women who are mothers claim the pain of childbirth is quickly forgotten. perhaps it’s only forgotten because it’s overshadowed by the joy of having a new baby. i’m not buying the forgetting pain crap. perhaps it’s just a myth handed down from woman to woman in an effort to perpetuate the species.
i can remember with exacting detail every single time my heart was broken. i remember the way he clutched the car door. i remember the way he would kiss everything but my lips. i remember meeting his girlfriend, the one i didn’t know existed. i remember the day i realized he would never make my phone ring again. i remember all that pain. i remember the friend speeches. i remember the it’s going too fast speeches. i remember the silence.
i remember the pain. i always forget the healing. while i can recall the exact moment my heart shattered, i can never recall the day it was all better. the day the wound healed over. i couldn’t even venture to guess a single time i thought, “oh yeah, that’s the day i got over him.” “that’s the day i moved on.” “that’s when i decided he didn’t matter.”
but apparently i have, because i continue to open my heart and my arms to men who don’t want all of me. who want pieces and parts of me, but not the whole package. the men who want sassy and sluttly, but not scared and lonely. who want independent and strong and not neurotic and needy.
it’s funny that i always remember the pain and not the healing. perhaps it’s only forgotten because it’s overshadowed by the giddiness of new love. perhaps healing is forgotten because it’s a long, arduous process, whereas heartbreaking happens in a flash. perhaps it’s just a myth handed down from woman to woman in an effort to perpetuate the species.