What is the hardest thing you’ve ever done?

I have to admit: I’m polyamorous. I can’t decide which I love more, Quora.com that shares the most fascinating questions or Medium.com which gives voice to the world.

So, I’ve decided to marry the two and continue a fascinating Quora thread that asks us to think about what’s the hardest thing we’ve ever done.

I immediately know what my answer is, but am I brave enough to write it?

First, I’ll look at the other responses which remind me that the world is filled with truly remarkable people. Some responses are about succeeding … starting a multi-million dollar business with just $100; rebuilding a life after failure; running an almost 30 HOUR ultra marathon, breaking into a new world where you’re “the other,” spending five years to write and rewrite and rewrite a book.

Some are about surviving … the loss of a loved one, a life-threatening illness, a series of heart breaking losses, being a soldier, being imprisoned, being abused, being hit by a train and pronounced dead at three years old.

In this category, there’s Jared Lazaro, who stressed his body in the chase for success to the point that he wound up hospitalized with a possibly fatal lung infection. He tells us, “… your toughest battle always seems to be with one’s own self,” and then explains that his hardest thing wasn’t facing death but knowing how to live.

One of his lessons was about love. He says, “Oh, and Love? If I Love someone, they’re damn sure going to know it… I flood them with it. No one close to me will ever again doubt it or wonder.”

Some stories are about making a hard choice … taking the risk to leave a bad situation for an unknown future, choosing between two things you love, choosing to leave home to start a life in a new world, walking away from the safety of the known world … a man who chooses between the dream career he chased and the ideal family situation for his young son who has so captured his heart, a man who at six-years old said “no” to a bad family situation, a woman who risks her life for the man she loves.

This area of choice is where my story falls. It isn’t as dramatic as some, but it’s hard to share because, forty years later, it still haunts me and prompts feelings of guilt. I was young and ignorant, I keep telling myself. It was a choice I made, probably the right one, but one that still stirs up moments of regret.

It was the early 70s and I was married to my first love shortly before he left for Vietnam. Things were different when he returned home. We didn’t talk about PTSD then, but I had heard stories about men who couldn’t sleep in a bed, who had horrible nightmares, who were violent. Perhaps I would have known to get help if that had been the case. Our situation was different, a gradual descent into illness, alcohol and isolation. We were far from family or any sort of support system and neither of us knew how to handle what was happening.

We didn’t fight. We didn’t talk. We didn’t have a physical relationship. We didn’t have friends. I felt like I was in a desert emotionally. When a co-worker expressed interest, some buried seed within me grasped at life.

My husband’s job had ended. He was battling a chronic illness. And, he was far from his roots. He was lost. We were both lost. But, I was the one who broke my vows and walked away. I asked for divorce, the only option I could see. Looking back, I wish for more wisdom. Perhaps if I had been more aware of what was going on … perhaps if I had asked for counseling … perhaps …

As it turns out, the hardest thing I’ve ever done is linked with one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received. Thirty years after making that decision, my second husband died and events briefly reconnected my first husband and me. In those years of separation, he had returned to his roots, landed a great job in a field he loved, and became a respected expert in several areas. He had thrived.

We talked, we cried, we recognized that we still had a great love for each other. And, most importantly, we forgave each other. Now, when memories return bringing those feelings of guilt, I can remember those conversations where we both recognized that what happened actually had to happen in order for us to become the people we are today.

When we began our reconnection conversation, he said something that I will always treasure:

“Isn’t life interesting~!

The paths we choose, the challenges we face,

the hardships we endure and the joy of living.

They are all connected.”