29. Awaiting With Bated Breath
Man, healing is hard. There’s nothing quite like grieving someone who is still alive. You ever heard that? Grieving someone who is still alive. Grieving someone who’s still breathing and probably eating snacks somewhere and laughing with friends. Talk about a sucker punch to the gut. I mean, geez, what a staunch statement. And yet here I am living it out! I’m grieving C.
Last I talked about him, I was doing really well. And I was. But now, I’m back in a bit of a funk. I’m back in a low. Healing isn’t linear, remember? Just when I thought I was making progress, BAM, I fall into a valley. Welcome to the roller coaster of a lifetime!!! It’s hard.
I’ve been doing some reflecting on C, the relationship, and the potential reasons for why I am still so stuck. Why I can’t just “move on,” even though I know we aren’t together anymore. It’s not just that I miss him, though I do. I miss the way he made space for my emotions, the way he read me so intuitively, the way he asked hard questions and stayed to hear the answers. I miss how safe I felt emotionally and physically around him. I miss feeling known.
I remember how I would tell C that I was “awaiting with bated breath” for him. It usually meant I was excited to see him soon but had to suffer through some wait time first. It was such a hopeful phrase back then, you know? Full of anticipation and promise. That feeling of excitement for him to come, for me to see him, and maybe, just maybe for us to become.
But now, in this grief, that phrase feels heavier. The breath I hold is heavier, the waiting longer, and the silence louder. I miss what we didn’t get the chance to grow into.
I miss the parts of myself I never got to fully share: the goofy, carefree version that never quite emerged because I was so focused on being mature, sophisticated, and “worthy” (whatever that means). I miss the spiritual depth I hoped we’d build together. I miss the little rituals we never got to form, the inside jokes we never created, the quiet mornings we never shared.
I miss him.
But I’m also grieving the possibility of him—the version of us that might have existed if we’d had more time. If only we’d had more time… Then things would be different, right? Right?! *Sigh* Sometimes I get stuck in the land of “what ifs”. What if we had more time? What if I made more of an effort to be my truest self with him? What if he actually allowed himself to feel things? What if he just enjoyed being in a relationship with me? What if he stopped overthinking everything? What if he tried harder to pursue me? What if I held him to higher expectations and raised the bar? What if I made it so that he had to actually TRY, instead of being the perfect person I thought I knew he needed? What if? It’s a dangerous game to play, my friends.
But here’s what I’m learning: sometimes healing means sitting with those what-ifs and those pains without needing to fix or answer them. It means giving myself grace to feel lost, confused, angry, or sad and knowing that those feelings don’t define my future. It means trusting that God’s story for me is still unfolding, and His plan is better than any “what if” I can imagine.
Now, the phrase “awaiting with bated breath” takes on a new meaning for me in this season. Instead of awaiting anxiously for a relationship or a person, I’m learning to await God’s timing with hope and trust. To hold my breath in awe and expectation of His faithfulness rather than in fear or longing. To breathe in the peace that surpasses understanding, even when the future feels uncertain. I'm trying to learn how to lean into this new kind of waiting with open hands, a hopeful heart, and a faith that believes better things are coming. Because healing isn’t about forgetting or rushing forward. It’s about walking step by step through the valley, knowing the light is ahead— even when I can’t see it yet.
Because maybe the healing isn't in the answer...
Maybe it's in the breath I finally exhale.
- Cheesecake
