33. Chapter 33 Healing & Feeling
Jenna: April
The last few months without Dylan, I clung to Izzy’s advice like my life depended on it.
Stay busy. Focus on my business. Do the work in therapy for myself and with Jacob.
But sometimes, it feels like I’m the only one trying.
Jacob barely participates, or he’s too busy twisting the truth to hear anything. Still, at least he shows up.
Jenna’s Dream Events is growing—websites, social media, bookings. Everything’s falling into place, and it gave me the confidence to finally quit my job without any drama. Some new girl replaced my position like I was never there.
I should be proud of everything I’ve done.
And mostly, I am. But sometimes I wonder if I’m just distracting myself from everything else.
In therapy, there are no distractions. Every session forces me to confront things I thought I’d buried, about my father, Ryan’s abuse, even the way I lose myself in people who claim to love me.
I squirm uncomfortably on Jane’s couch, squeezing the ‘fuck it stress ball’ she has in her office, struggling to make sense of my tangled thoughts.
“Jenna,” she says softly. “Talk to me.”
I freeze. I hate this part. The silence and the unbearable pause where she waits for me to speak. But I feel like I might shatter. And I’m not ready to talk about Dylan. Not yet. Not when he isn’t a part of my life anymore.
Funny, isn't it? How someone can be your whole world one day. Then nothing the next, like they never existed.
Finally, I release a breath. “I’m tired. Tired of this broken roller coaster I’ve been riding for twenty fucking years,” I admit, the words escaping rawer than intended. “My life looks perfect on the outside. But inside? I’m barely holding on.”
Jane’s voice remains steady. “Tell me more about this roller coaster, so you don’t have to ride it alone.”
I give a hollow laugh. “Where do I start? The nightmares? The affair? The feeling of never being good enough? Letting Ryan destroy me over and over? Or Jacob forgetting I exist? Take your pick,” I say, squeezing the stress ball that does zero for my stress.
“It’s like I’m still that broken girl, trying to survive. And I let her down. I let me down.”
Jane puts her notepad down and leans in. “Jenna, listen. You’re allowed to feel whatever you need to feel. There’s no right or wrong way to heal. And you’re not broken, even if that’s how you feel right now. You’re here. You’re doing the work. That’s what matters.”
Tears pour down my cheeks. Relentless. Uncontrollable. “I just want it to stop,” I choke out. “The dreams. The guilt. The pain. Can you make it go away?”
Jane passes me a tissue, her eyes on mine.
“We’ll work through this together, side by side.
But it starts with letting the feelings in—all of them.
The pain. The anger. The sadness. You’ve been pushing it down for so long.
But now maybe it’s time to let it out and make space for something new.
Remember, feelings are temporary. You don’t have to stay in them forever. ”
I hesitate, then the words just flow. “I was so young when I met Ryan. He said he loved me, that no one else ever would. He told me about his awful childhood. Then came the manipulation. ‘You’re only good for sex. If you leave me, I’ll kill myself.
’ I believed him. Every word. He broke me, Jane, and I hate that I let him. ”
Jane’s voice remains calm and firm. “No one chooses to date an abuser. Abuse happens slowly. It’s not about weakness, it’s about control. And it’s never your fault.”
I wipe my tears, my hands trembling. “But I believed him. Every horrible thing he said. I blamed myself for staying. For not being strong enough. I hated myself so much that I stopped believing in God. In anything. Especially myself.
Jane leans closer. “And yet, here you are. Doing the work. That takes strength even if you might not see it.”
“Am I healing?” I whisper. “Because it’s like I’m still grieving the years I lost. My teenage years were stolen.
I battled depression. Anxiety. I gave up on my dreams, my friendships, my identity.
I became two versions of myself. The one living through pain, and the one trying to escape it.
Now, I’m forty years old and I still don’t even know who the hell I am. ”
“Why do you think you have to choose?” she asks softly. “You can be both scared and brave. A mess and put together. Happy and sad. Healing isn’t a straight road with some perfect finish line.”
Her words sink in and hit me somewhere deep.
“What do you want, Jenna?” she murmurs.
Frustration bubbles up again. “I don’t know. I just want the sadness to stop. I’m sad about Ryan. Sad about my marriage. Sad about Jacob. Sad that I can’t stop wanting Dylan. Tired of feeling like I’m never enough. Not for them. Not for my kids. Not even for myself.”
I shake my head. “I thought Jacob, this life we built, would fix everything. But it didn’t. After Ryan, I jumped straight into Jacob’s arms. And then into Dylan’s.”
Jane’s expression softens with understanding. “Maybe chaos is what feels familiar,” she says gently. “Because sometimes it’s easier to stay in what you know, even when it hurts. And peace can feel strange. Like something you don’t deserve.”
Fuck, that makes sense.
“On some level, subconsciously, you’ve been trying to heal past wounds. That could be why it feels like you’re repeating the same patterns with different men.”
She wasn’t wrong. My father left me. Ryan replaced him, only to break me even more. Jacob rescued me from Ryan’s wreckage, but he leaves me lonely, grasping for breadcrumbs. And Dylan showed me love in a way I never knew was possible. But he couldn’t commit.
The truth crashes into me. All these years, I’ve been waiting to find wholeness. Clinging to men like they held the missing pieces. But the only person who could save me and make me whole—was me.
“It sounds like Jacob helped you leave an abusive partner, and your relationship with Jacob was built on safety. But safety doesn’t always translate to love.”
The pressure in my chest builds. “I think I’ve been creating chaos because it makes me feel alive,” I admit. “And less broken. But I don’t want that anymore. I want peace, Jane. I need it. Even if the path to peace means making hard decisions and walking through hell.”
“What does walking through hell look like for you?”
“Breaking my daughters’ hearts.” My voice cracks. “They’re my everything. I don’t know if… if I’m strong enough.”
“What will staying teach them, if they see you unhappy? If they grow up believing that love means sacrifice and silence. What do you think they’ll carry into their own lives?” she asks knowingly. “What would you tell them if they were in your shoes?”
God, why does this all hurt so much? I want to shut down and quit. But their sweet faces flash through my mind.
“I’d tell them to choose themselves,” I say, the weight of my words sinking in my chest. “To do the hard thing, even if it hurts like hell. But it’s different when it’s your own life. When you feel paralyzed by the impossible decision to stay or go. When leaving feels just as hard as staying.”
Jane’s voice remains steady. “Maybe this isn’t about staying or leaving. Maybe it’s about the life you want to show them. What kind of woman do you want them to see when they look at you?”
I force a laugh. “You must think I’m horrible.”
“Nothing you’ve shared makes you a horrible person. You’re human, Jenna. Just trying to figure it all out like the rest of us. But you will get through this.”
I try to believe her and let it all in. The pain, fear, vulnerability, even a glimmer of hope.
Later that day, I needed a break from inner turmoil. So I called the one person who could lighten things up. Izzy. Jacob’s at some work promotion party while the kids are fast asleep upstairs.
She comes straight over and makes herself at home, slouched on my couch with a glass of wine she poured herself.
“So, guess what?” I begin, sinking into the couch with her. “My therapist wants me to try meditation again.”
Izzy’s head jerks up. “Wait. Hold up. Did you just start a sentence with ‘My therapist told me'? Jenna Anderson-Carter, is that growth I’m hearing? Meditating? Sharing your feeeeeelings? Who are you, and what the hell have you done with my emotionally constipated best friend? And I’m not going to say I told you so, but I told you this months ago.
I roll my eyes, laughing. “Relax, it’s not that deep, and definitely not glamorous. I sat there for seven torturous minutes while my brain opened every tab imaginable.”
Izzy snorts, nearly spilling her wine. “Oh, honey, your brain staying quiet longer than a millisecond? Impossible.” She nudges me. “But I’m proud of you. It’s about time you finally open up to someone other than me.”
I smirk, reaching for my own glass. “Thanks! Seriously, it’s hard turning my thoughts into words, not only to a stranger but to myself. Sometimes it’s as if my brain speaks a foreign language.” I laugh and point to Izzy, declaring, “It’s way easier to talk to you!”
Izzy smiles. “Well, I’m probably the worst person to take relationship advice from. But if you need sex advice? I’ve got you covered.”
“Okay, last night I was in a cowgirl position,” I say quietly. “When there was this, like, POP….”
Izzy’s eyes widen in excitement. “Do tell! I haven’t heard anything pop besides wine bottles in at least a week.”
“Focus, Izzy. I’m kidding. Therapy conversation, remember?” I throw a pillow at her.
“Sorry, please go on. But if anything popped, you would tell me, right?” she says, grinning with her gorgeous smile.
“Yes, of course,” I hesitate, and then let more words spill out. “Jane basically said I’ll never figure out if I should stay or go until I figure out who I am and focus on myself. Because if I don’t know who I am, how the hell will I know what I want?”