Being a boy crazed young girl, I learned to focus on my faults instead of my values.
If I was rejected, (always was, since why would I end anything that would leave me alone), I took it as I was worthless. As in worth less than him.
When I was dumped in my early twenties by significant partners, meaning I thought we would never be apart, it hurt more than it should. I was young and had the whole world ahead of me. All I wanted was a husband. Each break up brought more self loathing, depression and hopelessness. How attractive did that make me?
When I did meet my husband, little did I know he wouldn’t stand a chance. He was a true gem. Still is. But. I never in my heart believed that he could love me. I didn’t believe any man could. I was using the message I played over and over to convince myself that men just don’t love me. There is something horribly wrong with me. I’m too this or too that. Needy, sad, lazy, uninteresting.
Not once did my ex-husband say anything negative about me. He was truly accepting of who I was. So instead of thinking he loves me, I assumed he was just blind as a bat. Or that he felt sorry for me, so he married me. The message ran deep. So deep, that I know, and own that I am more than fifty percent responsible for our ending.
Oh, he has issues, trust me. He is not getting off easily. But it must have been hard for him to be told all the time, that he didn’t love me, when he truly did. I think they call it a self fulfilling prophecy, when you convince yourself so deeply of one thing, that you make it come true. I did.
Anyways, I think I was talking about loving myself. I hate that term. I think because it seems so foreign to me. I grew up in an alcoholic home. You don’t get noticed in those places, unless you stand out for the wrong reasons. My mom paid attention to my dad who paid attention to his beer. I was left missing a lot of love. So to love myself is hard, because I’ve always wanted it from someone else.
When you find yourself single, without the backup of your young skin, unbirthing vagina, and a sense of fashion you can get pretty overwhelmed. While married, I just sort of let it go. Not to a point of horror, but to a comfort zone. Like I said before my ex has always loved my body (I never believed that, but I digress.)
Now I am going out in the world with tired everything. My face, style and body have been through mom-hood. It’s not pretty.
Each new date makes me insanely hard on myself. I have whitened my teeth, straightened my hair, bought new clothes, dieted, cried, almost cancelled (that would have been a blessing…)
It’s taken a few bad dates to realize that I can’t make myself into something I’m not. I have no evidence that the date I am about to have prefers jeggings over jeans, but I stress about this. I need to be comfortable with what I have.
Every now and then I catch a new thought that says I deserve to be loved for who I am. When I hear it, I hold on tight and try to find the repeat button.