January 30: Better Man

There are times where the happenings of the world fascinate me. Snowflakes. The fable of Jack Frost and his artwork on my windows during these cold months. My cat’s whiskers. A leaf lilting down from a tree branch to greet me on a stroll.

Then there are times where my eyes look inward. Where everything that I seek is within me. The external world loses its allure.  

This has been one of those months. And so me being me, I look to the stars. Sure enough. It’s Mercury Retrograde time, people.

I have shared with you that I have been on a journey to teach myself love, and to be love, for the past several years. As I focus that positive energy on myself, I have been shedding some painful stories, and also been able to see with greater clarity some of my past circumstances and how I was sabotaging my ability to receive love in order to support these stories.

Allow me to illustrate with an example:

I have been in relationships with several men who had been dating or married to an anorexic woman prior to finding their way to me.

If I were to meet someone today in this circumstance, I might ask some discerning questions. How did they feel about the situation? What did they do within it? Was the woman anorexic prior to meeting them or did she become anorexic while with them? Did the man have a savior complex? Or enjoy being in a position where they were the rescuer (as they often portrayed themselves)? Did they dream of spandex and flying because I'm my own super hero thank you very much? Did they feel superior because it made them feel healthy to be with someone whose control issues were causing them to wage war on themselves using food as a weapon? Did they try to get her help? How did it change their eating habits to be with her?

There are a bevy of questions and follow-up questions I can imagine asking at this point. Things that even after years with these people I don’t know anything about.

Do you know what I did when I found out these men were with anorexics prior to me?

I felt fat.

I  evaluated my own self worth to these men by one facet of their own pasts. I deemed these women as superior to me because they were undoubtedly thinner than me. And the truth? I sort of waged a war against these women mentally. I hated that they were better than me. Thin being better. 

Forget that they had eating disorders. Forget that I cook like an Italian grandmother and honestly, who doesn’t want to eat at that table? Forget that I am a spectrum of unique and amazing qualities that go so far beyond a number on a scale. Forget all of it.

And then imagine hating on yourself because your current boyfriend had a thinner ex.

I used to sit in the car seat with my thighs clenched together so that they wouldn’t look large to my boyfriend while he drove, in case he glanced over. My stomach was tucked in, thank you very much. Chin above sea level at all times lest I have a double chin.

I shared more bites than I took at every meal. I never ordered dessert. I freaking love dessert.

I am 5’10”. These former women were petite in stature. It is impossible to be petite when you are 5’10” and not a super model (and freaking love dessert). I wore less heeled shoes. My shoulders tended to be rounded. I slouched in chairs. I wished to the heavens that I were petite.

I even dumbed myself down to insure my partner felt superior to me. Smart girls can be so threatening, can’t they?

I asked polite questions and never stopped to consider that I was never asked questions. I demurred in conversations with others. I shoved my opinions into the pit of my stomach where they swam like trapped eels, making me nauseous. I smiled and nodded. A lot.

I made myself smaller in every way possible. In retrospect, I was whittling away me. I was fading to white.

No one asked me to become transparent. I made the choice. I made it because of anorexic girlfriends who were better than me. Because I had no healthy blueprint for what being loved looked like. Because I didn’t feel seen, valued or loved as a child and thus set out to fill the bucket with the hole (that would be my heart) without a clue how that was done. Because of a thirst akin to crossing a desert and needing love more than water. Love was a thirst for me. A terrible thirst.

I clung to loving a myth of my father growing up. I stored that love somewhere inside myself that hurts to this day when I draw up its memory. Then my pre-teen years hit and I gave that “love” to a rock star. Yes, Simon Le Bon became my water. My room was wallpapered in love. He was perfect. Until he married a Victoria's Secret underwear model. Then the person who could tell me I was worth loving was any teen boy within arm’s reach. I went to college and the thirst came with me.

I could not quench that longing. Even when I was in a relationship with “I love you’s” served up hourly, I was cottonmouthed. I didn’t believe in that love. I didn’t trust it. I didn’t receive it. And it wasn’t the love I needed anyway. Not really. It wasn’t life giving. It was a placebo offered up to a girl who needed the real deal.

I was fading to white. If I were a moon, I'd say I spent a great deal of my youth waning. Becoming less and less lit from within.

I am now vivid. And well hydrated, thank you very much.

I am also tenacious as can be about remaining so. Every time a thought strays from this self love, I notice it. I reset. I love. 

I have a tuning fork inside me. It knows perfect pitch. I honor it. I live it.

If you have ever listened to this song, been brought to tears, and agreed with it…sister. I have news for you:

Yes you can. Or better yet. Find yourself. You are spectacular.

Pearl Jam - Better Man