In my last relationship, I tried doing "The Love Dare", a Christian-based book designed to strengthen couples' relationships with each other and bring them closer to God as a couple in the process. Well, that failed miserable after only a few days. I even went on to do it alone, and still, that relationship failed horribly along with it. We had been going to counseling with a great man named David, but even after a few sessions with him, the dedication wasn't there on his part and after a horrible argument, the relationship was over. I continue seeing David on my own, and have come to realize that I am what is called co-dependent. I'm taking a lot of steps on my own now to break that vicious cycle.
I've made a vow to myself to remain single for at least a year, and I fully plan on sticking to that. While in my heart, I know the relationship didn't fail due to anything I did wrong, I know that many things that I did were the wrong thing to do for myself and for my children. It's a hard fact to face that I was so overly obsessed with trying to fix his problems that I had nearly no time at all for myself or more importantly, for my children. It's hard to accept that no matter how much you love someone, it is not your job to fix their mistakes, especially when they have no intention of fixing anything themselves, mainly because they fail to see that anything they are or aren't doing is wrong. For me, it felt like I loved him so deeply that I would do anything to help him, not realizing that no matter how much I truly did love him, my love and my help would never give me the love or the relationship I deserved in return. It's a total one-way street to disaster, and only now do I realize that it's not love at all if you are the one putting forth all of the effort. Love is something that takes a lot of effort on both parts. Someone who loves you wouldn't lie to you. They wouldn't hurt you or your children, either outwardly or passive aggressively. Someone who loves you wouldn't do selfish things or say hurtful things to you or your children, ever. Love doesn't exist when they tear you down by blaming you for their faults and truly make you believe they are they way they are because of something you did or didn't do. That's not love. That is abuse. And it took me far too long to realize the kind of abuse my children and I suffered for almost two years. I felt so lost and torn between a hundred different emotions when that relationship ended. But nearly a month out of it, I'm finally beginning to rebuild myself and my family back up. The sadness is gone, and I no longer feel as if I just didn't try hard enough. The fact of the matter is, I tried too hard. Much harder than I should have had to. I know now that I deserve so much better, and so do my children.
One day, FAR down the road, maybe we will find someone who will love us unconditionally and would never dream of treating us the way he did. Maybe I won't find someone, and maybe I'll actually like being on my own. I'm starting to like it more and more every day. While some things are more difficult without an extra person around to help, the relief that I feel of not having to do so many other things far outweighs the financial and physical demands that have been placed on me now. I'm learning a lot about myself for once. I've always been so focused on these disastrous men in my life that I am just now realizing who I am for a change. I'm focusing on what I want instead of what they need. What do I need? What is going to help me better myself?
It's almost strange to look at myself in the mirror. I feel like I have forgotten who I am. I am slowly rediscovering myself, one day at a time. It's like I'm waking up from a bad dream or coming out of a fog. I'm seeing clearly now for the first time in a long time, and reality is scary, but a good scary. Like the feeling you get just before you come down the first hill of a roller coaster. You have no idea what's coming, but you know it's gonna be a good time. Well, I'm holding on tight. My roller coaster just pulled out of the station and I'm starting up that first hill.
Here goes nothing...