There is something about having someone whom you love deeply make the choice to step away from you that brings up all sorts of challenging questions. Under "normal" circumstances I suspect that I would have spent a lot of time in the past week reflecting on those questions.
Instead I'm covering for absent staff in the Kabul Head Office, working from 7.30am until 9.30pm with hardly the time to grab a protein bar and a diet coke for lunch (yes I am quite aware how many hideous additives I'm consuming). By the time I get back to the house where I'm staying I have barely the energy to say hello to my lovely hostess and brush my teeth before tumbling into bed.
There is no risk of lying awake at night wondering where my relationship went wrong or what I should be learning from all this. I fall asleep almost before my head hits the pillow and have to force myself out of bed when the alarm goes off at 6.30 the next morning.
But there are moments of quiet, as I sit in the car on the way to a meeting, or while I stand in line at the cafeteria waiting for my morning coffee. In these moments I get little flashes of knowing, a momentary sense of seeing through the layers of emotion into something that is true about me and about my life.
In those moments I get a glimpse of someone behind the harried and somewhat fragmented woman I've been meeting in the mirror for the past six months. I get a glimpse of myself, strong and loving and with a sense of fun and adventure. It is a relief, because there have been days when I was not altogether sure that I was still in there...