After being abandoned by my biological father and the stepfather who adopted and raised me, I have some issues believing in men. It's not that I mistrust them, I think they usually mean what they say when they say it, for the most part, but that maybe they are a little fickle without realizing it. Or at least their hearts and intentions can turn on a dime.
My past relationships haven't helped with this. In fact, they've made it somewhat worse.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately. The last man I really let myself believe in was about 7 years ago. He married someone else soon after breaking up with me, although the relationship felt really good to me. I'd never been so happy in a relationship as I was with him and for the first time I really thought I might share my future with someone.
I really liked this guy. I mean, LIKED him. Beyond the sex and love thing. I liked him as a person. He was the kind of guy I would like to be friends with. But there was passion as well, at least from my side. It felt like we might have it all.
The break-up came out of the blue. I was literally stunned. FLOORED. I never saw it coming.
Since that boyfriend, I've not let myself get close to another man. I've dated off and on, but not really gotten close with anyone. Was it because they were the wrong men? Was it my own fear?
What I realized recently is that the unexpected break-up seven years ago affected me more than I thought. Since then, I've not trusted my own instincts with men. At all.
And if I can't trust my instincts, how can I trust the man I'm with to stick around? How can I believe that there might be something more solid there than a casual relationship?
So, I have to learn to trust myself now. That much is clear. I'm working on the how of that.
Meanwhile, I read romance novels. Weird segue, huh? There's a point to it, though, I promise.
For the first 35 years of my life, I read mostly horror, sci-fi, fantasy, mystery, and mythology. Two years ago, I tried the romance genre.
It changed my life.
No kidding. After reading romances for about a year, it struck me that these stories were reviving a feeling of romance inside me. My belief in romantic love had been severely damaged, and I didn't even realize how much.
Reading these stories makes me believe again. It makes me want it for myself. And it makes me interested in figuring out how to fix what is broken inside of me.
The change comes from within, I know that. Most important changes do. The trick is realizing that something is wrong, and the next step is identifying what is wrong. The rest should be easy, right? We'll see... All I know right now is that the thought of love pretty much terrifies me even while I want it.
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