I attending a wedding a few weeks ago, and ended up cloistered at a table with other singles: all divorced or widowed and at least 25 years older than me. I was able to make polite conversation, but often glanced around at the other tables full of my contemporaries, all coupled up.
My friend, the groom was beaming. After searching for a wife (including two engagements that never made it to the altar), he finally achieved his goal at age 44.
The newlyweds story is one of (what I hear are) many successes in online dating. They seemed like a perfect match. Not the same, and not without flaws, but two hearts that compliment each other well.
As the band played and I watched all the couples dance, I reflected on my uncoupled conundrum.
My most major mistake is obvious-I’m a sucker for a pretty face. Anytime a cute guy smiles at me, I swoon, and he could sell me the Brooklyn Bridge. I’d pay top dollar, too because somehow his good looks translate into a the perfect man, at least in my mind. It doesn’t matter how many times this illusion has been proved to be completely, and utterly untrue, I dismiss the data and proceed naively believing THIS one is different.
Not surprisingly, they all end up all being a version of the same narcissist
On the drive home from the wedding, I stopped to fuel up both the car and myself. The cashier tried to help me select something to eat, but I was distracted by the black, blue, and purple balloon where her left eye should have been. Whomever’s fist broke her face had done it not too many hours beforehand, but here she was hard at work. She looked to be in pain, but she did not complain, likely a physical abuse veteran.
I drove off wondering how someone could stay with a man who speaks with his fists, but I quickly realized, who am I to point a finger? The emotional abuse I’ve suffered at the hands of my narcissist companions doesn’t show outwardly, but it does leave a mark. Yet, I walked away only half of the time, and only after trying hard to rationalize staying. The other half of the time, I was left behind with my heart ripped to shreds.
Why do we tell ourselves we are not worthy?
I’d argue that I do believe in myself, but my reality tells a very different story. I want to blame the guy. I need to believe he doesn’t understand me, or he just wasn’t the right one, but the truth is I lack a clear understanding of my value in this world.
Since Ann Landers says I can’t accept my dog’s admiration of me as conclusive evidence that I’m wonderful, I’d better set my sights on looking within.
“He who knows others is wise, he who knows himself is enlightened.” -Lao Tzu