Here

Here

1

Is It Me?

If I was going to call off my wedding, I needed to do it pronto. Hefty deposits for the live band and photographers were paid. My designer dress was being tailored. Out-of-state friends and relatives were booking their plane tickets. And here I was, shaking with fear.

In the months before the wedding day, I was noticing, with magnified clarity, James’s character flaws. Before, I was able to brush them aside; looking back, how generous that was of me, because now those foibles were five-alarm deal-breakers. Talking about these red flags only made it worse. It didn’t matter that I brought it up as delicately as possible, because it made him defensive, which made me double down, spiraling us into long, extended arguments.

Finally, I called one of my best friends and bridesmaids, Hanna, who suggested I take a retreat to her place to get some space and perspective. She lived just an hour away from me, near the beach. And since she worked on-site during the workweek and her husband was visiting his family in the Midwest, her home was mostly vacant. “Yes!” I said before she finished inviting me. That’s exactly what I needed.

Her apartment became my little haven for three days. I did yoga poses and took baths infused with Epsom salts and aromatherapy oils. If my body relaxed, maybe it’d give my mind a solution. I also bought a pretty journal and tried to prompt myself into discovering an answer. To change up the scenery, I drove to the beach several times a day to walk on the sand or stare at the waves.

In spite of my rigorous self-care regimen, my mind frantically flip-flopped as it logged pros and cons. I loved James, but he was also the cause of my pain. He often hurt me with the blunt way he communicated. Like if I cooked a dish differently than he did, he said, “You’re doing it all wrong” without a hint of humor or warmth in his tone. He also wasn’t verbally demonstrative, like me and the rest of my friends and family. Initially, it was mysterious and attractive. Not anymore! That was just the start of my cons list. I didn’t feel like I could connect with him on a deep, emotional level, the level I longed to connect on with those closest to me. Some of my friends assured me that we balanced each other out well. Others cautioned that I’d be left emotionally parched. Which voices were correct?

On the third day, I walked along the shores, lost in thought. There was a light breeze and the midmorning sun enveloped me. The waves rhythmically rolled over my bare feet. And for a moment, my mind’s chatter ceased. In this brief opening of mental space, I heard words that were of a different nature than my own.

You can trust yourself.

The words were simple yet searing and I stood still to bask in their meaning.

“Yes, yes,” I said, slowly nodding in comprehension, “I can trust myself.” I repeated the words aloud to let them sink in.

There was no one right choice. I could marry him or not, as I—not the guy I married—was solely responsible for my happiness. All this time, I had decision paralysis because I assumed there was a “right person” for me, someone who met all of my needs and helped me become the best version of myself. Marrying the “wrong person” meant I was doomed to endure a life of dissatisfaction and regret.

The truth—which most people don’t know, which is why nobody told me—is that I could marry almost anyone and create a wonderful life. I, and nobody else, had the ability to do that.

I could trust myself.

When Hanna came back to the apartment after work that day, she took one look at me and said, “Whoa.” My face was no longer strained but gleaming.

“I’m going to marry him,” I told her. “I love him. I like him, even! I like being with him. Most importantly, I realized that I’m the only one who holds the key to my fulfillment and happiness.”

She smiled. “All right, let’s get you married.”

Back at home, James was thrilled by my epiphany. Not just because I was now confident in my decision to marry him, but also because I took the responsibility of making me happy off his shoulders. I had no idea what a burden it was for him until I noticed a marked shift in how he interacted with me afterward. He was now free to be the best version of himself rather than the version he thought I wanted.

Toxicity

There’s a word that’s become culturally normal to use in discussions about relational conflicts. That word is used in contexts like these: I need to end that relationship because “that person is toxic,” or I need to leave my job because “that environment is toxic.” We might say it over a cup of coffee with a friend or during a session with a therapist when describing the latest gridlock conflict we’ve run into.

In most cases, friends and even therapists are complicit in the use of this word, which cements our belief that there are clear roles in these situations: a perpetrator and a victim. Almost always, we cast ourselves as the victim. And clear-cut designations serve as permission slips to leave that person or environment.

So, we leave. At the start, the distance feels liberating. We congratulate ourselves for having the courage to take action and protect ourselves. As time passes, though, what usually ends up happening is that we encounter another person or environment that stirs up a similar dynamic. The next thing we know, we find ourselves repeating this pattern.

How does this cycle keep happening? Conflicts occur only when a difficult emotion is evoked within us. And when we distance ourselves from the triggering person or event, we never really deal with the true source of our pain, which is within ourselves. Excusing ourselves from a relationship that causes internal discomfort also excuses the need to examine that internal discomfort further. William of St. Thierry, a twelfth-century Benedictine monk, wrote this to remind his fellow Benedictines of how the vow of stability directed them to the sole person responsible for their well-being:

For it is impossible for a man faithfully to fix his soul upon one thing who has not first perseveringly attached his body to one place. To try to escape ill-health of the soul by moving from place to place is like flying from one’s own shadow. Such a man as he flies from himself carries himself with him. He changes his place, but not his soul. He finds himself the same everywhere he is, except that the constant movement itself makes him worse, just as a sick man is harmed by jolting when he is carried about.1

For many years, I used the word toxic liberally.

As a church pastor, I often used it to describe people who seemed to enjoy creating conflicts and rifts within the congregation. I once complained to my executive coach about a congregant whom I held responsible for causing most of the friction in our committee meetings.

“Why does his behavior bother you so much?” she inquired mildly after I finished venting. “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked, unnerved by her response. But her innocent question made me realize that this congregant’s actions could be interpreted in multiple ways. I was projecting malicious intent onto him. My coach, however, interpreted his behaviors differently. In her view, his incessant questions and counterarguments were simply how he processed new information. Her perspective helped me approach this congregant and others like him with greater compassion and understanding.

Defining someone or something as “toxic” sets up a false dichotomy. Toxic, bad, evil—these words automatically label individuals or situations too simplistically and leave no room for nuanced perspectives. There are very few truly evil people on this planet. Most people are like you and me, a mix of stellar qualities and blind spots, all trying to do our best in this messy and beautiful world.

Without question, there are some people whose actions are more severe and harmful than others. A congregant shared with me that she was sexually assaulted by her uncle at a family gathering when she was seven years old. A dear friend of mine regularly experienced panic attacks because of a verbally abusive supervisor. He once told her to work remotely because he couldn’t stand to see her “fat body.” These kinds of abusive situations and relationships abound, and no amount of reinterpreting behaviors or digging into motivations excuse their existence or otherwise make them acceptable. It’s important to name and address behaviors that cause real harm. But even in those situations, we can’t wait or depend on those who harmed us to heal our wounds. It’s up to us to find healing.