An Ex came to my house for a visit a couple of months ago. And when I asked him why he’d come, he said he was worried I might be out there in the world hating him.

So he’d come in person to see if his worries were warranted.

‘I’ve never hated you,’ I said.

‘I’m not sure if I’ve ever really hated anyone.

‘Do many people in the world hate you?’

He made some non-committal sound in the back of his throat.

‘It must have come pretty close,’ he said.

‘Well. You did a lot of damage when you were here.

And I was very hurt and very angry for a long time,’ I admitted.

‘But I didn’t hate you. Never that.

‘It’s not really my style, you see.

‘And I don’t really think I have a malicious bone in my body anyway.’

He smiled when I said that, as if he didn’t quite believe me.

And I suppose, given the right circumstances, he was right to doubt me. I’m human and we all have a dark side. So I daresay I could hate him and live on malice if I chose.

And I’m sure in the distant past I was occasionally malicious on purpose (teenagers are particularly good at this).

But I don’t think I’ve ever really hated anyone.

And these days I certainly don’t see the point.

Instead I choose to get angry, fight fair, be passionate and always speak my truth, even when it makes other people uncomfortable.

But hate and malice are a waste of my time because they lead nowhere.

They don’t help me to feel better about myself.

And they don’t help me to move forward.

So even though my Ex hurt me terribly, because he couldn’t or wouldn’t be the man I wanted him to be, I don’t hate him.

Instead, I’ve chosen to lick my wounds, flounder around in the pain (a lot), heal the best way I can, and then try to let it all go.

Does that make me unusual? I’m not sure.

But I guess that’s just how I roll.