September 2
It’s September 2. It’s the fourth anniversary of the “We Need to Talk” conversation with the ex-boyfriend.
The fact I remember this means I probably should be berated about moving on. (This is sarcasm.) It’s not like I put a recurring event on Google Calendar that says “Remember Shitty Ex” on this date from here to eternity. It’s more like small details bring back the memories. It used to be a barrage of anger, now it’s more remembering the rawness of the emotions I felt. I’ve learned through my professional work to help children that triggers that lay just under the surface are part of the nature of trauma.
I’ve now recognized that my trauma is valid, despite being continually told to “move on” in ways that were both well-meaning and ways that showed a complete lack of empathy.
“Move on” became a loaded phrase to me, but I could never quite explain why.
About six weeks after the break-up, my boss at the time called me to essentially chastise me for being sad at work. I was sad. I didn’t feel like being anything other than sad. I did my best to fake not being sad, but in the end, I was still sad. If I was getting divorced or had lost a relative, it would be ok to be sad. But I was just a sad gay boy who was sad over his shitty boyfriend. It wasn't real sadness and I needed to move on or else
This was roughly the point in time that I committed full bore to finding a new job and a new city. I knew this was what I needed next in my life. If I was going to "move on," this was how I was going to do it. Yet, this also became a source of much criticism and unwanted advice. My way of moving on was unacceptable to many of the same people who were so adamant that I needed to "move on." It was perplexing. The same people who chastised me for being sad chastised me for wanting to make a change in order to be less sad.
Ten months after hearing, “We need to talk,” I moved to Denver. Life is infinitely better here. Yet, because of how the courage to start my new adventure is so incredibly connected with such a traumatic event, the thought that every wonderful thing that has happened to me in the past three years is a direct result of hearing, “We need to talk," is never too far out of my mind.
In the four years since, I’ve still been told that I haven’t “moved on” in an acceptable way. I’ve been left wondering what it’s like to move on in the right way. I had my moment of clarity back in June when Nora McInerny appeared on the Ted Radio Hour, telling the story of her grief when she lost her husband to cancer in 2014.
McInerny talked about moving on and her discomfort with the phrase:
“By any measure, life is really, really good, but I haven't moved on. I haven't moved on, and I hate that phrase so much. And I understand why other people do because what it says is that Aaron's life and death and love are just moments that I can leave behind me and that I probably should.”
McInerny went on to say that she interviewed so many people who experienced loss as she was writing her book and so many of them told her about their discomfort with the phrase “moving on.”
After almost four years of trying to articulate how much being told to “move on” frustrated me, I finally found my answer on NPR. I have done something, perhaps its moving on, but nothing will completely erase the past.
McInerny closed her Ted Talk by stating that she prefers the term moving forward over moving on:
“So moving forward is - you're going to get up; you're going to go for a run; you're going to put on makeup; you're going to do your hair; you're going to show up; you're going to get a new job. Moving forward looks like moving on if you look at me. But if you talked to me, if you talked to my family, you would know that the things that we have lived through - like, we're aware of how they shaped us. And consciously moving forward, to me, is choosing to live.”
Nothing will remove the fact that hearing “We need to talk” is both a moment of trauma and a catalyst for a new beginning. I’ve moved forward, but I still remember the past. I still remember what I’ve learned and how it’s shaped me. Somedays, I’m still angry at my past. However, without my past, I may have never found my present. Had I never met Eric, had this series of traumatic events never occurred, I may have been a lot less likely to take the leap and set out on my new adventure, the adventure that has been infinitely better than the old adventure.
It’s September 2. It’s the four year anniversary of when I began learning how to find what I want.
The fact I remember this means I probably should be berated about moving on. (This is sarcasm.) It’s not like I put a recurring event on Google Calendar that says “Remember Shitty Ex” on this date from here to eternity. It’s more like small details bring back the memories. It used to be a barrage of anger, now it’s more remembering the rawness of the emotions I felt. I’ve learned through my professional work to help children that triggers that lay just under the surface are part of the nature of trauma.
I’ve now recognized that my trauma is valid, despite being continually told to “move on” in ways that were both well-meaning and ways that showed a complete lack of empathy.
“Move on” became a loaded phrase to me, but I could never quite explain why.
About six weeks after the break-up, my boss at the time called me to essentially chastise me for being sad at work. I was sad. I didn’t feel like being anything other than sad. I did my best to fake not being sad, but in the end, I was still sad. If I was getting divorced or had lost a relative, it would be ok to be sad. But I was just a sad gay boy who was sad over his shitty boyfriend. It wasn't real sadness and I needed to move on or else
This was roughly the point in time that I committed full bore to finding a new job and a new city. I knew this was what I needed next in my life. If I was going to "move on," this was how I was going to do it. Yet, this also became a source of much criticism and unwanted advice. My way of moving on was unacceptable to many of the same people who were so adamant that I needed to "move on." It was perplexing. The same people who chastised me for being sad chastised me for wanting to make a change in order to be less sad.
Ten months after hearing, “We need to talk,” I moved to Denver. Life is infinitely better here. Yet, because of how the courage to start my new adventure is so incredibly connected with such a traumatic event, the thought that every wonderful thing that has happened to me in the past three years is a direct result of hearing, “We need to talk," is never too far out of my mind.
In the four years since, I’ve still been told that I haven’t “moved on” in an acceptable way. I’ve been left wondering what it’s like to move on in the right way. I had my moment of clarity back in June when Nora McInerny appeared on the Ted Radio Hour, telling the story of her grief when she lost her husband to cancer in 2014.
McInerny talked about moving on and her discomfort with the phrase:
“By any measure, life is really, really good, but I haven't moved on. I haven't moved on, and I hate that phrase so much. And I understand why other people do because what it says is that Aaron's life and death and love are just moments that I can leave behind me and that I probably should.”
McInerny went on to say that she interviewed so many people who experienced loss as she was writing her book and so many of them told her about their discomfort with the phrase “moving on.”
After almost four years of trying to articulate how much being told to “move on” frustrated me, I finally found my answer on NPR. I have done something, perhaps its moving on, but nothing will completely erase the past.
McInerny closed her Ted Talk by stating that she prefers the term moving forward over moving on:
“So moving forward is - you're going to get up; you're going to go for a run; you're going to put on makeup; you're going to do your hair; you're going to show up; you're going to get a new job. Moving forward looks like moving on if you look at me. But if you talked to me, if you talked to my family, you would know that the things that we have lived through - like, we're aware of how they shaped us. And consciously moving forward, to me, is choosing to live.”
Nothing will remove the fact that hearing “We need to talk” is both a moment of trauma and a catalyst for a new beginning. I’ve moved forward, but I still remember the past. I still remember what I’ve learned and how it’s shaped me. Somedays, I’m still angry at my past. However, without my past, I may have never found my present. Had I never met Eric, had this series of traumatic events never occurred, I may have been a lot less likely to take the leap and set out on my new adventure, the adventure that has been infinitely better than the old adventure.
It’s September 2. It’s the four year anniversary of when I began learning how to find what I want.
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