Your Mama Don’t Dance

“I’m going to take Evelyn and go.” Is all I heard my husband say. Even though it would be just to the playground – that’s not how it felt.

Tears followed, and I took my dinner plate silently to the sink and headed upstairs.

Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I struggled for breath and tried to comprehend how the most trusted person in my life was responsible for these feelings.

When I found my voice, I returned to him.

“What are you sorry for?” I felt like the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, my red and blotchy tear-streaked face on full display.

“For what I said.” His voice quieter than usual.

“Ok, but are you aware of the impact of what you said?” His silence told me no.

The faucet poured while I choked to breathe. “It made me question everything in my reality. And if the life we’d built between us was even real.”

I moved to the table, grabbed a puzzle piece, and felt surprisingly relieved to have found the words to communicate my experience accurately. Then I looked back, seeing that he was still staring at where I once stood.

And then I was aware of something else. He didn’t intend to hurt me.

So I went to him and nestled into the safety and security we’d spent countless hours building, cultivating, and maintaining. And I forgave him.

And later, I took responsibility and apologized for my part as well. Because of course, we didn’t arrive at that place without dancing our way there together.

Love, Jaclynn

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