My go-to, post-breakup practice is to sift back through the relationship and render all good things a lie. The standard: I am not beautiful. I am not special. I am not different than anyone else. There are few techniques more effective in anchoring one in sadness.
Why does something not lasting forever make it untrue?
What happens when on the other side of not working, we choose to believe anyways?
To believe that I am beautiful. To believe in all of those moments that lit us up as we saw ourselves reflected back on the mirror of someone who loved us.
Those aren’t invalid because it didn’t work out. They weren’t contingent on it working out. They were true.
Sometimes. Most times in regards to the self, truth is something we decide. It is what we decide to believe. It is what we deem to be enough. I am not beautiful is not enough for me. Nor is being taken to my knees every time something doesn’t work out and then waiting for someone to prove me wrong. To give me my feet back.
The people who come into our lives and say we are beautiful and we are loved are a gift. And it’s ok that they don’t always stay. It doesn’t mean that they were wrong. It doesn’t mean that you were wrong.
It means that you are beautiful.