it, I feel sad for who I used to be. I feel sad I made certain choices, let things happen to me.I feel sad for the past me and all the things I went through. But the thing is, you can’t know what you don’t know.”
This. This is the thing. There are some things you can’t know until you know.
I did not know that I could meet someone with the same interests as me. Someone who likes foraging, cooking, and preserving. It goes beyond sharing interests. I did not know I could meet someone whose self aligns so closely to my self. Someone who can match my mind with his own, who looks at the world deeply. I did not know that you could be friends with someone and also want them passionately. I thought it was one or the other. I did not know that you don’t have to prop someone else up by diminishing yourself. I did not know that intimacy is more than a kiss. Intimacy is a kind of dance, where you’re not really sure who is leading. I did not know how deeply unhappy I’ve been, how alone I felt even in relationships, because I thought things were the best they could be. My boyfriend is teaching me these things.
In friendships, too, I did not know that you can ask for help. That a friend loves you and supports you and doesn’t expect anything in return. You don’t have to bribe them with favors, or coerce them into loving you. They love you because they do. And you can love them back just as easily. I didn’t know that until I experienced it. Sara taught me that.
I’m sorry for the Tanya I used to be, who did not know that good things were possible. Who did not know to believe. Who did not know how to be loved.
I think this melancholia is okay. It goes along with healing. Healing is wonderful, but I think there's a bit of pain too as your spirit knits itself back together, the way a bone resets after being broken. I am giving it time. I am giving myself time. I’m enjoying things as they develop with my boyfriend, and I’m also doing nurturing things for myself: reconnecting with my love of cooking, long walks in the woods, time with my friends and kids. Work is not my number one priority anymore, and it’s so healing to have a life outside of it. I’m not putting as much energy into trying to prove to everyone that I’m lovable or talented or desirable. I’m just…living.
What I didn’t know then and I do now is that healing, even at 48 (almost 49!), is possible, and all those hurts and disappointments, even though they are part of the fabric that make you you, are also the fabric of your past. What is in your future, is up to you.
I am learning that every day there are choices we make. To live fully, to love deeply, to stay true to our wants and needs. To accept love when it comes and to be grateful for it. I’m learning that I can feel mournful for what I’ve been through, and also thankful that I am through it. My past has brought me to this particular time and place: the hummingbirds, the woods, the sun, coffee with my friend, and a man who every day I connect with a little more, a little deeper.
I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but I know that I’ll greet tomorrow differently than I have, because now I know what healthy looks like. Healthy, looks (and feels) like this.
###
TANYA EBY is a narrator and a writer. She is currently working on a memoir about starting over called THE TUESDAY GIRL. If you like her work, please share it with others. She is currently looking for a literary agent to represent her.