You know when that quarter turn feels like 10 miles?
Lying on my back in bed staring into the dark at the ceiling—righteous, fuming, tight lipped. We had a minor fight as far as relationship fights go, yet it was big enough that I feel justified in withdrawing my affection from him for the night to prove my point. (Because I’m right, of course.)
A wiser part of me knows that punishing him doesn’t get me what I want. If it did, I’d have EVERYTHING I ever wanted, let me tell you.
That wiser part knows I actually want to connect with him.
I’m frozen on my back, listening to his unassuming breath next to me in the dark. And I want to make that quarter turn to my right—from my side to my back—and hug him. Just one quarter turn, a simple roll onto my side—but it feels like miles. It might as well be a chasm. I am fighting that urge to turn and justifying why not to in my head. “I’ll lose, and show I’m weak. He doesn’t deserve it. If I let him win this argument, he’ll walk all over me.”
Now my body is almost shaking because I want to connect and be big hearted so badly. Yet the grip of those voices in my head keeps me frozen in this win-lose mindset. That simple quarter turn to the side feels almost impossible, like I’ll be betraying all of womankind if I do it.
Of course, it’s the total opposite. Of course vulnerability is the only thing that creates the kind of real winning that’s worth having, the kind of winning that benefits everyone.
I finally make that quarter turn in the dark. I hold my breath and just do it. And it’s worth it. After the shattering fear in my chest subsides, an unshakable strength, joy and big heartedness fills me. We embrace. I tell him I’m sorry. He says he is, too. He holds me for the rest of the night.