My grandmother used to say to me, “Never say ‘goodbye,’ always say ‘so long.’” What she meant by that came more into focus with me as I grew older. Part superstitious, she feared that if you said ‘goodbye’ to someone that you might never see them again.
Because I felt abandoned by my father after my mom and he divorced, I have always had a difficult time in saying goodbye to people. When a romantic relationship ended, I’d feel crushed. No matter how bad the breakup, I didn’t want to see a person drift out of my life. I had enough loss, and I wanted people to stay—desperately so.
In my early 20s, I believed in soulmates and thought that heaven consisted of me finding a kindred spirit and that we’d be one soul drifting through space and time for all eternity. I didn’t know any better. I had never lived in a family with a strong and healthy marriage.
I only knew what I’d seen on TV and in the movies, and unfortunately, those big romantic gestures that I’d see actors do, never worked out in the real world.
When we say goodbye, that does not necessarily mean that our paths will not cross again with someone. I had heard the phrase “let someone go and if it’s meant to be, they’ll come back to you.”
I hated that phrase because I feared that I would simply be abandoned again. I didn’t understand that no one could fill the hole I felt inside. When you leave a child, that wound stays with them for a lifetime. I tried to heal from that wound through romantic relationships, throwing myself into my work, adrenaline—all sorts of ways. But it never worked.
What I needed all along had always been right in front of me.
Each of us who grew up in an alcoholic or dysfunctional family needs to love ourselves for all that we are. No one can complete us. We are already complete. When we realize that and embrace that to our core, then we’ll find peace.
Goodbyes won’t be as painful because we will understand that we are never alone. We have ourselves to love and can be confident in who we are. When we love someone and let them go, our memories of that person will always live within us.
Even nearly 18 years after my grandparents have passed on, I can still feel them with me. Some of my memories with them are etched into my soul because they made me who I am today.
There is good in our lives, and sometimes we might not see it. When we take off the blinders and focus on what is healthy and healing for ourselves, options become available. Fears (like of being abandoned) fade away because the old demons no longer hold sway over us.
Someone new to the Adult Children of Alcoholics 12-step program recently asked in a group that I’m involved: “How long does it take to feel better?”
I remember asking that question myself and I disliked the answer: “Until it does.”
There is no timetable or prescribed amount of days on which we will begin to feel better. Each of us is different and has lived different experiences.
When will a baby begin to walk or talk?
We can’t know for sure. We might have a general idea of the amount of time, but we can’t be specific. I have found the same to be true in healing from a traumatic upbringing. There will be days in the sun, but there might be times when you backtrack, and feel weak and fall back on unhealthy behavior patterns.
The work we put into our healing takes time and is filled with beauty and grace.
I remember the first time that my fear of abandonment did not hold sway over me and the joy I felt. I hold these memories close to me as they help remind me that I am a survivor and so are you.
Goodbyes do not need to last forever. There are words, memories, and moments that each of us can carry with us for a lifetime.
I have written 400 daily reflections stretched out across four books. I surpassed my original goal of having one daily reflection for each day of the year. With 400 in 4 books, it’s easy to go randomly through the books and read something new each and every day.
Four hundred days might seem like a long time, but I found my own journey of recovery and healing took became firm in about that time. That’s not to say that I felt “cured” and like a “new person.” In about that time, much can happen. You can make new friends, work with a therapist, attend Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings, or even truly discover that you love yourself.
As I end this series, I wish you health, hope, and love.
When you put this book down, give yourself a long and soulful hug.
Feel your arms around your body, close your eyes, and go back to the beginning, to where your memories all started. It is there, at that moment, that you can grow beyond, and come to the realization of what a wonderful and beautiful person you are.
So long, my friend. Farewell.