The Sacred Art of Quitting
Tuna sandwich sermons, burn out, and the cost of worshipping the wrong gods.
We grew up together. Just kids, really, when we married. Full of fire, foolishness, and some desperate need to prove we could be grownup. We merged our lives like the sea shore and the water, shaping each other through the years. A thousand moments, a hundred heartbreaks. We raised children we were barely old enough to raise. And still, somehow, we did it.
To call it a trauma bond is to cheapen it, making the parts larger than the sum.
There was something deeper than that—something sacred. The world cracked us open, yes. But it also forged us. And over time, we became familiar with the shape of one another.
But here’s the truth we don’t speak out loud:
Just because someone’s been in your story doesn’t mean they belong in the next chapter.
We privilege people in our future because of what they meant in our past. We say: They were once holy to me. Surely, they deserve another place at the table. But that’s not always true.