How we Wound: Thoughts on Endings

The past year brought me to some of the most complex and sprawling heartache I’ve experienced, and one of the earliest pieces of advice I was given after the break-up came from a dear friend. She said to me,  “there is no pain quite like it.” And she was right. It is particular because there is often the possibility of choosing how a relationship ends. There is responsibility too.

Of course, mistakes happen. We are each a part of one another’s learning about being human—all of the beauty and pain that this implies. It took the better part of a year for the mishandling of the break-up to be addressed by my former partner. It did not happen as a result of his courage or commitment to acknowledge the harm done; it happened because of mine. I realize that grief is an inevitable part of losing a big love. And we, each of us, can influence how we wound. 

I’ve learned from the stories of many other women and femmes that years-long relationships ending over text messages, or through harsh phone calls is not entirely uncommon. What we all have in common is that we dated men who were socialized within remarkably limited expressions of masculinity. 

Like most of us, I grew up in an environment of both subtle and overt misogyny and misogynoir.[1] I also grew up really loving the 1999 movie, “10 Things I Hate About You,” which is relevant, I promise! In the prom scene of that movie (all YA classics have a prom scene), the band sings:

You've gotta be cruel to be kind, in the right measure

Cruel to be kind, it's a very good sign

Cruel to be kind, means that I love you, baby

You gotta be cruel to be kind…[2]

It’s such a good song. It’s such a toxic and not uncommon belief, that being cruel to someone will do the work of letting go for them. An act of service, perhaps? The not-so-surprising reality is that relationship “closure” likely makes healing more possible for all involved.  I don’t know how real I think “closure” is, which is why I keep putting it in quotations. But it helps me to imagine it as a mutual recognition of a relationship ending, where everyone involved is let into the process. That seems like a generative (and possible) way to end something meaningful. 

This past year, I began to wonder how many of us (inside and outside of heteronormativity) have told ourselves that a cruel ending was somehow the best or only option? What are the implications of this? And how does this manifest in Black relationships that are uniquely prone to deterioration when situated within the confines of binaries & colonial un-imagination? 

Now that I’m no longer a pre-teen, I can hear the message of a song like this more clearly. I’m curious about who we become if we never learn to acknowledge and care for the wounds we cause; if we continue to absorb the lie that we have to be “cruel to be kind.” Who do we become if we never learn that being responsible and accountable to one another can offer us an abundance of good & growth that we'd be hard pressed to find any other way? 

I’m deeply saddened by the decay of empathy that is the result of a lifetime of chosen-apathy towards women. And I’m concerned about how the emotional unwellness of some (not all!) men leaves many women (and others on the broad spectrum of humanity) carrying invisible wounds that might  never be acknowledged by the ones who caused the pain. 

I think that a fundamental part of addressing gendered oppression is acknowledging the ways it demands that someone’s well-treatment become secondary to upholding the comfort/power of another. And while I am only exploring relationship endings, this is a branch of the same tree that protects the perpetual violation of women. It all points to how normative it is for women to be transgressed and discarded. 

Folks who know me well know that my theology is pretty ordinary. It has a lot to do with believing our stories are written in the ways we recognize and care for the Divinity within one another, and this world. That actually seems kind of extraordinary to me. I was formed in the ways of patriarchy, and I am porous. I’ve undoubtedly absorbed (and perpetuated) misogyny and misogynoir in ways that I am aware of, and ways that I am not. I remain deconstructing alongside folks who invite me into accountability. It’s a process, and thankfully, it’s a progression. 

As it relates to my own break-up, I now know that having my pain acknowledged by my former partner after nearly a year of wading in an ocean of grief, was truly a rare occurrence. This does not happen often. And that is perhaps the biggest question to hold: why? Ultimately, the work of repair and remedy lies within the choices to perpetuate toxic and life-denying portrayals of masculinity. There are so very many other expressions of masculinity to be chosen. Beautiful ones, illustrating gentleness as strength! So much more possibility than this.

I do regret the ways that heteronormative relationship practices—those rooted in an unnamed, socially accepted contempt of women—have influenced and profoundly limited our collective imagination about how we can be in relationship with one another. I am endlessly inspired to witness folks who are shattering expectations of harm; folks normalizing vulnerability, creativity, and transparency. My God, it is glorious!

I know that no single person or community is doing this perfectly or entirely consistently, it matters that we make a habit of intentionality and care. I also know that acting more expansively in relationships—from beginning to end—would be transformative for us all. 

Author’s note: This reflection examines the ending of relationships that are not defined by intimate partner violence. 

Citations:

[1] Bailey, Moya, ‘They aren't talking about me …” published in Crunk Feminist Collective, March 14, 2010, http://www.crunkfeministcollective.com/2010/03/14/they-arent-talking-about-me/ (accessed August 31, 2022).

‘Misogynoir’ was defined by Moya Bailey as a “word made up to describe the particular brand of hatred directed at Black women in American visual & popular culture.” I use the term with great appreciation. I am not conflating misogyny with misogynoir. 

[2] Lowe, Nick. “Cruel to be Kind.” Track one. Labour of Lust. Written by Nick Lowe and Ian Gomm. June, 1979. Performed by the band Letters to Cleo in the 1999 film “10 Things I Hate About You.” I really do love this song! 

© Written by Courtney Ariel Bowden, September, 2022

Please do not duplicate without author’s permission.