Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I was in love…
In reality it was just a little over a year ago, I was dating a guy I'd been friends with in high school after we'd reconnected on Facebook. I was approaching the last year of my twenties and had notions of settling down on my mind. He was about to ask me to move across the country so that we could be together. It was romantic and exciting and all very new for me. And we were in love. Two star-crossed lovers it seemed separated by miles and circumstance. Never before really believing I could find a relationship that would last, I finally felt like everything in my life was falling into place. I finally had someone I could lean on and rely on, who would always care for me. I had finally found my knight in shining armor and my happy ending at last was underway.
The night before I turned 29 he had wished me happy birthday telling me he hoped it would be my best year ever. And I believed that it would be. Perhaps it was a well thought out sentiment or maybe it's just one of those things you say to someone on their birthday but either way he turned out to be right. But not for the reason I thought, and not for any reason that had anything to do with him. Ultimately, our relationship would unravel before I turned 30 but his words turned out to be almost prophetic. Somewhat ironically, it was the end of my relationship with him (a rather low point in my life) that prompted me to turn to therapy which has turned out to be the one of the greatest experiences I've ever had. So in a sense he was right, it was my best year.
When our relationship ended I struggled to find meaning in it all. It was difficult for me to reconcile the idea that something I'd believed in so strongly could just be over. It's kind of like being a child and believing in fairy tales. You become enchanted by tales of charming princes and fairy godmothers and happily ever after and then one day you grow up and realize they're just stories and suddenly all of the magic is gone.
Finding meaning in our relationship is something I still struggle with and I've discussed it with P on a few occasions. According to her, the desire to find meaning in things is natural, it's how people find peace with uncertainty (much in the way that religion provides a sense of security for many people). It becomes problematic when you focus so much on finding meaning that you lose sight of the experience altogether. Take those childhood fairy tales for example. When I was young those stories provided a source of imagination, they encouraged me to dream and taught me to believe in love and in happy endings. Real life doesn't always unfold like a fairy tale but those early stories of triumph and prevail give us something to aspire for and maybe that's not such a bad thing after all.
Thinking back on my relationship, I realize that he too encouraged me to dream. He believed in me when I didn't necessarily believe in myself. Perhaps because we had been friends at a young age, he actually reawakened a little bit of the child inside of me. He helped me rediscover a part of myself that I'd long forgotten and helped me to bring a sense of fun and adventure back into my life during a time that I was probably much too focused and serious. He reminded me to slow down and take care of myself at a time when I was pushing myself way too hard. He helped me believe in love again at a time when I thought I no longer could.
Perhaps because my relationship with him helped me to recognize all of these things I equated him with the experience but I'm beginning to realize that they're actually two separate entities. Even though we're no longer together and I can't take him with me I am able to hold onto the experience and what I gained from it. Even now I realize that its during times when I'm stressed or sad or feeling more vulnerable that I want to reach out for him. Almost instinctively, I want to turn to him to have someone to talk to or to lean on but I'm also starting to find that I can fulfill that need for myself. Kind of like a child who reaches for their blanket when they're frightened and then one day realizes it's not so scary out there any more. There's a certain security in believing in happily ever after. I'm starting to establish that sense of security by learning to believe in myself.
P has told me that building more security on my own will allow me to make better decisions when it comes future relationships. To think about that is really kind of empowering. Instead of waiting for my knight in shining armor to rescue me it's almost like I'm becoming the heroine of my own story. It's not that I've given up on love, I just no longer want to feel the need to be rescued. I'm creating my own modern day fairy tale in a sense. Now that's not to say if a tall dark and handsome stranger rides by on a horse I won't look, but if he arrives on foot I think that will be equally fine with me.
The End :)
-k
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