Torn-Up Sneakers

I'm grateful for torn-up sneakers.

It had been about a month since we called the relationship quits. Or rather, you called it quits for the both of us. I knew that there was nothing left to salvage, but my heart still yearned to fight for you, for us. I felt like I had so much more left to give, and now couldn't.

We still lived together while I made other arrangements, but I could not bring my eyes to meet yours anymore. I was so disappointed in myself for not being able to make us work. Disappointed in the dates I had planned in my head, but hadn't correlated to the real world. Frustrated with myself for not having been more honest with you about my thoughts, my feelings, my dreams, my concerns. Constantly mulling over my mistakes that had ultimately caused our end. Because if I had done this, or said that, we'd still be together. Everyday I cried for you, missing you when you were only a few feet away. The house was silent every night.

The previous Friday I decided to leave and go to my parent's home for the weekend, hoping some distance would provide relief over the constant guilt and shame I felt regarding our relationship failure. It didn't. Not seeing you made my imagination grow larger. If I wasn't coming up with ideas on how to approach you, how to save us, I was reliving memories with you - wondering how we ended up in this position. My cheeks were still stained with tears.

I returned Sunday evening. Of course, the first thing I noticed when I walked in was you. Standing in the kitchen, making yourself something to eat. Wearing on old stained t-shirt and sweatpants that were only appropriate for Sundays - days where you had no where to go and no where to be, and spent the entirety of the day watching dumb movies. I greeted you politely, but shyly. As my eyes drifted downwards to avoid yours, I saw them.

My gray Brooks running shoes. The shoes I wore almost everyday, whether it be to work at the hospital, or to take our little pit-mix puppy, Wren, on a walk, or to exercise in. These multiple uses meant that the shoes had not been in the greatest shape when I had left for the weekend, but now they were completely destroyed. Laces removed and in pieces. The toe fabric ripped out. The rubber insoles torn apart.

"What happened to my shoes?" I asked.

"Wren must've got into them." He replied, without looking in my direction.

With my hands on my hips I examined the rest of the room. It seemed that every dish and pot and pan we owned was sitting dirty in the sink. Two full trash bags next to the door, filled with empty bags of chips, Coke cans, and Corona bottles. The kitchen pantry almost empty. The table cluttered with receipts and building plans from his previous work week. The fridge with multiple magnets on it, but no pictures or save-the-dates or announcements. The walls filled scarcely with photos and art he had picked out. Little Wren outside on the chain, watching me at the patio door with her tail wagging. My photos, books, art, notebooks, sketchbooks, and journals all piled neatly into a corner, so that it wasn't in his way. In the mirror I saw myself - 10 pounds lighter, with dark circles under my eyes - reminding myself of an empty shell. My torn-up sneakers.

There was a single click inside my head. A connection was made. The room didn't look like this as a result of our break-up. It had always looked like this. My things pushed to the side to make more room for him. My friends and hobbies thrown away to make more time for him. My thoughts and feelings ignored to not bother him. My time filled with cleaning up and organizing, hoping that today would be the day he noticed the work I put into him. Hoping today would be the day he said thank you. Hoping today would be the day he wants to make me feel special too.

That single "click" in my head then released a flood of memories. All the times I cried while we were together, begging him to see me. All the days I worked hard for him, cooking, cleaning, shopping, wondering if he would notice at all. All the dates I had suggested, but he couldn't be bothered with. All the walks I took Wren on, and wondered if he was right when he told me I wasn't a good mother to her. All the jealously I felt when he showed love to Wren, but barely spoke to me. All the mornings I had cleaned up his vomit after drinking too much, and figuring out a way to apologize to him for whatever it was that had set him off. All the Sundays spent in silence, wearing crappy clothes and watching dumb movies, wishing for more. All the empty smiles I showed him, hoping for one in return. The constant feeling of not being "enough".

Silently, I picked up the shoes and gently placed them in the trash.

I wore Converse sneakers to work the next day, rain boots on walks, and started working out barefooted. I now wear high heels when I go out with friends, Mary-Janes to church, and platform sandals to the beach. My art and sketchbooks are proudly on display. I smile brightly, and it's contagious. I don't hold myself back. Seeing those torn-up sneakers was the moment I decided that it was only I who could pick up the pieces of my life and put them back together, but also realized that I had allowed him to have that power over me. I understand that the heartbreak I felt will probably happen a couple more times in my life, but never again will I allow my spirit to be crushed.

I am so incredibly grateful for torn-up sneakers.