There is no quicker way to shake my confidence than to throw me into the world of dating. I loathe the process. I'd rather go through labor and delivery of both my sons at the same time. Really, I would.
I hadn't ever considered that it would be so epically difficult for other people to be honest, decent, and normal. I mean, I'm happy with my life for the most part; there's just always that little part that seems to elude me. After a series of hurtful disappointments, it's easy for a person's confidence to be undermined. By no means do I say any of this lightly; being vulnerable is not something I do well. There is no situation, that I've experienced or dreamt up that has me starring as the helpless girl waiting to be scooped up and rescued. Even if I do find myself in a state of need, I'd sooner slap on a look of determination and plow through whatever I'm facing alone. This is how much I loathe being vulnerable. And damn, you need to have a PhD in Tammy if you're going to see me cry.
Exactly how did I get like this? Well shit, years of putting my trust and giving my heart to guys who a) didn't deserve it, and b) were experts at stomping and manipulating the feeling of worth out of it...starting with my 'first' father. In all fairness, prior to having been raped, I was already short on the belief that I could be loved by someone who wouldn't abuse my trust or play games. Add to that the betrayal, deceit, and withholding of genuine emotions of far too many failed attempts at relationships...well, you get the picture. I'm not cold, and more importantly I'm not unlovable; I am just so ridiculously guarded that I have a difficult time seeing anyone that has potential as more than a mirage.
Just why have I decided to share all this tonight? The older I get, the more frequently I am asked why I am still single. The older my sons get, the more I realize I will be alone before I know it. Time is ticking away and I find I contemplate what my future will hold, though most of my scenarios involve enough cats to be considered the crazy old cat lady, and a couple of men who worry too much because their mom never found anyone to share the rest of her life with. Melodramatic? Perhaps, but I am a writer and my mind works in over-exaggerated synopses.
The longer I am single, the less interested I am in leaving my comfort zone. Up until this point, getting to know someone has proved to be far more work and headache than any meaningful enjoyment could ever be garnered. The resulting attitude being in direct conflict with my overall state of being. I have put forth immense effort to reduce the negativity in my life; when I experience a slide backwards, regaining my footing becomes more and more challenging. And I'd venture to guess that these pent-up feelings of reluctance and outright refusal to even look at someone who isn't likely to twist and churn my emotions are the very reason getting back on the wagon of positive thinking and living after falling off is so damned exhausting.
Crazy part is, I know all of this yet I still allow it to continue getting to me. Who knew prolonged exposure to abuse and being taken advantage of could cause such skittish and negative behaviors? Well, I suppose most people know this, but how many admit it to anyone else? I didn't bother to do any research, because (I'm going to go all self-absorbed here) I really only care how to fix me on this one. And just how do I do that? I suppose I stop focusing on what everyone else thinks and pay attention to what my heart and soul must be hoarse from shouting all these years. That could take a bit to decipher.
I don't write this as a woe-is-me, as I've previously stated, I'm not into wallowing in helplessness. I know I'm not the only one who struggles with these type of issues, and keeping it to myself just doesn't make much sense anymore. I don't want pity, advice, or depressing commiseration. I just want to continue taking every opportunity to be honest with myself and with the world around me, because sometimes the only way I actually hear my own voice is by telling someone else.
I am, indeed, a work in progress...
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