The Well

Dear One,

Today is my anniversary to a man I fell in love with when we were very different people — when I was a very different woman. And don’t get me wrong, I’ve learned and grown so much in the last four years. I’ve had experiences where I’ve felt more loved and cherished than ever before, and so many others that made me question myself. I’ve asked questions about whether I am fundamentally good, whether I am evolving into my mother, or whether I am destined to have a broken relationship like my parents. When I close my eyes to look back and see the man I love and the little family we’ve created for ourselves, I do see something beautiful — don’t get me wrong. Yet the beauty has been marred by pain, dulled by confusion, and ultimately left me wondering if this is the picture I wish to observe for the rest of my life.

My man is wonderful in so many ways. He has this bone-deep empathy to him that I’ve truly never encountered before. He is a wellspring of care and compassion. But no well is endless, and in the last year, I’ve felt myself scraping against the bottom. I look up to see light pouring over the lip, filling my soul with hope. But as my eyes retreat to the walls surrounding, noticing the deepening shadows, I contemplate how I will ever climb up to the top of the well.

I have watched the well recede deeper and deeper into the ground these years. Indeed, even as its contents has supplied me, nourished me, as I floated atop its serene waters, I felt the decline. With each conflict, I felt it.

Furthermore, the well water no longer tastes the same. The flavor is duller now, indeed, sometimes even rancid. Most of the time, its just the lack of sweetness I notice, but sometimes, it is bad enough I have to spit it out. Other times, it turns sour in my stomach, leaving me heaving and retching. When this happens, I feel so betrayed. Not what I signed up for, I yell from the pits of the well.

I yell many things from the pits of this well. Most things I never thought I would say. All things I never want to hear leave my lips again. But the well gets so dark and lonely and cold. One time I went silent, just long enough to ascend to where the shadows recede and the light touches my face. But indeed, it was a difficult climb. I ignored the pain and clutched to the stone as long as I could, convinced that if I just held on a little longer, climbed a little higher, I could reach the top. But it was too difficult. The pain of holding myself up, fighting against gravity, too great a burden. So I fell. Though I didn’t want to fall — I wanted to climb. But no one can defeat gravity. Nature takes us all in the end.

Now plummeted to the damp earth, I laid on my back and let the darkness pull me down, my weight now deepening the bottom of the well. For how long I laid, I do not know. I have accepted the darkness for the most part, making myself a home here within the earth. Sometimes I hear people above, trying to instruct me as to how to climb back up, how to save myself. But no matter how closely I follow their instructions, I can never make it to the top. The more I attempt it, the more I injure myself.

Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I took a different path back to the surface. What if I dug sideways instead? It seems it would be a great deal more challenging, but perhaps it would be easier to pave my own path than wait for the water to rise again. I have not decided what my next steps will be. Maybe everyone lives at the bottom of a well, and only a select few are chosen for the top. Maybe I should’ve stayed at the top for longer while I was there. Maybe there were other wells that have a steadier rhythm.

These thoughts wring the breath from me, so I put them aside. I focus on this well, on the rays of sunshine I catch when the sun is directly overhead. Perhaps I am cruel and naive for wanting anything more than this. Perhaps I don’t actually need anything more than this…