I Was Starting to Hate Women
“You slept with her? ..You could do better”
He looked at me with this intensity. A bitter disappointment that something this vile could come out of my mouth. Like I had matter of factly answered wrong to a question he‘d spent his entire life answering.
The same mouth that would constantly tell him to think of compassion in light of the rude interactions he encounters. From the thoughtlessness in his traditional grandfather’s ways (as he was probably raised in worst conditions). The methods at which his peers act and react (as they may be having a bad day). He has told me time and again that I have helped him become a better person. And yet, my flaws and wounds are on bloody display as I deflect my lowered self-esteem at innocent women.
From the characters in the shows we watch or women he’s slept with, the habit of picking apart other people has become so second nature that I didn’t even realize I was doing it.
Him: “You know.. it’s really ugly when you do that”.
I looked at him like a lost child. Like a dog recently hit by a rolled up newspaper. And sulked in his words. My silence spoke volumes as I reflected on my own behaviour. Had I really become this awful person? Will he still love me despite how terribly I’ve been acting?
And, as quickly as I felt the thought arise, I told him about how insecure I’ve been feeling. How my pandemic weight gain has stripped away my self confidence. How it’s been hard for me to remain unclothed around him after I’ve come out of the shower or we’ve made love. It’s been hard for me to face the reflection that I am not as beautiful as I once was. Or could be. That I would say these things about these women in order to feel like I am the one in power. To remain beautiful, so long as I am more beautiful than others.
The former of these thoughts, I told him. The latter was something I had to face on my own as I stepped away to journal with myself. I laid in bed and wept internally. The hurt I felt realizing how much I’ve turned away from my own self-love made me feel like I had abandoned myself. How easy it’s become to stretch my own truth, to look at a mirror and pull apart an image I didn’t want to see in the mirror.
“You perception of me is just a reflection of you”
I napped and woke up new. He came in the room and cradled me. And for the first time in my life, I felt what it feels like to have someone hold the scalpel to my own self-healing. He raised my self-awareness so that I could deal with these reflections alone. The kind of coordination and camaraderie that steels itself to righteous independence. Where my partner is not my crutch but one of my most powerful tools in my arsenal. The person I can come to for help. And yet, I have never felt stronger in my own power.
How easy has it been for me to cling desperately to my past lovers, in hopes that every aspect of our love would mask all of my desperate attempts at joy. Temporary. An anxious longing. A clinginess that a single act of love or affection could only temporarily satisfy.
Through all of this reflection, I have found a moment with myself. A moment to ponder what it means to love myself in a relationship. To not have to change or define myself in order to meet their standards. He loves me, just as I love myself. So, if I want to work in order to satisfy my own means, then I need to fill my own cup.
This is the full circle. Where joy should live, voids wait to be filled. So, I’ve been throwing new toys and sweets in those spaces. And when those don’t work, and only burn and break the hole bigger, I end up needing more of those things to temporarily fix me.
But the cycle should end where it starts. And I will commit myself to catching these feelings before acting upon them instantaneously.
Sometimes, you really do need a partner to show you the things you’re too scared to see yourself. Healthy or unhealthy, everybody comes into your life for a reason. And I would have never realized this if I settled on love.
I am growing. We all are. Through every success and every mistake. We are growing.
