I ended the night on a good note: licking the remains of raw chocolate macaroons from my fingers. It was a pretty good recovery from a crying spell on my chiropractor's table earlier in the evening.

He'd explained that sometimes in this type of spinal work, emotions come up, and that it's normal and acceptable to emote in whatever ways feel right. But I, of course, decided I wasn't going to be a crier.

Rev D's joke comes to mind: Wanna make God laugh? Tell It your plans.

At the end of my treatment, as he always does, my chiropractor said, "Take a few moments and sit up." I took longer than normal, because I didn't want him to see me crying. But I couldn't stay there forever, so eventually I pushed myself up, and as I faced the wall to my left, I knew I wasn't done crying. When he noticed my eyes, I saw his face soften with compassion, and he asked, "Did something come up?" Yeah. Fear. Fear that no one will ever love me. The same stupid, ridiculous fear that even I am tired of thinking. I can only imagine, beloved readers, how bored of it you all are. Indulge me please, if you can, it's simply where I am at.

I didn't answer his question, but a few defiant tears spilled out before I could stop them. He reaffirmed that this is normal. I told him I didn't like crying in front of people. "Wow," he replied with such softness his words were velvety, "doesn't that take a lot of energy to hold it all in?" Oh my God, yes, it does. "Ian, that's not helping me here," I sort of laughed, and cried some more.

The thing is, most of the time I find my desire to appear fierce and happy, or fiercely happy, much more compelling than my need to let the pain escape as tears.

So, Jose has decided he's not feeling it anymore. This definitely bummed me out. He's a wonderful man and I have so enjoyed his company this past month. He's reminded me that there are sweet, kind men out there who are able to care for a woman in a way that is all about respect and adoration. I was seriously beginning to doubt that. I'm grateful he chose honesty now, before we made love, before I got any more enamored, before I engaged in too much imaginary "life with Jose" planning. I feel deeply honored by him and I see how he did this because he fully understands I deserve what I am looking for, and that he can't offer that. That is so much more respect than John or the man before John could muster for me; they waited three and six months respectively, and neither wouldn't have ended it at all had I not gotten tired of waiting and ended it myself. Jose did a hard, good thing in telling me his feelings had changed, even if it wasn't what I would have hoped for.

Today, my little emotional outburst waited patiently for almost all of the 24 hours or so since Jose delivered the news before consuming me. That's good progress for me. Typically I'm right in the thick of the same old, tired story: Since no man ever has found it possible to love me (romantically) for good, it can only mean: 1. I did, or, more worrying, I am, something wrong, 2. I will probably never get to experience the things I want most in the world: partnership with a loving person and parenthood.

This time, I weathered his leaving well, even with his irresistible long, dark hair swinging and a soft kiss lingering on my skin. I fell asleep fairly quickly and tearlessly, I woke without engaging it. I had breakfast with Thomas and we spent most of the time talking about Thomas' life. I went to yoga, had a date with my nieces, and later dinner with them and their parents. Even when my sister in law remarked that she supposes most people think the girls are mine because they look so much like me. A drop sensation flooded my insides as I thought, So many women my age are parents of 6 and 3 year olds. Just not me, and now I'm even farther from being a mom than I was just yesterday. Even then (even then!), I didn't hook into the self-pity. I really didn't lament this shift away from love with Jose much all day. I'd think of him, my body would give it emotional charge, I let it run through and quickly reminded myself I am grateful for his honesty. So, truly, I'm making progress.

But the fear was waiting for me on my chiropractor's table, despite my fine work processing most of the day. A tenant I can't evict.

As I wrote the preceding sentence, intuition planted a three words in my head: Rumi, sorrows, and welcome. I googled them and here's the answer:

Guest House
by Rumi

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

So, fear, do come in. I am willing to receive your guidance, and permit you to clear me out for some new delight. Yet, I will entertain you only as long as it takes for me to learn from you, and then I'll kindly ask you to leave.