Post 10 - Gap Year

Photo by NIR HIMI on Unsplash

A Toast To: Joy coming from within, and gifting others with my energy.

Song Pairing: Leona Lewis - “Bleeding Love” (from the album, Spirit, 2007) - or as my brother calls it “The Period Song.”

It has been over a year since I started living on my own again. October will mark a year of separation from my husband. This blog has explored some aspects of my highs and lows and has been an outlet for healing, escape, but mostly for recollection, processing thoughts, and gaining perspective. 

A few weeks ago, it dawned on me that I have spent very few years as a single person. As a teenager, I was very mature for my age. I looked older, acted older, and my life experiences far exceeded those in my age group. It’s probably why most of the people I hung out with back then were older than me. My first kiss came at fifteen, which I think is old for first kisses. Now, I had been kissed, but there was no tongue until fifteen. I was in a relationship with the first guy I kissed with tongue, at fifteen. He was in his first year of university. I did not lose my virginity to him. Sex was something I was absolutely not ready for at fifteen. Or perhaps I just wasn’t ready for it with the kiss with tongue guy, but we did have as much pleasure as was possible with clothes on. I didn’t lose my virginity until eighteen, again, in my opinion, old, but hey, life goes the way it is supposed to, right? From fifteen onwards, I have been in relationships. There have been very few gaps. The longest gap was about a year, and that was a time in between ending my first marriage. 

I have had, what I consider serious, long-term relationships with six men. Serious, in my definition, is two plus years. Not all of the relationships were monogamous, nor did I live with all of these men. However, the connection and circumstances of the partnerships were strong enough to keep us wanting to be in each other’s lives for a significant period of time. I cannot say I truly loved all of these men, but in the moment I thought I did, and I have no doubt they thought they loved me too. Experience is a powerful gateway to clarity. 

Like most people who end a marriage, it is common, I would think, to take a gap year. After my first marriage, I thought I was a total failure and a complete loser, so there was much rebuilding needed. Now I’m not going to lie, I had sex with other people, but I did not date anyone for the year. Just wanna make that clear. A girl is entitled to a hoedown after having one dick for eleven years. It’s natural to wanna see what else is out there. Funny story, if I could talk to the girl I was back then, I would tell her that though dicks come in all shapes, colours, and sizes, the best ones come with men who know how to make you melt with your clothes on. 

I was at the start of my dirty thirties when I separated from my first husband. I did all the things I thought I needed to do to heal. I read Broken Open, worked out, cut my hair, focused on my career, drank a lot, oh, and I started smoking again. Two core memories I will never forget: one, driving away from my marital home for the last time and stopping for a pack of cigarettes. I hadn’t smoked in years. Two, sitting on the carpet in my sparsely furnished rental apartment, lit only by candlelight, singing along to Bleeding Love, drunk on Sauvignon Blanc, with a big bag of Cheetos in one hand and a cigarette in the other, tears rolling down my face. Cigarettes taste terrible when you’re sad. I was so fucking alone in that moment. I think that’s what is called rock bottom. You see, my first husband was a beautiful man, not just literally but figuratively. He and I had an intense love for one another. We shared cheesy nicknames, spooned every night, never raised our voices, and we were incredibly supportive of one another. Bonus points, he also knew what foreplay was. I truly thought I had met the man I would spend the rest of my life with. Unfortunately, we met young, we grew, changed, and our paths started to split off into different directions. I could have stayed, I might have thought about it more back then had I known what I know now, but I didn’t. I don't regret my decision, but it was my first true heartbreak. Both of us were good people, with kind hearts that deserved to be happy. Being as young as we were, we let each other go, hoping someone else could bring a happiness that would stand the test of time.

About a year or so later, I felt I was ready to date again. I didn’t want a serious relationship, but I definitely wanted consistency with someone. Sorry if that doesn’t make sense; it does to me, but I will explain. I wanted someone in my life on a regular basis to help me rebuild my self-esteem. Of the male species, someone who thought I was hot, could make me smile, laugh, who talked and listened, and who might want to take me outside of the bedroom here and there to get a meal, maybe take in a movie. What I didn’t want was obligations or commitment. See, at that time, I didn't want love, I didn’t want a long-term relationship, and I was never ever getting married again. My first marriage ending fiercely jaded me. I was mad at love. It disappointed me, lied to me, hurt me, but most of all exposed me to happily ever after being complete bullshit, and that royally pissed me off. So, that’s what I did. I had non-committed relationships for a few years until I was ready to explore the possibility of dedicating myself to one person again. 

That person came, we moved in together quickly, decided we wanted children, got pregnant, miscarried, and then the relationship ended. 

In an attempt to erase that time in my life, I took little pause before signing up for eHarmony. It was even less time before I met AC. Despite thinking I had my shit together, now I see that I was an absolute hot fucking mess when we met. Looking back, I think he may have been too. We were definitely what we each needed at that time though. We were for many years, actually. I think we very naturally, without even knowing, helped each other navigate through some pretty tough shit. Both of us processing our personal hardships in one another’s company, but not necessarily together. I put in great efforts to hide my insecurities, and I have always had a very hard time letting anyone see me fully. I have used independence as a weapon, and I can be very cold and angry to people when what I am really feeling is sadness. My mind has believed for many years now that if I let someone get to know the real me, that I will never truly be accepted. These days, however, my heart doesn’t really give a shit what my mind thinks and just like the book, I seem to have broken open.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, there is a lot of truth behind childhood trauma and the lasting effects. Nothing terrible happened to me as a kid. My childhood was not typical, but as my Dad would say, “that’ll put hair on your chest.” I was left alone a lot, I did have to fend for myself sometimes, and I was often afraid to come home. I witnessed a lot of arguing, dishes being thrown, and there were times where I didn’t feel safe or loved the way a kid should. Because of all of this, I know that I have spent my life searching for that safety and love. I would even go as far as to say I have been desperate to find it. So at fifty, sitting on my couch, my cat at my feet, typing away on my laptop in another new apartment, I struggle. I have struggled intensely this past year. I want nothing more than a magical potion to make the hurt go away, but for the first time, I concede that I am the elixir. My history CLEARLY proved that another warm body is not going to heal my heart. It would nicely tie off some blood vessels, but the fix will be temporary. Sigh. I want a permanent fix. I want to find contentment in myself. So far, this process has not been super fun. Especially since this fucking cunt named Peri showed up with her masterful way of stealing all my happy hormones. Currently, good and bad days are tied. My wins feel short-lived, while losses seem to go on for days. My focus right now is challenging my inner critic, who is a total asshole, and replacing negative thoughts with much kinder, truthful ones. How am I doing so far?

After thirty-five years of being in relationships, I finally know that the answer to a successful one, is loving myself. Big thanks goes out to the universe for taking fifty fucking years to make that painfully obvious. Now, I will acknowledge that it’s very possible I never find everything I want in myself. All men reading this post are like “oh thank God - you women are never satisfied.” The goal is to get pretty close and then find someone who can keep me topped up. The dreamiest of dreamy, Mr. Harry Styles said it best "fill up your own cup and fall in love with the overflow." 

A friend of mine recently told me that she believes wholeheartedly that you are either meant for love or you are not. As a lover of love, I really hope she is wrong because I feel pretty deeply that my destiny includes sharing my life with someone. I have some really high-quality love to give. My concept of a relationship and love have course corrected a teeny bit, but it's for the best. Not all of us are meant to fit into the traditional, societally accepted boxes. I desperately wanted to, I tried, and I woulda, shoulda, coulda done anything to make myself fit. That is exactly how I ended up here. So, as tough as it is to park my daydreams, I have found myself being much more curious these days. It boils down to one question, how do I fall deeper in love with myself? 

RR

xo

Works Cited

Lesser, Elizabeth. Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow. New York, NY: Villard, 2005.

eharmony - https://www.eharmony.ca