I’m processing the end of a relationship, and some moments are better than others. It didn’t work out, but he’s a kind, gentle soul full of grace. That’s what attracted me to him the most. Just because it didn’t work out doesn’t change the fact that he’s a good man. He asked if it’s possible for us to have some sort of friendship.

I was trying hard not to cry at that moment so I said it’s too soon. I told him I didn’t know when I could be a friend to him. Because I didn’t want to put myself in a position of feeling sad or angsty every time we had an interaction. He was clearly over me, but I wasn’t over him. And I just didn’t know when that might be. I needed to make sure I was in a good place where such a genuine friendship would be good for me.

The grief process is not linear. It vacillates between sadness, despair, anger, hope, acceptance, denial, bargaining. Back and forth, each one coming and going at different times. It reminds me of a pinball machine–how the ball randomly hits at different points.

First I was sad because it was over. Then I was angry because he didn’t slow his roll from the second we met, until his roll stopped and he took his roll and went home. Yesterday I missed him because I cared about him. I’m trying not to attach any storylines to each emotion (such as “I miss him, but he’s already over me.” or “Ugh, it’s so hard for me to find someone I click with, and when I do, it hasn’t lasted.”). These storylines create the suffering. Suffering is optional. Sitting with the emotions is a very different experience. I can do that.

Then my frenemy Grace whispers to me. She tells me it’s time soon. I tell her no, it’s too painful still. And I don’t want to reach out to be friends if the intention is to keep ties with him in some desperate way. I don’t want to engage in the bargaining stage. She whispers to me that I know better than to make up such stories. She tells me I know this will help set me free too. She tells me I know this is the next right thing to do.

I used to think I was always right. My teenage son thinks he’s always right. Neither of us are. But Grace is always right. Today is the day I reach out and offer grace and mercy and true friendship. Because I need to act like the person I want to be. And I want to be a kind, gentle woman full of grace and mercy. I do not want to be an angry or despairing woman.

I know being friends with him would help him process as well, and when he first asked, I was filled with both indignation and anger. I wanted the lone spotlight, I was the one hurting, enough about you, what about me?? And in my anger I wanted to withhold grace and mercy if it would hurt him just a little. Why should I be the only one suffering here?

Grace reminds me I do not get to decide who is deserving of grace and mercy. Because we all deserve both. Grace reminds me I can do hard things; this is an opportunity to start to do things differently. Grace reminds me I’ve been mindful to surround myself with a tribe of kind, gracious people in my life, and isn’t he a kind, gracious soul? Grace reminds me I get what I get and I don’t get upset. Grace reminds me to trust in life unfolding as it does.

It’s easy to offer grace to pleasant people, it’s easy to offer grace in positive times, it’s easy to offer grace when everyone’s happy. It’s the hard work of life that offers opportunities to practice offering grace when you least want to offer it, when you’re feeling stingy about grace. The times when you don’t want to embrace and offer grace is precisely when you need to.

My heart tells me it might be too soon. My soul tells me today is the day. Grace is kind and reminds me I can grieve and simultaneously do the next right thing, and by doing so, it’s transformative. I’m learning that offering grace is always the next right thing.

“I do not understand the mystery of grace — only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.”― Anne Lamott