I have a plant in my office. It lives there because there aren’t enough windows for it to live happily in my home. Thank you dark, gray, Pacific Northwest, but I digress. This plant has been with me for about seven years now and this is the second office it has lived in.
Thing about my poor plant is despite the fact that it is less than three feet from me and I walk past it multiple time a day, I forget to water it. It gets droopier and droopier and eventually the leaves start falling off. That’s usually the moment I realize Doh! I forgot to water my plant. I’ll give it a bunch of water over the next couple days and before long it has perked back up and looks happy. Sometimes the effort will even trigger new growth. While my plant recovers and may even flourish for a while there is no way that it is healthy. I’m sure its growth is stunted by its inconsistent, inadequate watering. It’s root system is probably weak, maybe even rotted in places. Not only that, I’m pretty sure my plant is supposed to be tree-like, not bush-like. I’m certain I’ve prevented it from ever reaching its full potential.
My plant reminds me of my marriage. My ex treated our relationship like I treat my plant. Although it was right there in front of him every day quietly pleading for attention, he forgot all about it until it was wilted and dying at his feet. Then he’d make a big show of putting all this effort into us, tooting his horn with “look at all the changes I’ve made,” and we’d perk up for a little while, until he forgot again. (Believe me when I say I’m oversimplifying this. I could write a daily blog for years about that fiasco.)
Our relationship is over. Dead. Unfortunately he doesn’t see it that way. He’s spent the last seventeen months dragging out our divorce because he thinks I’m going to change my mind. In an effort to speed things along, I’ve agreed to open, direct dialog without our attorneys. He’s taken this as an opening to “water the plant.” It’s not working. The plant is dead. The branches may still be there but the leaves have fallen off and its root system is destroyed. No amount of pretty words will bring it back. I’ve moved on and he’s lost all rights to claim my attention or my heart.
It’s rarely big things that destroy a relationship. It’s the little things that undermine it, erode it, and weaken its core. You might be able to replenish it for a time, but unless it’s given the care and attention it needs on a regular basis, eventually it’s not going to make it. I love this quote from Anais Nin. I couldn’t have said it better.
"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing."
