There are moments when being on your own is excruciating.
I have been on my own for seven years. The first half of that I couldn’t contemplate being with another man — how could I, when my whole heart and head was still attached to another? Bereavement is a difficult beast, a space where you experience the past as if it were the present, when every memory is relived — every conversation, every argument, every moment, is examined as if it were happening now. I grieved for years. I relived every moment of our relationship. I relived the flaws and the magic; I felt ALL OF IT. And then I moved through it. I found work that meant something to me; I found a way to live through the pain — to accept it — to process my loss and find a place for it. I found my way to the other shore.
And here I am, on that other shore, filled with hope and expectation and the small tentative belief that if I just let myself be seen, if I let another SEE ME, I will find love again. And it scares the shit out of me. Even now I find it so hard to believe that all I have to offer — all that I am — will be accepted by another man. That I can be loved. That I am loveable. That I am worthy of love.
And so I took a chance. I took that first wobbly step out into the world. I knew it had been too long — I knew I was still bruised, still so full of doubts. But I did it — I reached out. I took the training wheels off and rode out into the world of dating. And then, when I least expected, I was shot down. And it’s so curious to be sitting here now, with the heavy weight of disappointment pressing me to the floor. Because it’s not just me. There’s another person who’s dealing with their own shit, their own confusion, their own fucked up head. And I can’t help them—i am not the person they need. And that’s a hard one to sit with, because I’m so used to being the healer, the one who makes sense of it all. But when they look you in the eye and tell you they can’t do it, all you can do is smile, and nod, and say yes, you understand. Because in some strange, unexpected way, I do understand. I get it. But it doesn’t stop the disappointment.
I know this is just another chapter in the book of my life. I know this is just the beginning of the future path I have stepped onto.
But, fucking hell, it hurts.
This is my truth tonight.