Love Is An Act of Sacrifice
“Love is an act of sacrifice”
This is from my favourite poem I’ve written over the past 3 years.
It was inspired by the closing lecture given by Robert McKee when I attended his Story seminar in May 2019.
This line is poetic. Beautiful.
But now I have to put it into practice.
I’m sitting in a cafe trying to arrange a coffee with my ex-wife. She’s received a lucrative job offer that will take her and our 10-year-old daughter out of London.
Where exactly? I don’t know yet. My ex-wife wants to discuss the details over a cup of coffee. It’s apt. I don’t think I want to have this conversation on the phone.
But I’m feeling very emotional. I’m sat in a Pret a Manger just off Berwick Street in the West End and I’m crying. The pain is too intense for me to have any success in fighting off the tears. I let out my emotions but occasionally scan the room self-consciously.
I need to hear my ex-wife out and carefully listen to her. Process what she says and then figure out what’s best for our daughter.
It may mean that my ex-wife takes the new job and I’ll have to make the compromise of not living near our daughter.
I feel like I’d just got my life back on track and now this development has knocked me off centre.
Over the past 3 years, while my ex-wife and I navigated our divorce, I hopped around from one dwelling to another. Eight times in total. Each place in which I lived was not suitable to bring my daughter back to when I had my weekends with her.
Then in November 2019 I moved to Morden in South London to be closer to my daughter. Finally, I’d found a place that was suitable for her to come and spend time with me.
My daughter currently lives a short 15-minute drive away. I’d managed to engineer the perfect set up. However, several weeks into settling into Morden, my daughter and ex-wife told me they’d be moving to Kingston Upon Thames.
My daughter wants a shorter commute to her school. Her mother wants a shorter commute to the school she teaches in. I can’t knock that.
This required minor adjustments and I wasn’t bothered. However, now, I’m sitting here, speculating over today’s development. This isn’t a slight move around South London, this move will mean I can’t just pop down the road to see my daughter.
How far away will my daughter and her mother move?
Can I put what’s best for my daughter above my own selfish desires?
Assuming I’m able to do that, how will I adjust to this new dynamic?
The only way to find out is by leaning into the change. I must learn to trust myself.
I love this man, keep going!
Brilliant and honest piece of writing. Proud of your strength (even though you probably don’t feel strong right now) xx
Thank you so much Simon for your kind words. I intend to write regularly. It’ll be interesting to see how much writing I can achieve this year.
That was really brave to talk about it like that bro. Not many people know that but we men actually do have emotions and we do cry. We try hard to look like we have it all together and we never reach out and share what we feel.
Being separated from your daughter is difficult, every time you see her you’ll realize how much she grew up in those several months and how much you must have missed (I experienced that with my little brother). But then you’ll spend a day or two of quality time with her and that’s the imagine of you that she’s gonna carry in her mind, you’ll become this perfect imagine in her head without all the mistakes that parents do – the ideal father! Make every minute you spend with her count so she grows up with you in her mind as someone who’s inspiring! She’ll always feel that you’re around.
Lean in to the change.
Yes that’s hard. You will find a myriad of ways to remain a loving part of your daughters life. Have faith. Thank you for sharing xxx