My friend and I are chatting about another friend who has just begun the divorce process.

We are trying to determine ways to help her. The truth? We know we can only help her so much. We are so much smarter than we used to be. You know, before we started this whole divorce thing. Before we recognized that it’s an ugly, dirty, unimaginable journey that no one should have to ride.

We know that we can only make it but so much better because there’s no way around it. It’s an individual journey and there’s no way to save someone from it. They have to take the journey, as filthy and treacherous and unwanted as it is.

I think back to my journey.

I was emotional road kill. There really wasn’t much left of me.

Worse, the people that love me had to be the ones that drove by and tried not to look.

And then, there were the passersby’s. The people who didn’t get it. Who weren’t afraid to look. Who weren’t there to save me.

Fortunately for me, the ones who loved me stood by the roadside. They agonized watching car after car race by me. They struggled with my inability to find my way to safety. They tried to dodge in between the cars and grab me.

It was a long and harrowing rescue.

They couldn’t save me until I was able to save myself. It was my journey and there was no way around it.

My friend has to find her way. She has to rescue herself.

The rest of us have to stand on the side of the road.

And wait for her.
road-sky-sand-street
(Photo courtesy of Pexels)

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