People seem to act surprised when someone they love hurts them. “But I thought they loved me. How could they do this?” To which I say, “Duh.” Really, it’s no surprise at all, nor should it ever be. It’s no surprise, because the only people who can hurt you are the ones you truly love. Who else did you rip open a piece of your heart for to allow in for permanent, painful residency? Who else did you give a front row seat to your most sacred vulnerabilities? Who else did you show over and over again, even to your own detriment, how much they mattered to you? Then who else, I ask, has the capacity to bludgeon your heart for a moment or two?
No one, I tell you. No one.
But that is not what really matters. It doesn’t matter, because every human will eventually fall short of their own standard to never hurt the ones they love. So putting it aside that it happens – because it will – the only thing that truly matters is what happens immediately after. If after the knock-down, drag-out conversation of “I-can’t-believe-you-thought/said/did-that-thing-to-me-I-hate” you can look at the other person and think, “I love you still,” things are probably about as right as they can possibly be.