Finding the Good at the End of a Relationship

It’s been exactly one year since I lost one of the most important relationships in my life. No, nobody died, but I often wonder if that wouldn’t have been easier. Wondered? Wished, even, though only in moments when the waves of anger or sadness were peaking and when simply recalling amazing moments would have been preferable to that abrupt end that came with no closure. And there were amazing moments–far more than the few that were deemed worthy of destruction. 

If you’d asked me twenty or fifteen or ten years ago if anything could ever come between my brother and me, I’d have laughed. If you’d asked five or four or three years ago, I’d have said “doubtful” while thinking about how, though we’d each grown into new versions of ourselves on paths that included a few speed bumps, we’d only solidified our sibling bond. If you’d asked two years ago, I’d likely have said that, sure, the miles separating us had become our biggest obstacle but that because we’d kept our promise for regular visits, we were able to overcome that distance. 

If you’d asked me 18 months ago if anything could ever come between my brother and me, you’d have caught me fresh off the first glitch in our matrix. In fact, my husband asked just that, minutes after a few words were flung across a campfire in frustration. I was shocked to hear my answer. Yes, I said. My husband laughed at the ridiculousness of my response with a quick assurance that all would be fine by morning. 

Even then, in that moment, I knew that was not true. Had I really been so stupid to think that I could stand up for myself without repercussions? Why did I do that?! 

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As 2024 arrived, I promised myself to start cleaning out the bucket of sloshing emotions that followed that campfire catastrophe and, as is my norm (need?), it will be pen to paper. I have started many times, writing much that was therapeutic, but not for publishing. The untangling will take some doing. Why publish? Because I’ve learned that, as a writer, it is often the articles we fear sharing the most that inevitably offer the greatest comfort to readers. I have no doubt that someone, somewhere is or has ridden this exact merry-go-round. Perhaps together, we will learn to move forward through our shared stories. 

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It’s been exactly one year since the final pieces of my relationship with my brother were broken, though the initial glitch came months prior. Why? A disagreement that should have been filed in the “Agree to Disagree” bin and placed on the “Do Not Discuss” list at holidays. For that to happen, egos would have had to be set aside but, for some, that is simply not an option. I don’t mean that in an ugly way; I mean that, for some, beliefs and righteousness and conviction are the air that keeps them alive. I’ve learned that, for some, looking inward is simply not an option. I have learned that, for some, being right is more important than being happy and holds a higher value than protecting a relationship. 

I’ve learned to ask myself: Which is more important, being ‘right’ or having a relationship?

I have spent nearly two years repeating the fallout to friends, family, and therapists until one finally asked “Why?” Why was I going from person to person and copay to copay when every single person was telling me the same thing? Again, it was spelled out for me: I was seeking someone, anyone, to tell me that, yes, this was all my fault. If I were the lone guilty party, then I could start the long crawl back to my brother, head in hand, claiming full responsibility for the end of our relationship. If it were all my fault, then it wouldn’t hurt so much to be tossed aside like garbage because, well, I deserved it right?

But it wasn’t alone. Did I have my part? Of course. I can say with absolute conviction that, when I tell the story, I include my part. I can also say that I have apologized for my part, numerous times. What I didn’t do, and this was perhaps my greatest crime, was simply bend the knee. 

For a long time, I kept these words off paper thinking I was protecting whatever morsels were left. I came into this year with a firm understanding that I was begging for morsels. I was begging for someone to have a relationship with me who not only did not want one but felt that treating me like trash for years was justified based on two, perhaps three, potholes.

Charge my head and not my heart.

I heard this quote from a mentor and, good grief, has it stayed with me. Imagine if we all lived with the assumption that our friends or family function from a place of goodness rather than assuming that each wrong turn is made with malice. What a wonderful world that would be.

I know my heart is good. I know I am loved (if I didn’t before, the last two years have certainly shown me). I know my intentions are pure, though sometimes they seep out backward and upside down. I have been on the hunt for forgiveness but, goodness, it’s been hard. I know it will be necessary to move forward, but forgiveness sometimes includes putting the final nail in that coffin and I’m just not there yet. 

In that final conversation, a year ago, I was told that I needed to learn my lesson. Those words have been clunking around my head ever since–sometimes quiet but sometimes quite loud. What lesson am I supposed to be learning? I suppose, upon reflection-yes, I have learned some things. 

• I’ve learned that I will never put righteousness in front of compassion or understanding.I’ve learned that promises should not be empty words or fluff.
• I’ve learned that loving someone shouldn’t be conditional.
• I’ve learned that adult relationships require adult maturity. 
• I’ve learned that when offered only one chance it is likely through a microscope meant for failure.
• I’ve learned that when someone’s argument is that I think I am better than them, it is likely because I am.  
• I’ve learned when someone’s argument is that I am trying them look bad, it is because they need their own actions or behavior to be my responsibility. 
• I’ve learned that if someone invests more time in false narratives than in resolution, that there are no winners.

I have spent months unpacking and repacking and unpacking that night, the next heated conversation, and then, the final one. It has been difficult. It has been embarrassing. It has been disheartening. It has been devastating. It has been full of love. When I have felt angry or sad or lonely, I have been carried forward by those who have championed for me all along, even when I did not notice. 

• I’ve learned that I am loved. So loved. I am loved because of who I am, how those around me see me, and how I love those same people, faults included (mine and theirs).

• I have learned that a positive relationship is one from which you can grow and learn and become a better version of yourself. 
• I have learned that relationships can go from good to bad on a dime but the gift of growth can still be present. 

I have learned who I am and who I am is good. 

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All that being said, am I open to restoration? I am. I suppose I’m very Anne Frank in that way: Despite everything, I believe all people are good. There will always be an open door, but I need to stop pulling on that handle.