Honey if you was crying, baby let’s wipe off dem tears now. But first, let dem flow sweetie…
I will be fine and if you’re going through a breakup, so shall you be.
This writing is very emotional.
I am crying even now so if emotional stuff is not your thing, please skip this one.
I share this because maybe someone will gain something from it. Today or even 100 years from now. Most of all, me. I need the lessons.
After six different breakups so far since I started dating the male species, I would think it gets easier to get to that point where I have to pick myself up and move on. Nada!
I feel like a huge pile of rock.
And a part of me is feeling tempted to feel sorry for myself. I know that this is an illusion but still, the tears sting.
Those words… “My woman…” who is not me… “This has to stop.” The first thing I remember feeling was that I was not enough.
I mean he chose someone else over me meaning he preferred someone else over me. Some part of me asks, “Was it because she was better than me?”
What is running through my mind is that I was not perfect enough for him. Then I remember that the other six also walked away.
I mean, what is wrong with me?
How come no one chooses me. No one defends me as ‘his woman’. This line of thought just has me thinking I’m less.
That maybe love is not for me. At this point in time, I might have too much baggage to make anyone attracted enough to stay even when it gets tough.
The worst part about this one is that it was not even defined. If he read this I imagine him cackling and going, “Girl, you are sick. Who said we were dating?”
Neither were the other four. And I guess when it is time to wear my big girl pants and shove myself out of bed, one resolve will be to always define what is happening.
I mean are we shagging? Are we friends? Or are we dating?
I always felt like defining it would be uncool. I convinced myself to go with the flow. He’ll like me more if I do not nag or pressure him to define this.
In my defense, that is what those ‘cool girl’ magazines advised. Another reason was fear that he would leave. But hey, still got kicked to the curb, didn’t I?
Next will be to see the signs and honor them. I could feel the disconnect. Feel the distance. See that I was not a priority. The woman I was, was not as important to him. I could feel the emptiness within.
Yet I still convinced myself that it could grow. That things could change, that I could change things if I was patient enough. Honey puulllleeez!
Something else, when he shows his fangs to you the first time, trust your eyes and get the hell out of there.
Do not wait up until I am neck-deep in feelings and emotions and colored glasses that keep telling me there is bliss when in reality, it is just the hormonal self-giving a tease.
Whenever I looked at him I could sense danger. He looked like the kind of person who could hit you when in anger.
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He could have torn up my self-esteem if it wasn’t solid. He could have broken me. Has he though? I feel like I will be okay in the end.
If I met my 18-year-old self again, I would tell her these rules. I would hug her and let her know the wolves were coming for her.
I would tell her the world she lives in is a patriarchal society and she has to be smart in life. She has the power.
I would have told her that her vagina is a great treasure for which battles started and ceased and whose only worthy male, is one who has proven himself as the rarest.
It should be given to the highest bidder. And I don’t mean money. I mean an investment of time, feelings, emotions, a connection that is real. A person who can read your soul as clearly as he can read your lips.
I would tell her to trust her gut for it would save her so much heartache.
Her heart always knows who is right and who is not.
She would know that to love truly really is to love oneself wholly and purely. Only then will she have enough love to share with another.
In life, I would tell her, there is immense pain, but the adversity is here to make us grow. It is important to look for the lesson in each instance, and then bless each experience.
There are also two sides to each coin and though it never worked out, he has taught me much and for that, I feel blessed.
And I have wounds to work through. I feel less. If this is the energy I keep projecting, how then would he have seen anything but?
It is because of this that these relationships have become a pattern. They keep mirroring to me what I need to work on.
So do I love me to the moon and back? I think so yeah. When I think about it, I still love myself despite not ticking the perfect box that most superficial relationships demand.
Do I see myself as the best ever created? Yeap!
Do I celebrate myself? Aha!
Now that I wrote all this down, I feel better. I know I will be fine. Maybe lonely, but I will be fine. We got this!!
Is it okay to be alone even if that will be the case for the rest of my life? A part of me longs for love. The true kind that survives difficulty.
One that grows from adversity and does not break. However, if romance is not for me because there are wounds that need healing, then I do not mind living a nun life.
As it is, I have already been living it.
Each person that has left has taught me something, so it was worth it.
In this case, he has taught me how to love unconditionally, without being loved in return. The purity of that space, and how I can wish him good, still bless him, even when I feel like my heart is broken. I have survived those other breakups. This one, I shall survive too.
So love and peace people!! Let’s get to stepping!
‘Cause I got dinner to prepare. Heavens I am famished!
I send you love and light!
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