The stories we tell

On our honeymoon in 1981 my former husband, G., grew a beard. I never liked that beard. It was thin and scraggly and, more importantly, hid his beautiful jaw. I loved his jaw. It was strong and well defined. Angular.

Over the course of our eleven year marriage, I often told him how much I liked his jaw. How I preferred it without the beard. "Having a beard saves me five minutes every morning," he insisted and the subject was closed, until the next time when I would try to find another way to suggest shaving it was a good idea.

One day, he got the hint and shaved it off. It was a few days after our marriage ended.

I always took that action as a passive aggressive move. A defiant statement of, "So there. Take that."

Until yesterday that is when someone suggested another way to look at it.

I was chatting with a couple of the students from the self-esteem course I teach at the shelter where I work. One of the guys has just started growing a beard. His is thick and robust in only a week.

"What made you grow it?" I asked.

"It saves me five minutes in the morning," he replied.

Trigger.

I laughed and told him how my ex-husband used to say the thing. And then I added the kicker, my 'look at me, I'm the martyr in this relationship. See how wrong he done me?' clincher. "You know, I asked him to shave that beard off for ten years and it wasn't until after we separated that he finally did."

"He must have really wanted you back," one of the guys said.

Surprised, I shook my head. "No. He was making a point about who was in control."

The guy shook his head. "If it had been me I would have done it to show you I wanted you back."

Changing glasses.

What if that was why he did it? What if in my anger and frustration and my 'I am the wounded party here', I had missed a cue? What if I wasn't right?

The stories we cling to limit our vision.

In clinging to the story of how my ex-husband defied me by holding onto his beard and then shaved it off in an act of 'Ha! See. You don't own me!' defiance, I was limiting the possibility of his being a man who was trying to reach me at a time when I was refusing to be reached.

I remember those turbulent days of our separation. I could not, would not hear anything he had to say. I was riding my high horse principles of "I gave it a good try. It didn't work. I'm gone." I wanted to be right. I didn't want to get off my horse. I wanted to give up on riding with balance and integrity. I wanted to throw a tantrum -- and this was it.

Maybe in shaving off his beard he was taking a giant step towards me, not away.

It doesn't change things today. It doesn't change the past. But, it does give me an opportunity to look at my beliefs around those days and open up my perspective to his truth too. It gives me a chance to let go of my victimhood, of always painting that picture with me as the wounded party and him as the one who 'just didn't get it'.

I was far from perfect in that relationship. Far from the wife he deserved, the wife of his dreams. We struggled to connect. We struggled to be open and honest and caring. We struggled and eventually the struggle became too much for me to keep attempting to find another route into intimacy.

In looking at that moment through different glasses, I no longer have to struggle to paint him as anyone other than who he is. A frightened man who was going through a difficult, painful time. A man who had lost more than just the woman he loved. In our separation he lost a family. His family. It is something he has never reclaimed. Never found a way to reconnect.

What if, in shaving off his beard, he was doing something he thought would please me?

For years, I let it fuel my anger. I let it become a symbol of my justification for leaving. A tick mark on the righteous side of my reasons for walking away.

Humble pie only tastes good when eaten with a generous helping of forgiveness.

I didn't know then what I know now. I couldn't see then what I see now.

In my confused and frightened state, I wasn't able to open up to the possibilities of his actions being for, not against, me. I wasn't able to see him beyond the stories I told that kept me moving away.

Doesn't change what happened that led me to leaving. It does change how I tell the story today. How I see the past through loving eyes, not an angry heart.

The question is: Are you willing to see there are other possibilities for someone else's actions? Are you willing to let go of your belief you know someone else's heart better than your own?