Unwitting Surrender

Like this, but far less adorable.

I slipped into subordinance before I even realized I had relinquished any control. He seemed innocuous. A broken soul I could nurse back to health without putting myself in harm’s way as I had once, twice, thrice before. I was smarter this time around. And the him was more wounded. Hardly fit to take control of his own life let alone mine. But before long the wounds gave way to subtle manipulation. A quieter domination I wasn’t prepared for.

I never felt trapped. My identity seemed to remain intact even as I made room for a vastly different existence than the one I had envisioned. I was strong enough to carry my life and help him discover his own. I clung to the idea that “every sinner has a future” and I could bring light to his. Everything his brokenness demanded I gave. Not realizing each attempt to stitch him back together was draining me.

It wasn’t until I tugged at the one lie my dignity wouldn’t allow me to ignore that 18 months of deception began to unravel. I quickly realized his brokenness was strategic. He was smarter than I thought. Or I was dumber than I cared to admit. Motivated by narcissism, each crack he revealed was a conscious choice to disarm. This is not to suggest that every fracture was lie. He’s genuinely a damaged individual. It’s simply a different brand of disease. One far more infectious than I was prepared for.

Now weeks and months after the web came undone, he desperately fights to maintain some semblance of control with lies that grow more flagrant with each ignored call. And it hardly seems fair. Haven’t I suffered enough? Granted I’ve suffered as a result of my own decision to let this individual infect my life. But I also made the decision to ask him to get gone. Form of blocked Facebook pages, filtered emails, changed locks, new phone numbers and now a potential move.

Each attempt at contact feels like a violation. Each decision I have to make as a result of his predatory behavior feels like I’m ceding ground. I’m backed into a corner without the freedom to determine basic aspects of my life trajectory for fear his path will strategically cross mine. I’ve banished his physical presence but he gets to preserve his hold. 

He continues to invade from thousands of miles away. I continue to surrender.

He gains ground when I go to extremes to block contact. I wave a white flag when I read each message that manages to slip through. I forfeit with tinges of guilt and lingering compassion despite the fact that the circumstances that warrant compassion are likely blatant lies.

Of the hundreds of emotions I’ve experienced in the past three months, I’ve found those I most deserve to express are those I have difficulty embracing. I’ve seen the wolf beneath the wool and I’m still fighting the instinct to dress his wounds when I should be nursing those he inflicted on me. I deserve to be angry and the very fact that I question that anger with each pathetic line he gives me about his reformation and inevitable demise adds to the conflicted mess.

It’s a strange type of conflicted. With one clear path free of his existence. He has earned his place as a memory and nothing more. It seems the only way to lock him there right now is to retreat. Even if a stronger person would be able to reclaim her ground by any means necessary, I may have to regain my strength by going under it.  

Too Much Togetherness

That's me on the right.

Among the many not-so-loveable patterns I repeat in my relationships is my desire to spend every spare moment with the snugglebear in my life. Probably because I go so long between snugglebears that I have to squeeze in as much as I can to catch up. I caught myself doing this again with the boy of the moment this past weekend. We had essentially spent the entire weekend together, so he declined my invitation to share a lovely Sunday with me. My instinctual reaction was to get butthurt and conclude that he chose not to spend time with me because he hated me with the fire of a thousand angry suns.

Then the more reasonable little angel on the opposite shoulder stepped in, smacked me upside the head and calmly explained that a couple does not have to spend every spare moment together in order to be happy. In fact, chances are it’s probably healthier to spend some time apart. Give each other a chance to miss those adorable little habits that you love so much. Like the cute way he clips his toenails in the sink or his sweet concern for your poor housekeeping skills.

More than anything, that free time gives you the opportunity to continue your personal growth outside of the relationship. It seems fairly obvious, but it took a friend pointing it out as I was embarking on my latest romantical adventure: 

When you start a relationship, force yourself to do things you did before meeting him. That way when the infatuation high comes down you won't have lost yourself.

-Big Sister Morgan

Doing the things I loved prior to the relationship helps me stay in touch with a certain level of independence. An independence I need in order to prevent myself from crumbling if the relationship does. I don’t know why it’s been so difficult for me to maintain this balance. I actually feared I had become too autonomous during my season of singlehood. I enjoyed being able to come and go without consulting someone else’s schedule so much that I figured I would be neglectful of the next hunnybun’s needs when he came along.

But it turns out it’s easier for me to fall into old patterns. It would seem an extended period of singlehood did nothing to really change the core of who I am in a relationship. It’s pretty easy for me to blow off lesser obligations to commit to spending time with poodle. That’s probably a good thing to some degree as it indicates that I actually enjoy spending time with the kid.

Though I will say the lessons I learned in loving my time flying solo will come in handy the next time a relationship ends. After years of serial monogamy, being alone felt unnatural and this kept me in a number of truly unhealthy situations. Next time I imagine it won’t be so difficult to bounce back. It’s gotta be like riding a bike, right? Regardless, this bouncing will be much softer if I take the time to foster relationships and interests outside the confines of my love interest. Plus, he will likely appreciate the breathing room.

Religion, Dating & Finding Out I Can’t Remain Detached

I’ve dated on nearly every point along the Western religion spectrum from atheist to spiritual-ish to Jesus freak. In theory, if a guy hates Jesus, it should be a deal breaker for me. But I’ve blurred the lines on that rule, probably one time too many. For the most part it hasn’t been a major problem in the early stages. Mostly due to a mutual respect for what the other individual believes. Healthy conversations can be had without turning into conversion attempts or all-out arguments. Much like a friendship on the same plane. Except, unlike friendships, you may have to raise a child with this individual so that can be a problem down the road.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. As I said, in the past these relationships have functioned on respect and understanding. Until recently, I’ve never encountered a situation where someone has actively tried to change my faith. We went through a great debate when things finally came to a head. Well not so much a debate as a berating of my faith. I was denounced as a little fool for believing in a joke of a religion because I was “smarter than that.” After this encounter I’m thinking it might be too dangerous to dip into those waters.

I was floored that someone I cared about could belittle something that is at the very core of who I am. I couldn’t reconcile the idea that someone who thought me to be such a wonderful person could implore me to change the very convictions that made me that person. It was a rather eye-opening conversation. He couldn’t have meant all the things he had said about caring about me or liking me because he basically loathed everything I stood for. So often Christians get pigeonholed as this hateful, judgmental bag of tricks. But even in my stalwart faith I have never launched a vicious attack of this nature on a non-believer.

I know that our life paths all take very different turns and that the curves in my road have made it easier for me to land on the proverbial straight and narrow than if my life was dealt from his deck of cards. I recognize that our unique trials and moments of peace shape our dogma. This outlook is probably one of the main reasons I get involved with the wrong people. In addition to the fact that I don’t fall into the pit of butterflies and giggles very easily anymore, so when I get that twinge from someone, I revert back to the stupid girl who loves (likes) blindly with no regard for the logic that guides someone out of unhealthy relationships before they can start.

I’ve been able to erect a boundary in certain situations before that feeling germinates, but if it takes root before deal breakers are uncovered, I’m basically screwed for the duration. I was able to extricate myself from this particular situation a month or so after the fact. But it required much more power of will than it should have. And I’m still left reeling more than I expected.

He actively hid his feelings about my faith in an effort to keep our relationship going. I’m not sure what he hoped to accomplish long-term with this. He could only keep his disdain from bubbling up for so long, and then what was going to happen? He shared that he was ready to settle down and could see doing that with me. So how could he marry someone who he couldn’t possibly respect on the basis of her faith? Whatever, that part of it was somewhat irrelevant to me because of the multitude of other reasons he wouldn’t make a good life partner for me. I was trying to be casual and aloof about the whole situation because since getting a taste of it, I was craving that connection. But that was never going to work.

The end game for me is always going to be love, marriage, baby carriage. I need to recognize that I can’t be easy and breezy when I feel a connection with someone. I can’t even claim I was trying to change this one’s mind to make him into the husband I want. I know he is where he is going to be and I didn’t suffer from any delusions that would suggest otherwise. In high school I might have thought, “all he needs is to be loved in the right way.” But not with this one. I figured I could just dabble in him until I got him out of my system. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to get him out of my system without removing him from my life. Spending time with him was only weaving him more intricately into my life and my nature.

Ultimately I learned something about myself I should have always known. No matter how unsuitable an individual may be, even if the thought of him being a long-term solution to that love problem is a damn impossibility, I can’t remain detached. I was designed to feel and feel deeply. Because I’m emo like that. By the time the hook is set, it’s too late for me to not become immersed in the elements that make him who he is. 

A Mistake I Have to Make

As growing and evolving human beings our lives are strung together by a series of lessons we’ve learned from mistakes we’ve made and sworn never to repeat again. But for some of us (hopefully there is an “us” and I’m not completely alone in my shame) there are mistakes we knowingly repeat and can never explain our motives to the satisfaction of anyone with half an ounce of common sense. The routinely revisited error is a difficult one to comprehend. There are a slew of quotes floating around the universe pontificating on the absurdity of reverting back to old missteps.

One of the most popular, beautifully illustrated by a myriad of self-proclaimed graphic designers throughout all of Pinterest, is “you can’t make the same mistake twice, the second time you make it it’s no longer a mistake, it’s a choice.”

[Side bar: I can’t find actual attribution to that quote anywhere because it seems to be bastardized by the Internet like so many other quotes before it. If I’m to trust a Google search, at least 73 teenage girls from the Midwest said it first on Twitter. So for all I know some cast member of the Hills said it and I’ve completely discredited anything further that comes onto the page.]

And if there is any area of my life where I knowingly make bad choices it’s in the male relational department. I’m a complete moron when it comes to a pair of dimples and a resonant voice that seems was created just to say things that make me feel pretty and special. Especially after months of being made to feel unpretty (that definitely comes from TLC so don’t you even try to steal it, Midwestern teeny boppers). I know, I know, my codependent insecurities are showing. But I got ‘em. So deal.

I have a list of deal breakers designed to keep my heart logical and out of relationships with boys who are no good. And those deal breakers have rescued the sappy, brainless organ that beats within my chest a number of times. But, I’m ashamed to say, sometimes the right combination of jawline perfection, mischievous eyes, five o’clock shadow and charm without a hint of irony will take my brain completely out of the equation. Because who needs logic when the flawless marriage of Adam Levine and Cecil Otter is dying to see you again? (Ok that combination won’t float everyone’s boat, but it will end me.) In particular when this gorgeous dude can make you feel like the sole bird in the lounge (I had to go British with that to make it less clichéd, did it work?).

I’ve been down this road and know what waits at the end of it. Those deal breakers are there for a reason. I’m not suddenly going to become extremely accepting of the fact that he smokes copious amounts of weed, can’t afford gas for his car and has trouble defining a single major life goal beyond buying that Camaro he’s always wanted. And eventually he’s going to realize I’m an uptight Jesus freak whose no-sex rule isn’t just me playing hard to get. Despite being fully aware of these realities, I’m going to travel down that road slowly becoming attached to an empty prospect as I approach a dead end that can’t get here soon enough. And when it does, it will sting. But I will live.

Ugh. This whole thing is so painfully emo. I’m sorry. It’s probably because I’ve been listening to Green or Blue for two weeks and their music, while spectacular, turns the 15-year-old girl in me into a sniveling twit.

I’m not sure where I am going with this. I obviously have no real wisdom on the matter. If I did, I would smack the stupid girl who wittingly took my life in the wrong direction when the misadventure began. So maybe this is an admission of guilt. I know you’re all shocked to hear that I do stupid things at an age when I can no longer blame them on innocent naiveté. Maybe the moral of the story is we must allow ourselves to make mistakes so we can put them to rest. Conveniently, I watched an episode of How I Met Your Mother wherein Lily eloquently explained this phenomenon for me:

There are certain things in life where you know it's a mistake but you don't really know it's a mistake because the only way to really know it is a mistake is to make that mistake and look back and say, "Yup, that was a mistake". So really, the bigger mistake would be to not make the mistake because then you'll go your whole life not really knowing if something is a mistake or not. 

So perhaps that is all this vague situation I’m alluding to was. A mistake I had to make if only so I can look back on it now that it’s over and say, “Yup, that was a mistake.”

The Love Gene

After spending some time with my grandmother discussing dating and such, I’ve come to the completely unscientific and most likely false conclusion that romantical preferences are a hereditary curse. I also did a Bible study this past summer that suggested there might be some truth to this theory. Though the study was more about bearing the emotional burdens of our mothers and their mothers before them, naturally some of this translates into how we approach our relationships. It suggested that even though we may not have some life-altering traumatic experiences in our lifetime, the damage inflicted on the women in our blood lines before us may spill over into our lives without our knowledge or permission.

I began exploring this possibility when my father once expressed his devastation in my choice of men, because of the long-standing belief that women date the men who remind them of their fathers. And my shoddy taste in the stronger sex hasn’t done any justice to the reality of my near-perfect father. But there had to be something that led to my codependent tendencies, it couldn’t possibly be my fault, I needed something to blame—er I mean explain?

Although my mother apparently chose the “last good man on earth” (words of outside sources, not my own), her relationship with her father was nothing like the one she would have with her husband. I remember my grandfather as being an over-sized teddy bear of a man whose heart was bursting with love for his family. But I also remember him as a distant, crotchety man whose disdain for children was made apparent every time we were hit by the shrapnel of his short-fused temper. The latter man was the original before he learned to appreciate the warmth one could gain from inviting the love of family. I’m not sure what flipped the switch in him, but we were definitely blessed to experience the softer version of grandpa before too deep an impression had been made.

I sometimes wonder if my mother was not so lucky. She clearly loved her father and her heart breaks over and over again when she thinks about losing him in October of 2009. But she spent her entire childhood and most of her adult years with the man who didn’t have the patience for needy children and didn’t understand how to express the love he ultimately learned to engulf us with in later years.

On my father’s side my grandmother made a few missteps in love. Though she bonded herself to a man who adored his wife until the day cancer took over his once “hunky” frame, loving an alcoholic was a challenge. No matter how much he loved her back. His alcoholism never led to violence. Only distance. It was something he and his family struggled with until the year my little brother was born. And though my memory box of my grandfather only holds the moments when he nuzzled my grandma in the kitchen while she prepared Christmas dinner, there was undeniable damage done along the timeline that came before me.

If the butterfly effect holds authority over the love as it allegedly does every other corner of our existence, the family love stories told before my inception may be the source of some of the men I’ve fallen prey to. But I can’t continue fault my family history for what are ultimately poor decisions on my part. We all have baggage: some put upon us, some saddled on our own. Though I tend to be empathetic to the human condition I also have little patience for people who point the finger at unfortunate circumstances in hopes that it will excuse their bad behavior. It doesn’t. And I’m no exception. I’ve been in abusive relationships where I’ve chosen to stay. I’ve been with great guys who I’ve chosen to leave. And I’ve been a crappy insecure girlfriend because I chose to let past losers dictate how I feel. I’ve made poor choices in my life and been in ill-fated situations, but the responsibility for my future romantic adventures rests very much in my hands.

I Resolve to Find Me a Man in 2012?

Resolution 2012: Complete.

Ok I’m back from my unintentional holiday hiatus. I’m sure I was missed terribly. And in keeping with the obligatory themed posts this one is going to be about resolutions, kids. Well part of it’s due to the New Year’s resolution shtick and part of it’s because a friend of mine made some quip the other day about how I wanted a man more than the average sow (that’s a female bear). I took great offense to this statement despite the fact that he didn’t believe he was being offensive. To me he was saying, “you are desperate and in need of a boyfriend because you’re obviously no good without one.” To him he was saying, well, I’m still not clear on what he thinks he was saying.

Regardless, a quick check of Facebook this morning proved I’m in no way ahead of the curve in the pining department. There was no shortage of girls mourning the fact that they had closed out 2011 without a man, resolving to change that in 2012. My initial reaction was passing judgment on their pitiful goal. Then I scolded myself for being a stupid wench about it. Who am I to assail what is important to someone else? Especially something that’s obviously important to me on some level. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t have an entire blog devoted to spewing about the very topic. So the many, many cats wearing hand-knitted sweaters are out of the bag on that one. I guess I just have trouble reconciling the desire to be paired off someday with something I actively have control over.

It’s probably that absurd little romantic in me who recklessly clings to the belief in twu wuv that cannot be planned or brought about by my strategic efforts. It seems fruitless to vow to change something about your life that you seemingly have no control over. The clichéd resolutions can all be achieved with a little discipline on behalf of the resolvee. Want to lose weight? Start working out and eat a meal that doesn’t come out of a box once in awhile. Quit smoking? Stop buying cigarettes. Become a pop star? Throw on a Beanie Baby bra, soul-crushing footwear and a blue wig. Boom. Pop star. See? Easy and fully strategic.

Resolving to meet the man of my dreams in 2012 just makes the whole thing seem forced and unnatural. And I’m not even sure I’m ready for Prince Charming. I’ve got crap I wanna do yet. But I’m pretty sure there is always going to be crap I wanna do. That’s why it’s lovely to think that he will actually just show up – as the atrocious little saying goes – when I’m least expecting it. Still, this chica has a point in number one. It’s perfectly acceptable and admirable even to have clear intentions for yourself and those intentions should be backed up by action in some way. So while you can’t force a relationship, you can do more to open yourself up to meeting your ball and chain.

I used to think this meant putting myself out there at the usual scene. Making the first move. But that’s just not me. I’m the girl dammit. And even though it’s good to step outside your comfort zone to meet your goals, doing something that makes you feel like a fish with a bicycle or a hipster with a car and a job isn’t going to do you or the potential squeezemuffin any favors. Plus, as evidenced this weekend, if I actively go for it, the whole thing will inevitably crash and burn when his boyfriend walks in. But that’s a tale for when you’re a little older.

I’ve since realized carrying out some of my other resolutions may just put me on the path to lurve. I may meet someone at my dance class (yes, I know, this will likely just lead to another “oh you have a boyfriend?” situation). Or someone may realize how cool I am while I’m writing my novel at a coffee shop. Or perhaps I will fall in love with some charming European during the trip I swore I was going to take. Just putting yourself in the position to meet new people will increase the possibility that one of those new people will be your very own Him. Plus those other resolutions to get fit and shower more than once a week will just make you all the more appealing when you do meet cute.

So the moral of the story is: your resolution can be whatever you want. No judgment from me. I’m sure you’re relieved. 

Confessions of a Mistress

Ok that title is unnecessarily dramatic. I’m sorry. I’m not really a mistress per se. But no one is going to read a post entitled: “Confessions of a Girl Who Maybe Flirted a Little Too Hard With Someone Who Was Unavailable.” Now that I got your attention by misleading you, let me explain my mistress-light circumstances.

A while back (foggy timeline so you know it’s juicy) I was hanging out with a former flame under the pretense of getting back some long-forgotten artifacts left behind when the relationship fizzled. Even years after we had ended our relationship, we always had the tension of lingering attraction between us. I can’t explain why this one plays the Hubbell to my Katie, but we easily fall into those roles when we are together. So I really shouldn’t have been surprised when an innocent invitation to imbibe a single beer led to more than it should have.

I knew I was in trouble when he passed up the spacious couch and opted to join me on the love seat (Ugh could there possibly be a more clichéd piece of furniture for these events to transpire on?), settling in close enough for the heat of his arm to transfer to mine. Normally I wouldn’t have given a second thought about giving in to the advances that would inevitably come to pass. However, the last I heard, he had a new girl now and common decency demanded that I refrain from making a cuckquean of this poor thing. So I chose to ignore the obvious and continue making useless small talk. Soon his arm was around my shoulders and then my waist. I began to wonder if maybe he had dropped his girl and failed to tell me.

I only discovered that this was not the case when he murmured, “I shouldn’t be doing this,” close enough for his heavy Marlboro breath to offend nearly every one of my senses. When I heard those words confirming that he wasn’t mine to pursue I should have shut it down completely. But I didn’t. Instead we continued this dance of, “Should we? No, we shouldn’t,” over the course of the next hour. Each time taking one step closer to that line of regret and only half a step back. Part of my participation could be attributed to the aforementioned magnetic draw. The other part was due to a desire to be desired that had taken ahold of me earlier in the week.

By the time the spell was broken with the practicalities of late nights converging with early mornings, he felt he had succeeded in escaping the temptation a faithful man. I knew what he had done would have been considered cheating by any wronged girlfriend. He was pleased with his willpower and I was wracked with guilt.

I had made no move to stop him from breaking his trust with a girl I had never even met. There was a point when I began to do everything I could to convince him to do exactly that. As I said, I had never met this girl. What did I owe her? He began the whole affair, why should I take on the responsibility of keeping her man honest? That was his burden to bear. Not mine. Still, no matter how I tried to convince myself that I held no alliance to this unknown and therefore didn’t owe her the loyalty of her boyfriend, I couldn’t shake the thought that I had broken a code. Not just some arbitrary girl code but a human code that would demand we treat any other person on this planet, as we would hope someone would treat us in similar circumstances.

Sure, he instigated the waltz, and it was his relationship he willingly put at risk. But I kept imagining how heartbroken I would be if I knew some woman I had never met accepted an invitation to lead my boyfriend astray. Yes, the sanctity of his relationship lies within his realm of authority, but life isn’t always about who should hold the blame. Maybe sometimes it’s about stepping up beyond your accountability to protect someone you’ll never meet from a devastation that you can prevent by making a sacrifice you know you don’t necessarily have to make.

The Empty Fantasy Keeps Me Hanging On (But Only for a Night)

After some serious over-analysis of last night’s—or last week’s (depending on when I post this or when you read this I guess, whatever catch up here)—disaster as per my relentless, neurotic M.O., I’ve realized what a disease my involuntary fantasies can be. You know the ones. You meet a guy and one thing or another leads you to think, “hm he could be kinda great.” And this naturally leads to thoughts of which matching sweater vests you should wear in your Christmas card picture. Even though logically you know it probably won’t get past the first few glasses of wine after you somehow manage to insult his mother, favorite sports team and haircut—in that order. It’s hard to keep your mind from trotting along to some blissful utopian where he is thoughtfully arty, hates watching football and loves doing dishes.

Anyway, multiple times last evening (and a few this morning) I thought I should give Jonny Come Not At All the benefit of the doubt for reasons that solely existed in my head. Because he never really bothered to give me a solid explanation or a decent apology for that matter. I thought I owed him a bit of understanding as a basic human courtesy. Then my friends lovingly pointed out that I, in fact, owe this guy nothing. I don’t know him from Adam and he had done nothing leading up to this point to suggest he deserved the courtesy of Mother-Theresa-like patience. He certainly didn’t do me any favors with the way he mishandled the situation. So good riddance Prince Charming turned Duke Detestable, I wash my hands of you!

But maybe not always? I mean, yes, the only reason I would give this guy or some other putz another chance at a first impression would be the hope of potential. And we certainly shouldn’t be building our relationships on mythical potential. Unless you want to end up writing a blog on dating years after the thing crumbles to embarrassing pieces of wasted dreams. In that case, knock yourself out. Still, I look at how easy it is for some people to pick up relationships like they’re on sale on J.C. Penny, and I have to wonder if they don’t pursue the things heavily despite a few major stumbles even early on.

It’s not an issue of settling, because these people seem to date eligible partners. The only thing that throws me is how quickly they can make these relationships happen. And I think maybe I’m doing it wrong? Maybe I need to make more of an effort to pursue that fantasy despite a few early glitches? I’m not exactly sure where I’m going with this because I really don’t think that is the route I should take. Especially in this particular case. Because dude obviously doesn’t give a damn about the impression he made so why in the world would bother with him? But I do tend to give up pretty easily. Typically all it takes is an empty promise to call and I’m handing my number to the next guy. Maybe this just means I’m not as desperate as I think I am. Oh man, wouldn’t that be great? If the only reason I haven’t found my Shnoodlecoot (I’m using that little number on the next lucky guy for sure) is because I simply don’t want it bad enough?

The thing is I think I have too much pride to give someone a second opportunity to disrespect me. The biggest complaint I have about last night isn’t that the date didn’t happen. It’s that I allowed the whole thing to be strung out and I became a bit of a fool because of it. I should have simply told him to forget it at least one of the three times he drug the wait-time out. Not because my time was wasted—it wasn’t really I got some good blog time in—but because my gentle little ego had be kicked around several times over the course of one evening. That oughta learn me for next time. Five minutes late because your sick grandma needed help with her meds? Unforgiveable sir, I don’t need this nonsense from you!

Laying it Bare

More Sunday mornings than I would like, I wake up and a feeling of guilt sets in as I remember the series of mistakes I’ve made the night before. Most of these errors in judgment are considered standard behavior for a 26-year-old single on a Saturday evening: one drink too many, dancing in a manner that wouldn’t exactly make my mama proud, associating with men who are not the righteous type (and not in an '80s catch phrase kinda way—sorry bad joke in an effort to break the tension of an altogether too serious post), etc. But these seemingly mild-mannered mistakes set my floundering Christian heart reeling with guilt. There have been times when I’ve purposefully slept through church to avoid driving the self-loathing stake deeper as I’m surrounded by fellow church goers who I’m convinced have it all figured out.

Even writing this is causing some discomfort. Partially because I’m opening up my shortcomings to the world at large, but mostly because I’m laying it bare in front of my Christian friends. And while they are not the type to throw stones, I admire them and don’t exactly want them to see me as the giant ball of sin I am.

No, this is not an easy post to pen, but I was inspired by this guy. And while my behavior may seem less disgraceful than porn addiction and reckless sex, I’m no less ashamed. Especially considering the fact that I’ve succumbed to my weaknesses in the much more recent past than Max’s three years. But I came to the realization that wrapping myself up in a cocoon of chagrin is not going to make things better. Especially when I saw how God battled Max’s demons when the hapless sinner finally admitted to himself (and God) that he was not strong enough to do so on his own.

I realize that this is a bit off-topic from my usual singlehood narrative, but it all ties together. It’s likely that I’m way off base (as I so often am), but I get the impression that singles struggle silently in their sin more than others do. In my conversations with singletons (more specifically Christian singletons) and through reading blogs like Make It Mad, I realized how hard we work to put on a front and pretend it’s easy to battle temptations that seem designed to specifically derail the singles of the world. Temptations like the drinking that goes hand-in-hand with the social life of a young single. Or compromising our bodies in an effort to either feel loved or to keep someone we love.

For me personally (and I’m sure for others), I fear that admitting these things are actually a struggle for me will make me look weak in my faith. Especially when there have been times that I’ve felt the very act of being single is sinful in the eyes of some. Now I realize that most Christians don’t share this view and God certainly doesn’t, but one of my weaknesses is that I feel I have more to prove. This all makes it even more difficult for me to open up about my shortcomings. In turn, I don’t get the guidance I need, so I continue to do the very thing I hate. It’s a cycle that I hope I can break by owning my shame and asking for help. Even if it does open me up to embarrassment and possible judgment from others. Because pretending I don’t struggle is only going to lead me to further rely on my own strength to resist my demons. The same strength that has failed me so many times before.

Lessons in Self Reflection

I watched Titanic the other night for the first time in years (don’t judge) and it spurred some thinking about the ever-popular damsel in distress love theme. Of all the ridiculous lies perpetuated by mythological Hollywood storylines the idea that a person can find their true selves in their soul mate seems counterintuitive to me. Even though Jack acknowledged that Rose could really only save herself, the entire plot suggests otherwise. The inexplicably popular Twilight doesn’t even pretend to suggest that young Bella is capable of being anyone without the help of at least one of the two dashing, and might I add, violent, men in her life. (That one you can judge, but I watched it with Rifftrax, hilarious)

I do believe that a good relationship will bring out the best of who you are, but if you don’t know who you are to begin with, how can the best be brought out? For a long time I was the girl who always had a boyfriend. I was almost that girl who always had a boyfriend and then got married. The one who never truly got the opportunity to figure out things about herself that could only be discovered on her own.

In some cases this works out for people. Maybe they have a deep understanding of themselves at a young age, maybe they have the wherewithal to not let another person, no matter how close, keep them from becoming the person they want to be, or maybe they simply have no depth at all. All I really know is what did not work for me. It wasn’t until I was single that I started to come into my own.

Granted the period of time when I’ve been single has happened to coincide with the time when most people come into adulthood regardless of relationship status, but I know that I would not be where I am in terms of appreciating who I am as an individual if I had stayed on the perpetual relationship path.

It was too easy to throw my energy in learning about the other person: who he was, what he wanted out of life, where he was headed and not even bother to pose the very same questions about myself. In the past few years, I haven’t been overly preoccupied with serious relationships. I’ve been able to take the time to realize how much I love to travel, write and experience new things from strange food to experimental theater.

Regardless of how people complete their introspective journey, I think it has very little to do with all-consuming love. I imagine that those individuals who do figure out what they expect out of life while in a relationship don’t do so only because of the other person as absurd teenage romance movies would suggest. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe some people are so connected that their true identities are only recognized when they find each other?