"I'm done with it, but I'm happy you are with him, I'm happy to be on my own. I just don't wish it on anyone"
These are words from my partner's ex. Understandable words from an ex-spouse of someone with crushing anxiety and depression. I too, at times, was so incredibly happy to be done with my ex-spouse. When sickness or depression would hit my ex, I did not understand. I was resentful. I blamed him. Why wouldn't I when he never understood my chronic illness? There was anger and resentment that built up for years with the other.
I knew it was better to be alone, and so that was my plan. Until I met my partner. I call it unintentional, but I was indeed online dating. I'd never really dated, just to date and so both myself and my partner were trying out the field. Our conversations were different from the first moment we messaged. We wrote long monologues and rants, free thought form that the other somehow understood. When we met in person a few weeks after writing, it was love at first sight. I had visions of him as a teenager, but never knew what that was about or why. We fell in love very quickly. It was quite crazy. Even remembering it still seems like I was off my rockers. I'm pretty sure my family thought that a lot.
It was his second visit to my town when I noticed his anxiety. His posture changed, speaking changed and I was shocked. We hadn't gotten to this part of our stories and so I took it all in one word at a time. I remember as we sat on my porch before he left to go back home thinking that I'm not going anywhere. This was a different side of him that did not come out our first two weekends together, but it didn't change anything.
When he left, I wondered if this is something I could deal with, anxiety. Crushing anxiety. The kind of anxiety that paralyzes you, that feels like a coat of armor is covering you, smothering you completely. That weight creates space for just you and no one else can ever understand why you can't get up and walk, but yet you still exist and function sometimes.
I decided that day that I would learn everything I could about anxiety and depression. I decided that my codependency-in-recovery self meant I could never do anything to help, except walk beside that man. I could be present and I could listen, but I could never fix this person.
That doesn't mean I didn't try. That doesn't mean I still don't try to find solutions for whatever weighs him down. It just means I know I can't do anything to cure that anxiety myself. And if I wanted, I could walk away and by most people's understanding, it would be completely justified.
The dilemma for me is I love him completely. My soul connects to him like I'd never experienced before. We are old lovers and have a chance to love in this lifetime. So, I stand next to him, committed to waiting. My spiritual gift is hopefulness. I bring hope, even when I sometimes feel hopeless.
So, I take the glimpses of peace and hope and remember what it could be like. I sit and wait for him to feel better and participate in life with me. Those moments are worth every other sad, frustrating moment I may feel.
Loving someone with anxiety feels like sitting on the porch swing with two glasses of lemonade, just waiting for them to come sit with you. The day is slow and long, and the wait is sometimes brutiful (thank you Glennon for this word!).
But watching the sunset with your lover shines light into the waiting, the darkness, the helplessness. Loving someone with anxiety is worth the wait and the fight. It's a choice that is made every day and each day that love grows stronger and deeper. It becomes forever, just as it felt the first time you saw them when you know you've found your home.
Come home when you are ready. I may not be on the porch with lemonade, but I'll be waiting.
