The Pit, Part I

Before I met Henry I dated everyone: guys I met in coffee shops, guys I met salsa dancing, writers, musicians, professors, attorneys, politicos, a photographer, a chef. I dated much older men, a few men with children, men who adored me, walking wounded men who should have been in therapy and not on Match.com. I dated unavailable men, more than one man who lied about his relationship status, and a few guys I didn’t respect or even really like. I dated men who made me laugh and overly serious men who would say, “That’s really funny,” instead of laughing. I dated creative men, brainy men, talented men, charismatic men who absorbed so much light in a room that it cast everyone else in darkness.

So after dating everyone, it felt like a kind of victory to grow in love with Henry, to affirm my belief that I was capable of building an honest, respectful, loving relationship with a good man and to silence the voice inside me that questioned my worthiness of such a relationship.

Before Henry it was easy to fantasize about my relationship, the one that did not yet exist. The pre-Henry breakups were painful, but I could often attribute my hurt feelings to that narcissist/liar/insect/emotional vampire/(insert appropriate moniker here) I was dating.

But here’s the kicker, the thing that shames me to admit. After all these years, all the therapy and limpias and bad poetry and bonfires, after my book and Oaxaca and Henry and our family, I still feel a little wounded sometimes.

to be continued

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Published in: on July 25, 2013 at 3:40 pm  Comments (2)  
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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. me too! Thanks! anxious to read more

  2. really glad to read this, too much empathy… look forward to next part.. (lisa g)… gonna send you an invite to contribute some writing to lpg also…


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