The impossible courage of “I love you, but no.”

 

When I was 21 years old, I fell in love with a fragmented woman.

She was beautiful, brilliant, generous + kind — with Frida Kahlo’s artistic sensibility (and striking eyebrows), Florence Nightingale’s compassion, and a mind packed with more zany ebullience than a Monty Python marathon.

She was the love of my life — everything I could have ever wanted, poured into one human vessel. Oh, except for one little hitch — she was caught in the throes of mental illness.

When she was well, life was a swooning medley of picnics, slumber parties + unadulterated sweetness.

But when she was unwell, debilitating depression, cutting + hospitalization became routine elements of our relationship.

She asked me to marry her, in a treehouse tucked away in a tropical jungle. I said “no.”
Then I said “yes.” A few months later, I said “no” again — this time, for the last time.

I knew that breaking off the engagement would upset her. Deeply.
I also knew that she might harm herself. Again.

It took every ounce of my resolve + conviction to express my decision.
I had no way of knowing how she’d react — and of course, I feared The Worst.

I didn’t feel “brave,” telling the woman I loved that I wasn’t willing to be her partner — that I wasn’t willing to spend the next 80 years wondering when the next episode … the next downslide … the next hospitalization was going to come. No, I didn’t feel brave.
I felt cowardly & cruel.

Wasn’t I supposed to accept any perceived “flaws,” without question? Wasn’t I supposed to cherish & adore her, no matter what?
Isn’t that what LOVE means?

It took me years to realize that sometimes, saying “I love you, but no”
is the kindest — and bravest — thing you can do.

It’s a lesson I continue to learn, every day — in tiny, vital ways.

Today:

I am courageous when I say “I love you, but no” to friends who need time & support that I’m not (always) in a position to give.

I am courageous when I say “I love you, but no” to clients who ask for things I have no desire to provide.

I am courageous when I say “I love you, but no” to myself, when my inner toddler is demanding vast oceans of attention & instant gratification.

I am courageous when I say precisely what I think + feel, without apology or circumvention.

And for what it’s worth — my almost-wife? She’s doing beautifully — living in a city she loves, building a career that inspires her, and taking exquisite care of her health.

Courage is what happens when LOVE crashes up against “unpleasant circumstances.”

Courage is LOVE, under pressure.

And while it can feel crushing, painful + damn-near impossible in the moment, true love always leads into the light.

This story will be featured in CULTIVATING COURAGE — a new e-course & online community devoted to baby steps of bravery — from Andrea Scher of Superhero Life. Find out more & register for the October 2012 session, here.
 

devotion // liberty grief // catharsis
PREVIOUS —

Random Pow!

NEXT —

Comments

Ah! I was in a similar situation once, and had to step away from it. It seemed impossibly hard to do at the time, but standing from the other side, I can say that I am very, very glad that I did.

Christina on Sep 18, 2012 — Reply

Just beautiful. Learning to say ‘no’ from a place of love is something I definitely need to work on. Thank you for this inspiring post. <3

Dana on Sep 18, 2012 — Reply

Oh, oh, oh….I can’t thank you enough for this.

My story is very different in details…yet very much the same in theme. And I, too, have struggled mightily with thinking I should just accept someone exactly as he is, just because so much love comes along with the deal. And, actually, I DO accept and love him exactly as he is — I just need to do it from a distance. Love doesn’t always mean sharing a life together….and not being “together forever” doesn’t make the love (the love that was, and the love that remains) any less tender or special or valuable.

It’s no longer as crushing, painful + damn-near impossible as it was….but it was. You helped me recognize and appreciate my own courage in having said “I love you, but no.” (And your writing, as always, takes my breath away.)

xoxoxo

Lynn Hess on Sep 18, 2012 — Reply

What a beautiful story. I think it’s a sign of naivety (or sweet beautiful innocence?) when we think that love can be enough in the face of everything else. I used to love – passionately, completely, wholly – a man who was not good for me at all. In fact, sometimes actively destructive. Yet for so long I held onto him because we *loved* each other despite all our respective suitcases of crap. And then one day I realized that the love we had just wasn’t enough. Even though it was massive and wonderful and weighty in its way, it wasn’t enough to make up for the bad-and-dark-and-destructive times. I felt immensely sad at this realization, but also immensely grown up. Like I had just discovered this secret that the adult world had been hiding from me. The decision to walk away was awful and sad (and took balls, which I wasn’t sure I had) but I did it… And was way better for it.

So for me:
I am courageous when I say “I love you, but no” because I have to put me first. Because I have to love me more. Because I have to do what is right for me and my well-being and my soul…

Jess @ Sparrow + Sea on Sep 18, 2012 — Reply

Thank you for sharing this story; I lived a similar story. I wholeheartedly believe, “Courage is what happens when Love comes up against unpleasant circumstances.” Yours is a beautiful way of expressing the pain, definition & contrast and, ultimately, radiance, that can come from being alive, from loving, whether it is yourself – that inner toddler – or someone else.

Emily on Sep 18, 2012 — Reply

Thank you, Alex. Gorgeous post on a super important core quality each of us must have – a boundary. I’m always saying, set a boundary, save a life. I feel it’s a kindness to the other person when we truly know the answer has to be no.
Thanks for your courage, and for lighting the way,
Robin

Robin Hallett on Sep 19, 2012 — Reply

A beautifully written story that everyone needs to be reminded of every once in a while. Thanks for sharing. Sometimes I feel like your messages come to me exactly when I need them most.

Katie on Sep 19, 2012 — Reply

Thank you for sharing this story. I thought it took all the courage I had to leave my first husband, but I didn’t even know what real courage was until he took his own life the following year. There were some who blamed me for his death, convinced that somehow I could have saved him. But the truth is, if I had stayed, he would have destroyed us both.

It wasn’t just therapy that taught me this lesson – I too had struggled with (and continued to struggle with) my own suicidal depressions. The reality of his suicide made me realize that I was the only person who could save me. Not that I did it alone! I have used lots of professional help and pharmaceuticals over the years as well as the deep love and support of family and friends. But I had to decide I was worth saving (still a struggle some days!) and stop waiting for someone else to rescue me (and stop denying that I needed serious help).

I have been happily married now for over ten years to a man who, although he often wishes there was some magic thing he could do to make me happy, gives me the support I need to make myself happy.

Lainey on Sep 19, 2012 — Reply

oh Alex, I so FELT this experience as I read your words. Thank you for sharing this.

I think when I told my dear friend ( who I basically got sober with ) that I love her but wasn’t willing to go down the rabbit hole with her as she relapsed and continued to harm herself and her daughter and be in deep deep denial about how it effected everyone around her – i was in so much turmoil. She asked me if this is what friends do. Do they leave? I told her that I didn’t sign up for being lied to, used, and to stand by and watch her abuse herself and her daughter in ways that made me literally shake. My heart was racing when we would talk because I wanted so desperately to pull her out of the hell she created. But it was her path, and her choices. I didn’t know what her journey was suppose to be for her, I only knew for sure that it broke my heart so deeply that I could no longer be around it.
She pulled herself out of it, and is now living her dreams. I still at times feel sad that we are no longer close. But I am grateful to have had the courage to tell her that I loved her but I loved myself more. In a sense I was saying yes to myself in such a loving way by allowing her to have her life and to disconnect from my desperate need to help her.
But it some times feels bad that we are not close now.

xoxoxo

Catherine Just on Sep 19, 2012 — Reply

I adore all of these stories. Thank you.

Alexandra Franzen on Sep 21, 2012 — Reply

Kind, brave, beautiful you. There is so much love in your actions, and here in your words. Thank you.

Lori-Ann on Sep 25, 2012 — Reply

I’ve always felt that saying “I love you but…” would weaken the “I love you”. I work with kids and that’s the last thing I want a child to feel – “I love you but…” – so instead of “I love you but I really need you to go sit down”, I say “I love you and I need you to go sit down” or “I love you! Please sit down.”

Keeping that “I love you” strong!

Bright on Oct 5, 2012 — Reply

BRIGHT :: “I love you, AND …” is a beautiful reframe. Thank you for sharing. xo.

Alexandra Franzen on Oct 6, 2012 — Reply

I was that girl once, the fragment woman. The break needed to happen though. I’ll never be close with that friend again, but it needed to happen.

Nadia Chaudhry on Oct 12, 2012 — Reply

you have a way of telling things directly yet beautifully and meaningfully. I adore the way you write, it inspires me. thank you!

heather gutierrez on Oct 14, 2012 — Reply

Actually, I’ve re-evaluated. I’m not that girl.

Nadia Chaudhry on Oct 22, 2012 — Reply

Leave a Comment