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It’s no secret that I’ve had a “thing” for men. Yes, plural. Over the last seven-hundred-and-thirty days I’ve seduced more of them than I care to admit.
Ok, it was 358 of them in case Guiness is counting.
Joking.
Unless Guiness really is counting.
I never used to be this way and anyone who knew me before “it” happened could attest to this. I was painfully shy and insecure. Quiet and reserved. I let men come to me instead of pursuing them because I believed that was the way it was supposed to be when looking for love.
“Love will find you when you least expect it.”
Now that’s what I’m afraid of.
It’s been two years since he left me.
Two years since my life was turned upside down.
Two years since he fucked her repeatedly in my bed.
Two years since he lied.
Two years since the truth spread itself out before me in a 1,000-piece puzzle that I reluctantly put together because I had no other choice.
Two years since I packed my life up into cardboard boxes, some of which are left in storage because I still can’t bear to open them.
Two years since I could count on anyone other than myself.
In those two years I’ve grown in unimaginable ways. I’ve accomplished things I never thought possible. I built a life for myself and my son. I found my voice, as snarky and profanity laden as it may be. I’m stronger, wiser, and more confident. I blaze trails instead of following them. In some weird way I’ve become a spokeswoman for untraditional single mothers and single women and I’m proud of that because the whole point of putting myself out here and being vulnerable is to inspire other women who are in the same dark place that I once was.
Broken. Shattered. In so much pain they’d rather give up than continue to fight.
I didn’t give up, but I’m still fucked up.
When something traumatic happens to you, you usually have two choices: Sink or swim.
Sometimes when you decide to swim you have to leave a piece of yourself behind in order to stay afloat. Maybe it’s weighing you down. Maybe it’s wrapped itself around your leg like a stubborn bunch of seaweed pulling you back into the current that you know you need to get away from. While you struggle with the idea of giving up this part of yourself because it is part of who you are, you have no choice if you want to survive.
I had always led with my heart. The hopeless romantic in me didn’t know how to live any other way. I had so much love to give it often hurt me. I was trusting and loyal to a fault because I believed that’s what you did when you truly loved someone. You saw past their imperfections. You forgave them for their mistakes.
I opened myself up to men and gave them all of me in the hopes of someday finally finding lasting love, even after many failed attempts during my late teens and early twenties. At the age of twenty-five I thought I found that. The connection I felt with this man was like nothing I had ever experienced. It was as if it was “meant to be.” Then five years later after we built a life together, had a child, and made promises to each other, he decided it wasn’t in a way that was so hurtful it forever changed me.
As I tried to swim away from the wreckage of our relationship, I realized I’d never make it out alive if I continued to let that girl who wore her heart on her sleeve lead. While I loved her and her innocence, there was no way for me to move with her clinging to me. She was crippled from the pain and disappointment of what had just happened. She didn’t understand that we needed to keep swimming. She didn’t want to leave because she thought loving someone meant you weren’t supposed to.
“Wait for him,” she begged desperately. “Stay.”
But I knew if I waited any longer we would both drown.
So I made my decision and I cut her loose, leaving her stranded there, clinging to a piece of wood from the life we once knew. Then I swam away with tears in my eyes wondering if I would regret leaving her behind.
For weeks I could hear her screaming, “Come back.” “Please, don’t leave me.” But I knew I couldn’t. I needed to keep my heart safe from now on and focus on taking care of my son and myself. The only person I could trust with my heart was me if I was going to survive and she’d been far too careless with it. Eventually, though I’m not sure when, she stopped calling out for me. I don’t know what happened to her. She could’ve drowned. She could still be floating there waiting for me to return. I might never know, although lately I find myself wanting to look for her. Someday I probably will.
I’m not the same person I was two years ago, nor do I want to be.
Was it the wrong choice to abandon a part of myself that I loved so deeply? Maybe, but I did what I needed to do in order to survive.
For two years I’ve worn my vagina on my sleeve instead of my heart. She doesn’t know what love is, nor does she want to. She’s happy with a few fleeting moments of ecstasy, a kiss, a touch; because they’re safer than the alternative.
Love. In my single mom world it’s a four letter word.
9 comments
Donna says:
July 13, 2011 at 5:35 PM (UTC -4 )
I love this post. I love it.
Mely says:
July 13, 2011 at 6:47 PM (UTC -4 )
XOXO
Reticula says:
August 6, 2011 at 1:30 AM (UTC -4 )
I love this post too. I was married for 30 years, my kids are grown, and I just became a grandma two weeks ago….. and I want to learn to lead with my vagina too. I’m still leading with my heart and the damn thing got hurt again. Again. Love is indeed a four-letter word. Thanks for writing. I needed to read this tonight.
Karin says:
August 6, 2011 at 1:08 PM (UTC -4 )
Awesome post. I am a new reader, and am so glad I found you. I had a bad breakup 3.5 years ago now, and have since moved on. It was my intention to “wear my vagina on my sleeve”, but that barely happened. (Much to my dismay)
2 years ago I met the perfect man (Yes, they do exist. I swear.) and again changed my life and opened my heart back up for business.
I thought for a while there, that it would just be me and my son against the world.
I’m so glad that changed.
I hope that someday, if you also choose to let someone in again, that you find love. You deserve it.
Thanks for writing.
April says:
August 6, 2011 at 2:18 PM (UTC -4 )
You’re so much braver than me. I can’t bring myself to post these same feelings that I have. And I’m sorry, but I don’t get why putting myself out there, risking being sent to that place, becoming that girl again, could possibly be worth it. I’m quite happy where I am, thanks. Why would I want to risk that?
Heather says:
August 6, 2011 at 6:30 PM (UTC -4 )
LOOOOOOOVE this. I love finding blogs that I think, “Damn, she gets me.”
Sheba says:
August 7, 2011 at 4:11 PM (UTC -4 )
I’m exactly there, right now, in that same damn ocean. Some days I feel like I’ve gotten to a distant shore and I’m finally free and strong, but then I take a deep breath and end up swallowing seawater. But I’m still kicking against that current and honestly, your posts help me live vicariously until I can do it for real. Thank you for finding your voice so women like me can look for ours!
Jenn says:
August 9, 2011 at 9:18 PM (UTC -4 )
LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS ROOMIE <3
Annie says:
August 11, 2011 at 12:00 AM (UTC -4 )
It is a four letter word and I am perfectly okay with avoiding it. I am right there with you. a perfect man is a myth… sadly it is really really hard to convince myself of that. I look around every corner. still.