I Never Saw that You Loved Me

I really love Halsey. Josh introduced me to her via a roundabout way that included Bishop Briggs and Amazon Music’s stations – and she grew on me slowly, because typically pop music about someone’s bad romantic choices is not my jam. But the more I listen to what she has to say, the more affected I am.

There’s a song called Sorry that I thought I understood. What I heard spoke to some of the broken ways I’ve approached relationships – and then I listened and…I realized it spoke to some of the deeper broken ways I’ve approached relationships.

It’s okay. You don’t have to love me. My fault, seems legit.

So I’m sorry, to my unknown lover, sorry that I can’t believe
anybody ever really, starts to fall in love with me.

This was the first part I heard. My default when I’m scared in a relationship is to retreat – shields up, and hide. In the past, that included looking for reasons that I should retreat – clues that I was about to be hurt, “proof” that the other person didn’t really want me around. And the clues and the proof that I found were always easier to accept if I believed that whatever I found was my fault.

This…well, it some kinda’ worked. It certainly kept me from being hurt – by anyone other than myself. It also made me blind to people truly caring about me, because all I ever saw were the “early warning signs” that the relationship was going to end.

It’s fine that you’re gone. I’m not hurt. Also, it’s still my fault.

I’ve missed your calls for months it seems.
Don’t realize how mean I can be
’cause I can sometimes treat the people that I love like jewelry.
I can change my mind each day.
I didn’t mean to try you on, but I still know your birthday and your mother’s favorite song.

And then I heard these words. And I noticed that she was lying to herself, because if she remembers their birthday and their mother’s favorite song, there’s no way that she actually changed her mind about them. But…again. Blame. “I was mean, I discarded you. It’s my fault you left. I accept that.”

And I know you’ll be happier with someone else.

Someone will love you, someone will love you.
Someone will love you, but someone isn’t me.

…Yep.

But really…I just…didn’t know.

I run away when things are good, and never really understood
the way you laid your eyes on me in ways that no one ever could.
And so it seems I broke your heart, my ignorance has struck again.
I failed to see it from the start, and tore you open ’til the end.

Why explain this? Good question.

When Josh told me that I should explain what I learned about this song, I sort of painfully asked him why on Earth I would ever do that. We’re pretty open about our souls here, but…this is deep damage. And it isn’t fully healed damage, and…actually I hate that I do it.

I also just…don’t have any stellar advice on how to not do it. I started to learn how to not do it on accident, because of a relationship that was more important to me than the sense of self-protection that came from running away. Since then, I’ve fought through multiple layers of this thing. At every layer, it comes down to deciding which is more important – the relationship or feeling (falsely) safe. I keep choosing the relationship.

The only way I know of to do that, to choose the relationship in the face of a lot of fear and the instinct to run and hide, is via trust – trust the other person and trust God. With trust, I can believe that the people I’m in relationships with love me and will stick around through all of the pain and confusion and…eventual wonder and joy of “figuring it out.” With trust, I can know that if they don’t stick around, God will take care of me – so the risk of them leaving is not enough of a reason to close myself off from people or run away.

But…this isn’t new information or helpful clarification or a good how-to. The answer to most soul damage seems to be trust. And I did not want to talk about it.

And then Josh, in a tricky bit of wisdom, asked me why understanding the song mattered so much to me. And…it mattered because it put words to my broken. It described it, accurately. The existence of words that described my broken told me that I’m not alone in it – and that I’m not alone in being blind to people caring about me. I’ve ruined relationships by retreating when I get scared, and that weighs on me. It scares me that I might do the same thing with the relationships that are so important to me now.

The existence of words that described my broken told me that I’m not alone in it.

I said that my new understanding of the song explained what I’m afraid could happen when I run away.  When I run,  it feels like no one follows me. And…really, it isn’t up to them to follow, it’s up to me not to run – which I do manage to figure out. Eventually. But…I worry that before I can figure it out, I will run too far. And, having run too far, it will take too long to find my way back, or I won’t be able to find my way back – and that if I manage to get back, by the time I get there, no one will be left waiting for me.

So…ultimately, I think I’m explaining this because hearing the words and knowing I wasn’t alone helped me get past another layer of this broken thing I do. It helped me identify it the next time I did it, and because I understood what I was doing, I knew that trust was the answer – even in the midst of sheer panic.

Sometimes seeing our broken, having the words to accurately describe it, is one of the most important ways to heal. And the words in this song helped me see this jagged stabby place in my soul clearly enough to be aware of when I was inclined to run. And it helped me remind myself to trust instead of run – and it helped make it easier for me to stay.