Everyone knows what abandonment is – being left in one way or another by someone you care deeply for. I know I’m grazing past a huge issue that one or all of us have faced at some point in our lives, because I’d rather explore the actual definition and use it as a starting point for this blog.

So, according to The Google:

So leaving, ceasing to look after someone, desert, condemning, or disinterest – sounds about right, don’t it? That feeling of not being enough for someone to stick by, or stand beside. And we all know what happens when you’re dropped from someone’s orbit: The inevitable empty space, a frozen spine that was once warmed by their presence and a whole huge heap of self-doubt. Among a million other side effects.

You ask what did I do wrong, what could I have done differently, what’s the one thing that drove them away for good? What happened, what happened, what happened? You exist in this shadow world of all the mistakes you made that you never thought were mistakes at the time. And then you arrive to a conclusion down the line that nothing, *nothing *would have stopped them from going. Any wrongs you silently wished a thousand times to right would have born another thousand for them to flee.

Because some people are permanent and some are not.

It’s the hurt that never gets easier, the idea that even though you *knew *they would leave, the fact that they did leave still surprises you. Because inevitable is only ever a word until it becomes real. And then it’s sleepless nights and worry and bad eating habits and a self-worth that’s so subhuman you actually don’t know if you’re alive or already gone.

At least, that’s how it is for me. From the 1-too-many-times it’s happened that’s what I’ve learned. Hell, it has happened at least 4 times with ONE person. Their ever revolving orbit never spun close enough to make room for mine and I see now that it was for the best, but oh, the hurt.

And sure, there are pains far worse than abandonment but none that bring you to your knees for a multitude of reasons quite like that one. Because it’s YOU that’s wrong, it’s YOU that’s to blame, it’s YOUR fault. You’re not pretty enough, you’re overweight, you’re not smart enough, witty enough, decent enough. Or worse, they don’t feel as strongly as you do about xyz and everything you thought you understood gets called into question.

You’re left with what if’s and where do you go now’s and nothing makes it better. Except one thing: Time.

The drawback to time though is that it ceases to move when you’re heartbroken or soul-shattered. It’s a vicious, repetitive tick-tock that serves as a reminder of how far away the person who’s left has gotten since their mass exodus.

But time *does *make it better, it does. That’s an undeniable truth.

That said, the experience of having survived the BIG A doesn’t diminish and in between one abandonment to the next, a small whispering voice lives *just there *telling that it could happen again. Don’t get too close, don’t say that, just don’t don’t don’t. Because your heart just healed and do you want to destroy it all over again? DO YOU?

However, there’s a fairly large negative to listening to such conniving, fear-mongering words: we’d never create connections with others, or bond with them and build trust. We’d live within our orbit and pray no one ever bumps into the gravitational pull for fear of being their next target.

So, what’s worse? Being cut off from companionship, friendship and love or giving all of yourself and keeping faith it’ll be enough when maybe, one day, it won’t be.

For me? Time and again I choose to keep faith that I’ll be good enough. That what I see of myself isn’t what they’ll see. That I can be better in their eyes than I am in my own. And if that switches on one unexpected afternoon in the distant future, then at least I’ll know I didn’t hold myself back. That I was who I said I was when I showed up. Heart on my sleeve be dammed.