A Moment of Weakness
I had a moment of weakness this past week. Can’t recall if it was Wednesday or Thursday, but I sat outside with a mildly chilly day and broke down a little. Isn’t that just being human? Maybe it’s PMS. Maybe the stress of all the debt I’m in came crashing down. Maybe the walls of being secure in my single-ness crumbled a bit, and I’m facing facts that dinners for one and a small apartment await me. After I went to check the mail, I walked downhill to the patio, sat down, and asked myself why I couldn’t be everything he needed. It was a moment of personal defeat that came rolling out slowly, finally escaping my mind and lips. It was embarrassing, ugly, snd stupid. Did I really ask myself that question? Was I beating myself up, again, randomly, over a person I smartly blocked on everything so that past mistakes would not drag me to ex-boyfriend hell? I was mature enough not to entertain crap and had been hurt enough not to willingly reopen old wounds, but there I was (in all black, how interesting) directly vocalizing defeat. It was a moment of weakness because I haven’t spoken to him since October of 2019. We have not come across one another digitally, and I can only assume all blocks are mutual. So why, randomly, would I be crying about him?
“I was mature enough not to entertain crap and had been hurt enough not to willingly reopen old wounds…”
I call that moment weakness not to belittle myself nor to trivialize human emotion, but to remind myself I’m better than that. I’m better than asking why I’m so hard to love. I’m better than asking why an emotionally maladjusted man didn’t want me once he realized how poor and imperfect I was. He has his own battles to face, and calls himself having done so. Where he is stoic and “above it all” with thick skin, there’s a hurting little boy and a wronged teenager who needed a lot more than I could give him. I’m not going to bash him completely, being “that kind of ex”, because there is a lot of good and wisdom in him. However, I had to learn the hard way that for every piece of compatibility we shared, there were a lot of…highly incompatible parts. With my own sensitive and anxious nature, maybe my softness wasn’t a good fit. “Hard to love”, though? Hardly. Maybe piss-poor at picking men, or just an unfortunate target for the wounded bird types, but I’m not hard to love. I will not allow myself to vouch for that. I won’t allow my person to believe it.
“I’m not hard to love. I will not allow myself to vouch for that. I won’t allow my person to believe it.”
Self-love has been a very difficult journey. I’m un-learning and re-unlearning all kinds of messed up crap that society and my peers have told me about myself. Isn’t that the worst? How we sometimes let folks who really shouldn’t have a say get in our heads. Friends, foes, exes, opinionated jerks, media figures, medical professionals (I have stories!)…
It was a weak moment because actively submerging myself into situations and thoughts which no longer benefit me is like taking sixty steps back in my forward march of self-love. What good comes of thinking I am hard to love? What value comes from reminding myself of that hurt and rejection? I believe that there’s a difference between using past relationship failures to learn, and indulging in that past pain to review and obsess. From all the toughness and stoicism my ex had going on, I can’t lie — he taught me a lot about certain things. The one thing of value that he taught me was that the pity party pit and the sadness party ain’t where it’s at. There are times when it’s all about moving on and not settling in the pit. I will be 36 this year, and probably living single still. I don’t know. Valentine’s Day will suck, but I’ll push through and think of my mother and the gifts I want to give people. I’ll throw on some Seal and power through.
“There are times when it’s all about moving on and not settling in the pit.”
I have my own problems, but I’m not hard to love. Possibly a challenge to like, but I believe somebody out there is looking for a bear-sized eccentric lady such as myself. Maybe that’s a lot of dreaming, but an old sap like me hasn’t given up on love just yet. Having moments is human, but dwelling on them and self-deprecating isn’t healthy. I want to be happy. I don’t need to be perfect and always together, and I know I’ll have more moments. From those, I want to grow. I want to become strong enough to look back but not fall in. I don’t need to spiral and then unblock exes and former whatnots, setting myself up for all kinds of nonsense and drama. Hey man…
If I can help it, there will be no more secret letters. No promises concerning spicy poems and vocal moments, ’cause a dame has to letitgo somehow. All I can do is work on myself, drink more water, and stop stress eating weird meals at 3 AM like I’m still 20-something. The lifelong mission continues.
