Don't cry for me Argentina

The casual cruelty of actions not matching words + the difference between being wanted and valued

Would you reject the moon, the stars, and the sun if they were offered to you? I didn’t. Every doubt I’d had was met with a bold promise and counterpoint. You made promises you never intended to keep, then made me think it was my fault.

So in the end, it wasn’t just the dissolution that left a mark — it was the casual cruelty of the words not matching the actions, the lack of accountability, and the emotional immaturity of a sunglasses selfie taken in the back of the van moments before our last conversation.

If this is making no sense to you, it didn’t make sense to me either. But where do the words go when they have nowhere else to go: when you’ve sent a letter and written a couple of others you didn’t send to process and talked it through with friends, and your mom, and in therapy? They go in a newsletter, apparently.

I’ve recently learned that if you don’t express your anger, you internalize it, turn it towards yourself, and run the risk of it manifesting as depression and even autoimmune conditions. So that’s one big reason to say what’s on your mind. But another is to free yourself from it; if you don’t let the truth out of your body, it will make a home in your bones.

I wasn’t given the opportunity to process what exactly happened at the beginning of this year, and despite my best attempts to let it go and give myself the closure I deserve, I guess there’s still something that’s weighing on my heart. And so, I write it here as a means of release.

Just because you’re not a villain or because you never took accountability, does not mean that you don’t bear any responsibility.

You acted selfishly, needlessly accelerating things, making grandiose promises and giving me a false sense of security until reality set in and you realized you could not live up to the version of yourself you purported to be. The worst part was the blame-shifting — in an effort to justify your words not matching your actions and to save face with your lack of honesty, you placed undue blame on me.

You told me you wished you never came up to me. I honestly wished the same. It’s not that I think you’re a bad person, but your carelessness cut deep. There’s this line in The Four Agreements about not expecting people to be honest with you when they can’t be honest with themselves. In one of my most generous interpretations of how this all went down, you were not honest with yourself — and therefore could not be honest with me — from the very beginning about things that were crucial. In a less generous interpretation, you misrepresented yourself, you allowed your ego to drive you to selfishness, and you replayed an apparent pattern you have of Peter Pan promises and actions not matching words. You withheld, did not communicate, and spoke about me with other people, hoping they would justify your emotional whiplash — which they very well did.

You’ve taught me the crucial lesson that actions must match words. Anyone can say things in the Colorado mountains, but who’s actually there in the valleys of life?

But even more importantly, you’ve taught me the difference between being wanted and being valued. A lot of people will want you in your life, a lot of people will want your positive qualities: your humor, your intelligence, your kindness, your positivity, your boldness, your beauty, your ability for making this world brighter, your love, your passion, and your vision, but you know someone truly values you when they make space for you to show up as your fullest self, when they recognize that if one single thing were different about you, you would be wholly different. You know someone values you when they don’t cherry pick the parts they like, or raid you like you’re a bin at a thrift market, tossing out all the parts that are not useful to them, and pocketing the ones that make them shine brighter. Then after the raid, they call you deficient, when they took everything.

But you didn’t actually take everything. I still have all those things and more. My ability to make someone laugh when I’m hurting inside. The endless drive that is determined to live the fullest life possible, which yes, will sometimes include not always having my bold efforts, big heart, or level of integrity matched.

None of us are perfect and I know that at the end of the day we’re all people, living life for the first time, trying to figure out this whole thing in real time, and doing our absolute best. I can recognize and appreciate that. But I can also recognize and appreciate that I’m capable of looking at myself in the mirror, confronting myself, taking accountability, and thinking about how what I say and do affects others: something you were not capable of doing last I knew you.

A kind word takes nothing, but you didn’t have not one in your email, and I’ve exhausted all of mine beforehand throughout Argentina and in my previous letter. And so, I don’t write this for any reaction, but for release — a recognition of the version of me that trusted, that hoped, that tried — and who’s reclaiming her voice and writing, one unsubscription at a time.