The Abandonment Story We Don’t Often Talk About
Whew, abandonment—what a heavy topic. It’s one of those experiences that can shape you so profoundly, yet remains quietly tucked away in the corners of your mind until something, or someone, brings it rushing back. For me, it started early. My dad never wanted kids, and he made sure my brother and I knew it. Not just through words—though he said it often enough—but through his actions. I can’t even recall a time he made eye contact with me, let alone played with me when I was a child. He was physically present, but emotionally absent. I started to accept his daily abandonment as normal, the status quo, even though it hurt more deeply than I could comprehend as a child.
Later two moments in high school—moments that should have been manageable—hit me so hard I could barely function. One was abandonment by a best friend, and the other by my first serious boyfriend. Both triggered the same pain, the same wound that my father had created long ago. It wasn’t just the momentary heartbreak; it was the reawakening of a deeper, older wound, one I didn’t even know was still bleeding.
That original abandonment had created a kind of “painbody” that followed me throughout my life, lying dormant but always ready to be triggered. And this year, that body was hit hard. My husband abandoned me at a critical moment, when I needed him most. I was devastated, shattered. It was that experience that forced me to make the difficult decision to leave. But the true weight of it didn’t fully hit me until the person I had leaned on to help me through with patient hugs and never-ending hot chocolates, my boyfriend (my ex-husband and I had an open relationship), abandoned me too. The loss was almost unbearable—a layered abandonment, one after another. It was as if the universe was forcing me to confront this wound in a way I hadn’t before.
But here’s the thing: these deep wounds, as painful as they are, also have a way of revealing something powerful. This year, amid all that pain, I found myself turning inward more than ever. I connected with something greater than myself—a unified consciousness, a safe space that has always been there. It’s a space that, at first, felt like a poor substitute for real connection, almost like a “sour grapes” defense mechanism against my loneliness. But now? Now I sit in it, content. I’ve discovered a new way of connecting, one that doesn’t depend on others.
Tonight, as I sit here alone on my ex’s night with my daughter, I feel surrounded by love. Not the kind of love that can be taken away or abandoned, but a love that’s always been with me. It’s the love I’ve cultivated through the practices at Pause + Purpose, where I can sit with others or simply be in a state of higher consciousness. This state of detachment, this ability to let go of the need for external validation, has allowed so much love in.
If you’re struggling with abandonment, with the wounds others have left on your heart, I encourage you to try this. Connect inward. Find that safe place within yourself. It’s not an escape or a consolation prize—it’s a deep, profound connection to something bigger, something that never abandons. At Pause + Purpose, we create spaces for this kind of healing, for sitting with yourself, with others, and with the unified love that’s always present. You don’t have to carry the weight of abandonment alone.
