“I really just wanted to punch her in the name of Jesus.”

Sometimes, you have to go through the hard stuff to get to the good stuff.
I did something hard this week. First, I went somewhere last weekend that took me past one of the places that breaks my heart. A place that when I drive by, I can envision him and the choices he was knowingly making. I can see him walking in that place. Making those choices, the ones that would tear me apart.

It took me a few minutes to catch my breath, but it wasn’t as bad as the last time, months ago, when I had to pull over because I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and because I couldn’t see to drive through the tears.

This time was a little easier. No tears. Only a little bit of that knot in my stomach, and tightness in my chest. Only a minute of getting my breath back. I felt like I handled it much better.

Then a few days later, a much bigger test.

I went to the town that she lives in, yes, THAT “she”…the other woman. There was something we needed to go look at for our house, and it just happened to be there.
In that town, the place that it began.
The place I wish he’d never gone. The job I wish he had not taken. How different things might be if he just had not taken that job.

I didn’t go to the actual spot, I don’t think I can do that. I think I should probably never do that. But I was close, so close, and I had to drive past a very prominent sign for one of their meeting places. Normally just the thought of these places puts me into a near panic attack. But I did it. And I only caught myself holding my breath for a moment.

The thoughts came, the heaviness, but I pushed through it. I was pretty proud of myself for getting through it without having a meltdown. It was kind of a big deal.
I don’t want my feelings about those locations to keep me from living my life.
Then at the end of the week, we took a day trip to Savannah, and that required me again to pass through that area, and right past another one of their meeting spots. And then again on the way home. By that last pass through, I felt like maybe I was pushing it a little, but
I survived it.
And I only momentarily wished no one was with me so I could pull off the exit, knock on her door and punch her in the nose. Ok if I’m being honest, maybe I thought about it a little longer than I should have. πŸ€”πŸ‘ŠπŸΌπŸ˜³
Of course I wouldn’t have actually done it.
I don’t think.
I’m really not completely sure.
I’d like to think I have more self control than that but I honestly can’t imagine how I’d react if I saw her. Sometimes I think I still have so much to say to her. Yet, at the same time I don’t know if there are enough words to communicate what I would want to say, or what those words would actually be. Nor do I have any idea the effect they would or wouldn’t have. And there’s that other side of me that really just wants to not say a word. Just let my anger do the talking and punch her.

Just. one. good. time.

That’s not the right thing to say, I know. Nor is it a mature or classy thing to do. I didn’t say I was proud of it. I’m not. But I’d be lying if I said I never thought about it. I’m pretty sure y’all aren’t judging me for it, ha. I think if you found yourself in my spot, and many of you have been, you’d understand the feeling. Actually, I’d be willing to put money on the fact that more than a few of you have wanted to punch her for me.

One sweet friend of mine (who shall remain nameless), actually ran into her at church once. Her exact words were: ” I just couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe she was standing there and it was actually her and I was going to have to speak to her and smile at her…and I did it. Somehow I did it. But on the inside, all I could think about was how I really just wanted to punch her in the name of Jesus.” πŸ˜±πŸ™ˆπŸ˜‚
That’s a true friend right there y’all. Im telling you right now, if you’ve got someone that would stand in the middle of church and secretly want to punch someone in the name of Jesus for you, well, that means they really love you. Ha. And her telling me that story made me giggle during a time that I had not laughed in weeks.

No worries though. There was no punching. She dug deep and instead of punching her, she smiled and welcomed her kindly in the name of Jesus. And I told her that was the right thing to do, because Jesus was just what she needed, and if she loves Jesus, she could learn to be a good person for her family. And maybe never do this to anyone else again.

Sometimes I consider contacting her again. To try to find some sort of closure. To see if I can reconcile my feelings about her and towards her. To see if there is any way I could actually forgive her. But there’s a 50% chance it could make me feel better, and a 50% chance it could make me feel worse. And I also feel pretty certain it wouldn’t even matter, because I don’t think she would be brave enough to face me. Brave enough to be truthful with me. She certainly wasn’t the last time.
I could be wrong. Or not. Maybe she has changed. I still hope for that. Despite my feelings for her, for the things she did, for everything she said, for the pain she brought my family, and the pain she brought her own, for everything she took from me, and for not being sorry about it, I still want happiness for her family. I pray that she’s a better person now, for them. They deserve that.
So I continue to push that aside, at least until I feel clear one way or the other that it would be beneficial. I guess in reality, for all I know she is reading these blogs. They’re posted and reposted on all kinds of social media, Facebook, Instagram, even Pinterest. A simple Google search takes you right to it. They’ve been read by thousands of people spread across several continents. And she is only 30 minutes or so away,and there are so many people that know both of us. So I guess it’s not unlikely to think she’s possibly come across them. If so, I guess she pretty much knows all my thoughts and feelings, the same way all of you do. In that case, maybe the ball is in her court…..🎾
I still can’t handle the actual locations, and I don’t know that I will ever want to try, but I feel like this week was a small victory of sorts. The memory of her may have stolen a few moments during those drives, but I had a great day with my husband and my daughter, and she can’t steal that. She stole so much from me. She stole so many days. But not this one.
I’m not going to let the hard stuff keep me from the good stuff.
I win.
Love wins.
Goodness wins.
Always.
Amy Thurston Gordy

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Author: notmystorysite

Contact:acgordy91@gmail.com

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