Prickly and hard to love.
Vulnerability is a tough go for me as I grow older. I've been told I'm WAY too casual sharing deeply personal things and I make people uncomfortable with the reality that is me, but I've also been told I'm impossible to feel close to - because, well... rage.
So which is it? Am I too intimate or hard to know? Yes.
I'm not good at surface-casual, although I've gotten better over the years. But much like the frost on a cold brew - surface casual quenches only an immediate need. True connection is a rare and wonderous beast I never cease dreaming of. I now know it is more a fluid thing - something you can dabble in briefly, but hard to hold in your hand for very long.
At my core, I believe the foundation of any true connection must be vulnerability and trust.. or perhaps trusting that you CAN be vulnerable with someone who claims to love you. I guess I believe you have to see one another clearly, and without knowing what we're made of (and how) you don't get the full understanding. I learned pretty early that trust is also a fluid (or maybe a gas?). Turns out offerings of truth (honesty) is dramatically limited by what we know of ourselves, and what we are even willing to see, much less admit to.
I wish I could identify at what point in my life I decided to really scrutinize my wiring. Like many, I've sought counseling for clarity. Like many, I've wanted to *do the work* and make changes so I would STOP self-sabotaging. But more importantly, I really just wanted to gain insight as to why I failed to find (or keep) love.
Why am I SO HARD to love?
When considering the Nature vs Nurture argument, I was not exposed to parents that praised, or built up, but instead punished and ignored. However, since I'm still human - it's kind of nice to hear you have value. Since my mom (like many of her era) believed a woman's value was measured by her domestic skills and sexual worth, suffice it to say I am a product of my upbringing. It's just that simple.
I married the first time at 17. Having spent my senior year living with my future hubs, I remember telling him if marriage wasn't on the books, I was leaving - so we married a few months after I graduated high school. SUCH Romance! We had two beautiful kids, and thirteen years of both good and bad times. So why did it end? Many years ago I unearthed a journal I'd kept those first few years. Not odd to find most entries used love and intercourse as interchangeable.
He did me - me must love me.
As you might imagine, there is something epically WRONG with believing physical love means emotional love. It simply is not a sustainable platform. Time, kids, personal growth, and life intrudes and that house won't stand. In my marriage, the harder I fought to be more, the harder he worked to make me less. To his credit, I doubt it was a calculated choice, but it WAS his choice nevertheless. MINE was to become distant, to shut down. I'm good at that.
I'm the person that stepped out onto that ledge, and I'm the person that leapt. I was not a victim. But at that same time, neither was he.. he WAS the dude at the bottom telling the ledge-bitch to stop dawdling (a poorly calculated bluff on his part). It wasn't an easy choice - nothing that can be compressed down to a few lines - but I came off the ledge because I wanted to be valued for more than a mere 2 cubic feet of bod - you know, that physical part of me - waist to the thighs. And because I don't want to rewrite my history, I also came off that ledge bedazzled in feelers for a married dude at the gym who (as it turns out) liked the way my spandex fit over those cubic feet. A smooth older man who made me believe he saw and loved the whole woman. I was SO raw and vulnerable with him, oh how we talked - and he claimed to deeply admire and love the woman I wanted to be. How sad that 'admire' was the hook. Anyway, he loved me.. until I left my marriage, and he didn't. THEN. He did years later when his wife caught him with his future wife, but I digress.
Every partner I’ve danced with in the twenty-plus years of 'cindy seeks love' that followed – at least those I qualified as serious – I was honest, openly vulnerable about my fears, and seeking reassurance of my worth. According to my counselor- I was also giving them license to use and discard me. Not sure if I've mentioned how much I disliked that woman. Eventually they would... discard me. And not one walked out the door without telling me ALL the reasons why it was my fault they had to.
Now, if we multiply how many times I’ve been reassured I'm loveable, only to (at some point) be told how hard I am to love - imagine how this girl might try to change - and CHANGE I DID!
Hahahahahaa. Ha.. Sigh....
Eventually I became more VOCAL I wasn't going to fall for that b.s. anymore. I dated people I would NOT love. I dated people NOT based on sexual chemistry, I insisted on friendship first, and yes I sought playmates as well. And I was lonely. Eventually I reached again for that unicorn - the one who would SEE my strengths - those same strengths I'd worked so HARD to love. I spose that's where the work came in... loving myself.
And then it happened. I found someone who admired me. I found someone who saw value in strength, in independence, in all those attributes I'd fought 50 years to learn to love about myself. I'd done it! and I was going to march into this future loaded for bear. Communication skills? CHECK! Independence? Check! Honesty? Check! Teamwork? Check! and lastly Commitment? CHECK!
Until I learned a NEW lesson.. or maybe I learned the same lesson again. Words are easy. They can be gifts or weapons. More importantly, they don't have to be a true reflection of one's views/feelers. WHY is this such a damned hard lesson for me?
How someone uses them is as much a true reflection of self, as how the recipient chooses to receive them. Ultimate honesty is only as honest as one believes themselves to be. And maybe it is honest in the moment, and then it isn't. I don't know. But just because I am speaking words to reflect who I am inside in a genuine attempt to be vulnerable, the words I'm receiving in that same light may have little or NOTHING to do with how the other person really feels.
What else have I learned about myself? Well, I'm a good cook and have a nice cooch.
OH, and yeah - I'm very hard to love.
DING DING DING - we HAVE A WINNER!
Since words don't really matter - I thought maybe pictures might.
People look at pictures right?
A thistle is a wonderous thing. They are dramatically resilient and honey bees LOVE them. Thistles are also determined, prickly in nature, almost impossible to destroy (unless you pour on gasoline and light up the flame thrower) but most importantly - exceptionally hard to love.
Hmm.. probably should have put it on my crotch.
