Dating after a failed long-term relationship is much like throwing yourself into a meat grinder. And I don’t necessarily mean that in the obvious imagery of it being torturous and an experience that you want to be over as quickly as possible.
When I first thought that dating again would be a good idea, I was excited at the possibility of meeting new people. I was optimistic that finding a fella who suited me better than the one I chose the first time around wouldn’t be an exercise in cycles of “I’m over this shit!” But it’s been exactly that. I say that without disrespect to the people I’ve met along the way. I’ve made some good friends in the last couple of years but it wasn’t until I realized I had to completely deconstruct myself that I became more at ease with something happening in its own time.
So, dating is like diving head-first into a meat grinder. At least if you’re doing it right. And that is according to me and me alone. There is no research to back this. But I fancy myself someone who offers her unsolicited opinion on a plethora of topics so here goes:
I jumped into a meat grinder. I did this because I needed to in order to be a worthy partner for someone. As I met single after single in the last few years (and I don’t just mean men who were potential love interests, I met single men and women who have become my friends as well), I noticed a pattern. When recapping why their relationship failed, there were a lot of stories about what their ex did to secure the end of a partnership. And I was guilty of that as well. But I’m not a fan of playing a victim, how the hell will that help me move on? I still have kids to raise, a job to do and many, many more years of my life to live, and I’d really like those years not to suck. To that end, it is imperative that I recognize my role in the end of my marriage, and even more, all relationships I’ve had that have failed.
The best imagery I could muster up was that of starting off whole and gradually, painfully, methodically breaking myself apart, much like ground beef (obviously). As each little piece comes out of the tube at the bottom, I get to chose if it falls to the floor to be dumped out with the waste or if it makes it to the bowl and the eventual spicy meatball that I will serve up to those special people I invite to my table.
To the dating end, I’d like my man to have spent time torturing himself with self-reflection as well. When his pieces come out the bottom, what will they form? Will he serve me up a nice burger, topped with melted cheese and crispy bacon? Or will he just let his mess spill out onto the floor, requiring me to pick up the bits and try to fit them together on my own? As an adult, I’ll expect there to be at least some semblance of structure to his pieces, perhaps a neatly packaged sausage link. Tee hee (sorry, dad).
1 Comment
Best of luck moving forward!!.