subject line: how I got over you. Volume 5. September 11, 2015 by Hannah Brencher I was reading through the emails. Same as I do every day, nearly. Scrolling through the countless stories that break my heart and somehow make me feel like I’m not so alone, all at the same time. And then I saw it. The big, bold letters. The big, bold question. How did you get over it?And isn’t that the question that we all want a nice, pretty answer to? Isn’t that what consumes some of us, day in, day out, forever? Isn’t it the question that ripped me to shreds for three years, waiting for one day, someday, when I would wake up and magically not want to cry my eyes out as soon as they opened? I just couldn’t understand how it took one week for me to realize that I had never seen anything like you. Like us. Like the way we were together. One week of magic, two months of really believing you loved me, and then three years of hell after you decided that your life would be dedicated to making me small. Every word, every look, every cruel, cutting time you put me down in front of all our friends. I would go home and cry myself to sleep every night wondering what I possibly could have done to make you go from loving me to hating me with such total and final ferocity.Fast forward a few years, and I realized that it wasn’t anything I had done. I just don’t really think you ever loved me to begin with. I was easily manipulated. I was desperate for love. The reason you made me small for three years is because I let you. I was an easy target, and you knew it. Sometimes I want to blame you fully for what happened, but Chbosky was right. We accept the love we think we deserve. And that’s on me. The way that I constantly told myself I was worth nothing. The truth is, every horrible thing you ever told to me was something I had already told to myself.But I digress. Back to that big question: How did I get over him?Some would say that time does not heal all wounds. They would be right, but it sure helps. With time comes growing up, and with growing up comes realizing that the world is a lot bigger than you once may have imagined.I found a boy who loves me, too. A boy with the most beautiful green eyes. Not that he is the reason I got over you, but he helped me realize that not every man wanted to belittle and manipulate me into what they wanted. Before Green Eyes, I decided quite rashly that all men were the same as you, and I would never trust one again. That, my friends, is the foolish talk that comes from being young and having a broken heart. No one person is the same as the next, ever. Remember that, and have grace.So now we come to the defining moment. The moment I look back on as “the time I got over you.” I was tired of loving Green Eyes so completely, but still being hung up on you. I was tired of projecting all our relationship problems onto my new relationship. So there I was, 2 a.m., and I knew the time had come. I wrote you a letter. Some of it was loving, some of it was hateful, I’ll admit. All of it practically bled off the page with a pain that was palpable. I wrote the letter, and I decided that enough was enough. I deleted your number. I unfriended you on Facebook. I went to the tattoo parlor the next day and had the word “enough” tattooed across my wrist. Partly to remind me that I. am. enough. Not because of what anyone says or thinks about me, but because I am imbued with a value from a Creator who made me enough at the start. I know some of you don’t believe that, but at the core of who I am is Jesus and trying, desperately, to believe that everything He says about me is true. The other part of that tattoo reminded me that 3 years was enough of feeling sorry for myself. It was enough of crying over a boy who didn’t ever spend one night laying awake and crying over me. Enough of letting the past dictate how I treated my future. I burned the letter the next day. Washing myself clean of you. Saying goodbye.It was hard. It is hard. There are still days when I look down at my wrist and don’t believe that I am enough. There are still nights when I cry. But you don’t have a hold on me anymore. You don’t get to dictate how I live my life anymore. You don’t get to decide the way I think about myself anymore.You came home to visit the other day, and I walked right past you when you said hello.You no longer have any power over me.I felt freaking free.