We all have a something to say, and these words are my something. Please don’t read this to your daughters as it will shatter their images of a handsome Prince that saves them; I beg you to keep their innocence – at least until they have their first heartbreak.
One year ago my boyfriend and I of nearly nine years broke up. But this is not what this is about. This is about the aftermath, the earthquake that shattered my reality and made me cringe (in the corner with a bottle of melon-flavored vodka).
I’m now thirty-nine years old. All that I thought I wanted – marriage and babies – has completely been altered by realizations that have come over me even unbeknownst to myself. They have come in the middle of the night, during the day at inopportune times, and sometimes not even being consciously present when they happen. These realizations slip into me just as I brush my teeth or make coffee in the morning….automatically, without a thought. I mostly don’t even know what these realizations are other than the fact that I don’t give them as much weight as before. They no longer mesmerize me, depress me, or consume me the way they used to. My consummations are now of survival. My mind, spirit, and body are on a not-so-quiet, strict diet of “what the fuck?”.
Since I’ve been living on my own in a new city I’ve felt certain aspects of myself fade away, and others come back – a force to be reckoned with or taken advantage of (it’s a constant state of confusion to myself and others). I certainly don’t believe myself some of the time and never believe others the rest of the time. My new existence has become about the truth behind my own mask – or to say, seeing myself for the first time.
Getting back to the marriage and baby stuff – although I would like to create a life with someone, I’m not as concerned about the “when it happens” part. I do ask myself, though: If he doesn’t come along, will I be happy and fulfilled just the same? I can answer that with a probable “yes”, and to clarify that I don’t mean it in a negative, down-with-love kinda way, but in a more realistic, this is where I’m at, kinda way. If there’s anything I’ve learned about love, it’s that it’s never enough. I know it’s the work that makes it last after the “honeymoon phase” is over, yet there seems to be those that don’t want to stick around much longer after that. For now, that’s okay. I have the unconditional love of family that includes parents, siblings, nieces, and a nephew that have filled that gaping hole. To add to that, I’m working on myself, preparing for when that person does come along at the right time. I’m not, after all, completely jaded to think it won’t happen – it’s just that I don’t believe that I should get myself all worked up over someone who doesn’t want to do the work right along with me.
Then there’s this: Love for Self and all the responsibility that goes with that. Let’s face it, when I love myself, I can no longer put up with anything less than what I deserve. So with that, there may be many lonely nights while snuggling my pillow (but at least I have my bed to myself!), and shopping for one at the grocery store but still over-cooking and having a freezer chalk-full of left-over’s that I’ve forgotten about and are also freezer-burned. But after all that, there’s the peace of what I’ve gained by loving myself and knowing that I’m worth more than a one-night-stand or someone talking shit to me just because they think they can.
So in these days of self-perseverance and self-love, I’ve determined that all will be well that ends well and it’s up to me whom I decide to include into the jigsaw puzzle that is my life. I have myself, my beer, my flavored vodka, my books, my piano, my family, friends, and my neighbors dogs. What else can a girl ask for?