I have nothing that I want to write today and also feel that I don’t have anything worthwhile to share. I made a promise to myself that I would write at least once a week and as I want to love and respect myself and build my self-esteem, I am not going to break that promise.
So I decided to spend the morning re-reading what I had shared so far in the ‘Make Miracles in 40 Days’ project I’ve been doing and wow – I have a lot to say! A load of shit mainly, repeating myself, silly gripes and moans but nestled beside that shit – I am raw – unfiltered and true.
So I had basically lied to myself saying that I didn’t have anything to write. 19 emails constructed in 3hrs-10mins proved me wrong. The truth is I have so much to write that it’s actually scaring me. Feeling vulnerable (hey isn’t this the point?) as the more people that tell me they have read my blog – got closer to my soul – the more I:
- question myself and my reasons for my year of vulnerability
- think I’m over sharing
- feel I have to perform better each time
Re-reading my daily emails to myself, shuddering through some of my comments and cringing at some of the words. Who is this lost woman that presents herself on this page? I felt like a stranger – prying into someone’s life – tasting their bitter pain.
The theme that continues to run through each of my daily emails and one of the main reasons that I decided to start my ‘year of vulnerability’ was being tired of standing in my own way of love.
In other words – bored of still being single! It will formally be 10 years in June. A fucking decade! I vowed to myself a while ago to stop playing the victim and wearing the length of time like a badge that a kid proudly displays on their birthday. I stopped mentioning how long I had been single to people and tried to side step the questions. But I guess there are always questions and if I’m not being asked them – I’m asking myself.
The standard questions at first: Why me? What’s wrong with me? Am I doing too much? Am I not doing enough?
BUT……….then I start looking at my physical self, my communication skills, the Comparison Cashier arrives and bit by bit I tear myself apart. I start to believe that I’m not actually capable of finding love and being loved ever again.
I’ve been on the dating sites and apps, written my list with what I want in a partner, put it on a vision board, asked for it in prayers and meditations, sent out love when I’ve seen happy couples in the street and so much more – seriously I’ve done a lot and then done nothing! And yet……here I am. Alone!
I’m not writing as a victim, for sympathy or to moan about ‘men these days’. I’m not on this post to gather words of encouragement, praise, dating advice or to soften my cries.
I’m here to proclaim. I am not giving up!
Neither am I going to settle. I don’t want a relationship where I can’t be myself. I don’t want a boyfriend where I immediately want to change the person he is. Nor am I looking for someone to fill a void, complete me or tell me everything is going to be okay.
I’m here because being open in this format is helping me to piece myself back together. One word and insight at a time.
So whether it’s a month, a year or another decade for love to make an entrance – I am making my peace with that.
My door, which I admit was once locked, or seriously jammed shut – is now open. My protective rejection gauze is off and I’m ready to be vulnerable when it comes to love and get out of my own way.
I shall sign off with a poem which I wrote in January this year:
I want love
The laughs, the cuddles, the secret glances
I want love
The pain, the heartache, the awkward
The comfortable silences
I want love
The aches of missing him
The annoyance when with him
The confused feelings
The electric touch
I want that kind of love