I’m so done with being comforted

At what point do folks realize that their commiseration and information is no longer helpful? When do they take a step back and say to themselves: “Hey, by telling her what a lying, cheating, no -good guy he is; I’m constantly reminding her what a naive fool she’s been for years.”

Lately, I’ve been inundated with such helpful interactions upon hearing we’ve separated. I mean the “I’m so sorry I’ve known for a while he was cheating on you but didn’t think it was my place to tell you” type. They just jump right to it, without even asking if I had known before we split. They assume that’s why.

Folks seem to come out of the woodwork when there’s tragedy afoot. I guess it’s like a car wreck you can’t help but slow down and crane your neck to see. Only I seem to be the car wreck.

I’m so done with it. Yes. I know I was a naive fool. I know I forgave far too much for far too long. I know I should have seen the signs for years. I blindfolded myself to the evidence. I own that.

But I don’t need to hear about the affairs I was blissfully ignorant of, thank you. The two I did know about were hard enough to swallow.

It becomes hard to move on; move forward, when I feel continuously dragged back into a humiliating past.

What can one say, politely, to disengage from those tell-all anecdotes? Rather than offend these “do-gooders” who are only trying to ease their conscience, I plaster my best “this doesn’t bother me” smile on my face and try to say the kids and I are doing fine. We’re coping and looking forward to starting a new chapter. Most can’t seem to take the hint: Shut up!

But the truth is: it stings. Like a nest of wasps. And I need a salve to reduce the swelling.

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