Yesterday at around 2:00pm, I noticed that it was snowing. Behind our condo is a small wooded area surrounded by houses, so I couldn’t see much of the snow from our front room. But I walked into the bedroom and saw these luscious flakes falling and I squealed. I have always loved snow. I love all the seasons for so many reasons (ha, that rhymed), and while autumn is my favorite season, winter is probably a close second for one reason: snow.
It snowed heavily where I live for several hours, culminating in a beautiful, white dusting on everything. It didn’t last overnight, unfortunately, but even that little amount of snow was enough to reconnect me to something I thought I’d lost when I left my ex. He and I would go hiking in the snow a lot. We’d take our dogs with us up to Mt. Hood, walk around Government Camp, find a trail to hike (almost always it was a trail around Trillium Lake because those trails are utterly breathtaking in winter), and then we’d stop for dinner and drinks afterwards at a brewery in the mountain before heading home.
One of the main things that my ex and I could connect over was our love for the outdoors. He loved snow as much as I did and there were many moments when we’d be hiking in the snow-covered forest that I’d feel a deep sense of belonging. I mistook it as belonging with him, rather than what it was, which was belonging in the woods and in the snow.
I left my ex in 2019. I didn’t hike in the snow that winter, nor did I hike in the winter months of 2020. It was too painful to consider going on my own to the places I most associated with my love for him. It also didn’t snow in the valley in winter of 2019-2020. We had some flurries and some icy days, but nothing I would constitute a “snow day.” Which means that yesterday was the first time I’ve seen/been in snow since I left my ex. It was…interesting. I spent over an hour on the phone with my mom. It’s a running joke in my family over how much I love snow, and after I sent my mom a text that read, “IT’S SNOWING,” she called me up and filled my ear with a deep, guttural cackle. She had been in the process of texting me about the snow when I texted her, so she called me up and we talked about how pretty the snow was.
My ex was on my mind the whole time. He was on my mind all last night, in fact. I’ve often used winter as a metaphor for my marriage, so to be reunited with snow for the first time since my divorce felt kind if surreal, almost as if the spirit of winter was reminding me that I’ve always belonged among the trees and snow, with or without him. That my belonging was never really with him, anyway.
This morning, my partner held me, snuggled me, kissed me, smiled down at me as he used my favorite of his pet names for me. I held him close and allowed myself to be completely present in the moment of his embrace because the truth is, I don’t “belong” with a person. I belong with myself, and that self-love, that complicated, sometimes elusive inner confidence and self-assurance is what circulates a sense of belonging in my surroundings. Belonging with myself is the first step to building healthy connections of belonging with others. We’re not guaranteed love. We’re not guaranteed friendship. We’re not guaranteed belonging outside of ourselves, and so often I’ve been scared of aloneness, so scared of living without external manifestations of love, I’ve ignored that what I really need is to work on loving myself above anything else. It’s a lifelong journey, but it’s one that ensures that I will never sacrifice or compromise for those who wouldn’t do the same for me.
When I left my ex, I told myself that I would rather live alone in self-respect than live with someone in misery. This is a hard, painful road to walk. It is not easy. It hurts like hell because it means we have the responsibility of looking after ourselves without any expectations that others will do the work for us. And that’s not easy to do, especially after living years inside of a marriage where someone vowed to take care of you, and then broke that vow repeatedly. There’s a deep sense of something missing that feels like it should be filled by someone else, but that impulse is codependency. I didn’t really need someone to come fill in the wounds my husband inflicted. It’s not someone else’s responsibility to make up for his mistakes.
It is my responsibility to try and heal myself. However unfair that is, it’s a fact of life. I know now that I actually will survive ten years of a broken heart. I know that I will survive the loss of a cherished relationship. I know I will survive betrayal. I know I will survive loneliness. The more I work on myself, the more agency and autonomy I take back. And now I know that no matter what I face, I will not only be okay, I will thrive. Thriving inside myself is real belonging that leads to a shift in the type of connections I build around me. And it’s not that we have to love ourselves before we can love others. I don’t buy into that. But we do need to belong with ourselves to build healthy connections of belonging around us. Like most things, I believe this is a process, not a destination. But it’s one that has lead me to more happiness and fulfillment than I ever could have imagined.
So today, I’m plotting my course through the snow. I’m signing the song of trees, inhaling the spirit of winter. And I’m embracing the powerful magic inside of me.
