Back To The Blog

I stopped blogging for a while, for a few different reasons. First of all, had I written in my blog, as happened in some of my last entries, I would have discussed at length all my hopes and fears about a man I was trying desperately not to love. Which didn’t work, by the way. I didn’t want to share details of his life online any more than I already had, so I stopped writing here. The other reason that I stopped, though, was that I simply didn’t need this outlet for a while. I had someone with whom I could share my deepest fears and greatest triumphs as we lay arm in arm in the dark. Now, to a certain extent, I have lost that.
I still love him with all of my heart. I am still in love with him, too, and those things are different from one another. That distinction, along some serious miscommunication, lack of communication, and over-communication all at once, caused us to take a step away from one another. At the same time that this decision devastated me more than almost anything else in my life ever has, it’s probably a good thing. It’s making me take a good look at what I did right, what I did wrong, and what I thought I could do that I couldn’t do after all. Over time, if it is not fed, the “in love” part will fade. The ways that he changed my life, though, both by what he did for me and just by being the person who he is, ensure that the “love” part will always be there.
I told him that he shouldn’t blame himself. It won’t help unless he blames me too, because nothing in any kind of relationship between two people is ever one-sided. So as much as I want to blame myself, and as much as I want to blame my weight, and my lack of beauty, and my social ineptitude, I can’t. I have to move past all that, like I learned through this relationship to move past so many of my fears and hang-ups, and take an honest look at what really happened. Without divulging too many details, of course. I can’t just hide behind myself anymore.
I did a lot of things right, I think. I shared my secrets and my fears so that they were out in the open. I shared my successes, and shared credit for them with the person who gave me the courage to succeed. I didn’t let myself hide my body, even when I wanted to; I faked confidence so that I wouldn’t seem afraid, and my confidence grew. I grew as a person because I was afraid of not being worthy of him. At the same time, I maintained my sense of self and my independence. I never lost sight of my goals outside of our relationship; instead I used our relationship to strengthen them. I gave honestly, openly, and for all the right reasons, without expecting or asking for anything in return. I tried my very best not to resort to typical female mind games and to almost be my most honest self, and I believe that I succeeded. That may have been part of the problem—I’m pretty sure the mind games were interpreted even though they weren’t there—but still, I avoided petty drama to the fullest extent possible. I let myself enjoy myself, at least in his presence, without worrying too much about the future and the possibility of being hurt. For a while, anyway.
None of that makes me a saint; it merely makes me proud of myself for moving closer to being the person I want to be. I did plenty of things wrong, too. While I am proud of letting myself trust another person not to hurt me, my trust was too strong for the situation. I should have trusted the person to treat me well to the best of his ability without trusting the situation that he was in. I should have communicated more. In the beginning, there was lots of time to talk in bed at night, and long phone conversations, so that I could share my feelings and listen to his. I know that he was honest, and I always believed that he was, too. I’m not sure there is a way to be sure if that was a wise belief, but I hold it still, even if it makes me look naïve.
As our situation grew more tense and some of the communication problems began to arise, our nighttime conversations grew more terse and then disappeared completely. I missed them. That should have been a warning to me that I needed to be more open instead of less, but I am afraid to hear answers I don’t want to hear and I am afraid of confrontation. I made up a lot of excuses for the fact that I could feel him pulling away from me and I made up a lot of excuses for not asking about it. I became very good at making up excuses. I kept telling myself I would do it when the time was right, but I repeatedly convinced myself that the time wasn’t right. I was so afraid of making waves that I almost let myself drown instead of swimming toward the lifeboat of useful communication. That was my biggest mistake.
I should have not been so worried about disrupting the good times, because then the good times might have lasted longer, and I shouldn’t have been so adamant about not adding stress to his life just to ensure that he’d keep me around as a source of serenity. A little stress revolving around me may have made it easier to bring things to a head sooner, or might have made things better. I wish I’d had that little extra bit of confidence. I wish I’d been more able to talk. Some of the problem started, I am sure, when I was feeling afraid and under-confident and instead of being direct with him, I talked to several friends about it (which is normal) on Facebook (which is not ever a good idea), making it all public before he ever knew there was an issue. I shared my feelings from time to time, but it was never verbally. Not after the first couple of months. Instead, I did it through writing long and rambling letters on MySpace. An adult relationship may include, but should never, under any circumstances, rely on communication via an online social networking site. I knew this, I did it anyway, and I regret it. I should have had those conversations in person because it would have been more fair to him, and more fair to me too. My direct questions would have been more difficult to ignore and I would have had the answers I needed a lot sooner, maybe. I might have understood why he was pulling away from me instead of blaming it on all the wrong things. We might have even cleared up the differences between what other people said and what was true, what I said and what he heard, and what he said and what I heard. If that had been the case, things might be different now. Maybe not. Maybe this is just what he wanted or needed. Either way, things would have been cleared up earlier and I would not have been living in fear for so long.
He thought I was way more serious than I was. He didn’t get, and I still don’t know if he gets it, that I understood his situation very well, maybe even better than he understands it. I never wanted a promise. Okay, if I’m being honest, of course I wanted a promise, but I was never under the delusion that I could have one. And I was happy with that. All I wanted was reassurance that maybe, once he had things straightened out in his life, we could be together. Instead of a promise to be with me or to have a particular type or level of relationship, I wanted to know that he wasn’t counting me out. That’s all I wanted. I was happy visiting him once or twice a week or even every other week; it let me have my independence, keep up with my busy life, and still have something to look forward to. I don’t know if a traditional relationship would work for me even if I thought there was any possibility that I could have one; I’m busy and, while I loved nothing more than spending a lazy weekend with him, I like to be busy. I like the way that his house is always full of people, except when I’m trying to gather up the courage to have a serious conversation. I adore his daughter and love spending time with her and have no problem at all staying home rather than going out, or going to places where she is welcome. So many of the things that he perceived as reasons why things can’t work between us are the very reasons that I like him. I love his strong feelings about being a good dad. I like that he worries that he isn’t. I like that he is always there for his friends. I like that his television tastes range from Family Guy to the History Channel and don’t dawdle much in between. I like that he is touchy-feely and I like that he doesn’t have a problem talking about himself, about his thoughts and feelings. I like that he comes up with the silliest and most unique compliments. I like the way he makes me giggle, the way he touches me and makes me feel so completely woman. I wish that his friends, well-intentioned though they were, wouldn’t have made it seem like I was ready to get hitched and move in with him, convinced him that he was leading me on. All I ever wanted was a “maybe it’ll be okay someday.”
I knew that he had a history of cheating himself out of good things in life (and I hope he is being honest when he counts me as one of those good things). I knew that he had a history of being “popular” with women. I knew that he wasn’t the type to settle down. I knew that he was in a difficult situation involving another woman. And I thought that maybe I could be such a positive influence—no, not influence, I didn’t want to change him; I thought that maybe I could have a positive impact on his life—that he would choose to let me in and maybe I would be the one who lasted in the end. I was willing to wait for that, though. I didn’t expect it to come easy and I didn’t expect it to come fast.
I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have let myself believe that I was any different. It’s a mistake a million women make every day. But I have learned. If I am ever so fortunate as to find myself in a burgeoning relationship again, which I am much doubting in my current state of rejection, I will read the signs better and be more honest with myself, I will face my greatest fears more readily, I will share and ask and not shy away from conflict.
I cannot turn away from our friendship and I do not want to. I also, though, don’t want it to seem as though I am pining after a man I cannot have. I am a firm believer in the notion that nothing in life is definite, and just as surely as I didn’t require any definite answers about forever in our friendship or whatever it exactly was that we had, I will not say for sure that I wouldn’t try again. On the other hand, I am also not expecting another chance. I shall do my best to move forward through my tears. But the tears will be many.