In my moments of ultimate sadness the story often leads back to the headline: “No one has ever chosen me”. It punches right to my solar plexus, especially when I was taught that relationships for life are what makes someone lovable, worthy, and deserving of space. I think most people socialised as women were taught this.
When I remember to breathe and pause, I reach for the life raft, there is the question, “Is that true?”
When I begin to peel back the onion of thoughts about my relationships, what exposes itself is that intimately, romantically, no one has ever chosen forever me.
And I'm old enough and have enough time on my hands to work out that forever is not a metric of success. Forever is a time banding we made-up with no qualitative value. It's longer than I can imagine. It is to death and beyond. It's never being rejected.
But it's not wholesome, or connected, or fun, or safe, or laughing at 3:00 am at something which makes your belly hurt and tears stream down your face with glee at something which doesn't even seem funny in the morning. It's not discovering a new favourite restaurant you'll both talk about for years. It's not eye-contact across a crowded room. It’s not plucking a bit of fluff off someone's jumper without thinking.
When I think of love and a life well-loved, like mine, I think of the details. The flashing memory montage of a film and my life is rich in jigsaw pieces. They just from a lot of different puzzles.
I spent a lot of years dismissing what I did have, as it was only ever short-lived. Settling for less than basic respect, when every cell in my body knew that I should be walking away, because I was scared that an ending was a failure.
And by committing to this belief, I lost myself often. And when I begin to peel back the truth and extract the judgement, I often find my way back to myself.
While it is true, then, no one has ever chosen forever me, what I can see in that snowglobe of despair, is that I have never chosen forever me. I've never yet had my back enough to walk away when I knew things weren't right. I have rarely been bold enough to ask for my desires to be met, when it may be an inconvenience to another. Despite it being what I teach. I'm still a work in progress.
Right now, I'm a kicked jigsaw wondering where all the pieces go. But finally, I believe that even if I don't create my forever story, I've got some really good, solid corner pieces. And however messy, short-lived and finite my story is, I can still create something beautiful here.
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