The Old Story
I have a history of getting into relationships with people who are really bad at love. It’s probably more accurate to say that I have a history of throwing my entire being at people who are really bad at love and loving them overly thoroughly, so much so that I lose myself. This isn’t an accusatory piece, I played my role. This is a reclamation piece. My heart broke so severely that I had to create a better way forward. I’ve committed myself to non-dating and celibacy for the foreseeable future.
More often than not, I’ve been emotionally abused. I got bored in relationships where I wasn’t. I’ve become so tragically addicted to the highs and lows of a toxic and abusive relationship that red flags are like foreplay. My subconscious mind craves the fight to earn love. Opening my eyes to this pattern in the aftermath of divorce was distressing. Ingrained in my formative years and supplemented heavily thereafter, the pattern will just keep perpetuating itself unless I take a hard stand. Now is the time to get real with myself. I don’t want to live within this system of dysfunction anymore.
Staying prudent in a new relationship is a monumental challenge for me. I throw reason out the window, shift everything else in my life into lower priority, and run head first into caretaker mode. Being a romantic at heart can be endearing but taken to the extreme it’s just called codependency. My track record for ruining my life when I get serious with anyone is strong. It sounds dramatic because it is. After I prostrate myself trying to put on someone else’s life vest before my own, the depression kicks in and anything still standing falls apart. I’m too old (and too tired) to be that brand of reckless anymore. The old story is getting replaced.
Writing a New Script
How does changing the pattern work? I’m retraining myself — or retraining my brain, rather. Getting used to boring is the new exciting. I’m training myself to crave consistency. I am building a life without high highs and low lows in every way that I am able. Curveballs in life are unavoidable and I approach those as gracefully as I can and accommodate for them. I can’t negate all stimuli and stress from living, nor would I want to — that’s the richness of life. I am not speaking to numbing out, either. I celebrate wins, focus on joy, cry when I need to and process my feelings.
This is the grit: I dependably stay the course in my day-to-day routine and regulate my responses to the stressors outside of that. What I am doing is showing myself a different way that doesn’t include chasing euphoric highs followed by crashes. I am creating the peace. I’m going to get so acclimated to mild and tame, that anything else will seem foreign. My addict brain is going to atrophy. The new neural pathways are going to green-light stability. You can be boring without having a boring life and that, right there, is my dream.
Emotionally, I’ve hit the point in my healing that I would be ready to date — having been separated from my ex-wife for a year and divorced for about 10 months. Rebuilding mode has been the theme since. I’m pursuing new careers, a new degree, and new fitness and financial goals. Holding myself to a very high standard is newer territory. If I opened my life up to the potential of someone now, I am risking everything that is in progress. That is the hard truth. The reality is I am in the middle, right in the middle of the rebuild, and if I modify the variables now the risk is too high that I stumble.
The Process Takes Time
Temptation to look for the right one is coming back strong. Fear has been replaced by excitement. Faith that the right woman is out there hovers and the moments creep up when I want to hit fast forward. On the days that I almost convince myself to start pursuing, I come back to this: patience. I need to build this stronger, solid version up before I find that in another person. The train can’t derail if I keep my head down and keep everything on the tracks. More time isn’t optional, it’s necessary. I’d imagine another year at minimum. I’m building something too good and too worthwhile to chance losing. The point will come when enough accomplishments have been squared away and the sweet mundane is so well versed, that I will know I am ready. Honesty will lead instead of immaturity.
Let’s pull it in for a real talk moment; the healthy road can be really lonely. I have no intention of convincing anyone that this choice is easy. It’s not easy. Doing the right thing is uncomfortable. My home is quiet and solitary. During the really busy weeks when the days are too short and I am exhausted, I cry that I don’t have any help or support from a partner. My family and friends pick up plenty of annoying phone calls to listen to me ramble about my day. They’re really sweet in pretending to care about the humdrum things. I miss love making — and I curse my heightened hormones once a month for not allowing me to just live my chaste life in peace. Falling asleep in a big empty bed every night lends itself to a little heartache. I love being in love and I do miss it.
Doing the healthy thing is hard. It’s the kind of hard that I don’t have the right verbs to describe. You know what, though? Doing the unhealthy thing is harder. Staying in the unhealthy hurts more than these growing pains ever will. If you don’t learn the lesson, you’re going to repeat it. I’m going to school myself and graduate. There is no shortcut to doing the work.
