10 Oct Find Your Man. Get (and give) Your Lover.
Talking about love and finding your man
I’ve got to talk about it. I have to because it’s in our yards. I don’t like trash in our yards, and the wrong man is trash in the yard.
I’ve been swathed (made that word, or at least the application of it, up) by dear people who are heartbroken. Women folk who are berating themselves because they hooked up with the wrong guy and think finding love is over and it’s not going to happen or there is something wrong with them. There is nothing wrong with you my Love! You may need some clarity, but you are just fine. Women who have more inner work to do, less to offer, who keep giving little bits, and who are more emotionally challenged than you, find love and are being loved right now. You are fine. Good to go. Keep doing that self-reflection and, also, ease up on yourself, okay.
I’m no expert on men and love. I’m no advice expert and yet I’m giving advice because I know this world, I’m writing this specifically for women because someone else can write for men and because I don’t know that what is true for women always holds true for men. Having said that I will share tiny weeny bits of what I kind of sort of know about men and love and finding the one.
Not everyone finds the “one” but you will. I should have said first, there isn’t a “one.” Doesn’t that line of thinking just sound hard? Like looking for Wally in one of those kids books. There is no search. There is your availability.
There are many men that can love you and would marry you. Many men who will adore you and be your perfect mate. Many, many, many – just not the ones you’ve chosen so far – so let’s start there. Let’s start with the past for those of you gals who keep choosing men that make you work for their affection, beg for a piece of the chintzy love, have to dumb it/numb it down, have to play it up hard, have to give, give, give, and get a crumb of’ nuthin’ honey.
A Story Worth Telling
No, let’s start with my story. I was 38 years old dating a man I’d known for ten years. This man had been at my heels for years to date him. I’d always said no.
Let’s call him Asshole. My life had changed considerably since the last time I’d seen Asshole. Life was rich and good and I had done a ton of inner work. I was running and had dropped over eighty pounds. I was loving life when Asshole appeared and asked me on a date. During our nine months of “what the fuck am I doing?” he chipped away at my self esteem. Every sarcastic humorous comment was a knife into my soul. “Hey, Asshole,” I would ask, “what do you think of this skirt?” “It shows the good half of your leg,” he says.
“Hey Asshole, I love how this new bra fits my boobalicious breast.” “More than a handful is too much,” he replies.
One day he gives me a gift of clothing. I open it up to find my old plus size 18 (By now I was a size 10-12) skirt and top along with a magazine dedicated to plus size women (which was actually a really cool magazine but you get what he was doing right?). I call him and say “Asshole, you’re breaking my heart so it’s over.” He convinces me to hang out during the holidays since our families have all these events that we’ve agreed to do together and then on January 1 we will go our separate ways. I, stupidly, say okay. The next week he’s in bed with his ex-girlfriend.
When that relationshit (yep, I spelled that correctly) ended I decided then and there that was the last time I was going to date anyone who didn’t see me, interact with me, and treat me as a gem. And by the way, I never wanted to hear I was high maintenance again, as though that was a bad thing.
Pay Attention Here
I am a gem, I told myself. I am worthy. Was this Stuart Smalley from Saturday Night Live in female form or what? But it was a truth that I had to speak to and act on. I had a gig selling high end purses for Hermès. They started at $5,000 and we would wear white gloves so as not to soil the leather. The customer and I both had the desire to take beautiful care of something crafted with love. You could feel the excitement from the customer. They were in love and they hadn’t even touched the purse yet. I wanted a love that started like that. Be tender with my heart. Don’t soil me. Love me. I’m crafted by love.
I’m Naked and I Like It
The other naked, bare-all, down to bones, don’t want to admit truth was that I was the common denominator. The one thing all those loser men had in common was me. So be it, Buttercup. You have to look at who you have been that you were willing to say yes to something half ass and think “good enuff.” Who was I that these people and their sad little offerings were good enough? In what regard was I holding myself? Weren’t they showing me, giving me, doing to me what I was (energetically) telling them to do?
Annoying isn’t it? But here’s the deal, I asked these questions of myself without berating myself or thinking I was a loser because I wasn’t owning my spectacularness. I thought I had to bargain and play small, so I dated small people. I was playing small but I am not small. I was mistaken. You were mistaken. I was mistaken about how I thought of myself. Oops, it happens and you can correct it. Change your perspective and you change your world; I did. And so it goes. Repeat after Stuart: “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.”
Start Here
I made a list of all the red flags I chose to ignore in past relationships.
- Asshole’s snide remarks – not seeing them for what they were. Not calling him on it. Not walking away when I knew I should. Darn intuition.
- Any man over 40 who has never been married. Is he gay but not out. He is an overlooked Mr. Wonderful. Is he unavailable emotionally, financially, etc…
- Any many over 40 who has been married and doesn’t get why he’s divorced.
- Not following my intuition and giving men the benefit of my doubt. That doubt was my gut saying RUN!!!
- Giving men who really messed it up a second chance. I am not the Red Cross. I didn’t have to wait for a second strike to know it hurts not to be loved how I want to be loved.
- Men telling me that what I’m intuiting or seeing in them isn’t true. That I’ve got it wrong.
- Anyone who asks me to be different so they can love me. That I have needs doesn’t mean I’m needy, damn it. That you see me as needy is only because you don’t love me, not because I have a hole to fill.
My list went on; it gave me tons of clarity on my patterns. I understood what motivated those patterns. Once clarity emerges I, you, can effectively hit the delete button on one pattern followed by the save and done buttons on the new patterns we choose.
Of course as soon as I hit the done button 3 new Mr.Assholes came a calling. Just a little inner pop quiz to see if I really believed I was gem. I said no to each of them within days of meeting. I no longer had to date for a month or nine months, have it go sour and feel crappy to say no. I knew within minutes by the third one.
If Mr. Adorable can’t get it right on the first call or the first date we are, stick a fork in me, done. No second chances, because not treating me, loving me, interacting with me as a divine human being worthy, if not of your love, then of your respect is a crime against my humanity. You don’t tell a thief, “Look, I know you just stole from me but come back over for dinner and we’ll try it again.”
No second chances. None. That one was a toughy because it felt unfair. “People make mistakes, Melanie, give them a chance,” is what I’d hear myself saying. As I write this, I’m smiling. It felt unfair. Life isn’t always fair, Sweet Pea, but it is just. This is, after all, my/your heart and soul we’re talking about. I figured someone was bound to get it right without needing second and third chances so early in the game of love. Maya Angelou had it right when she said when people tell you who they are, believe them.
Houston We Have No Problems
It was working. Clarity, red flags, listening to my intuition; it all was coming together. It was becoming easy for me to be loved. I do believe that kind of clarity on your patterns and what motivates them will work for you.
One colleague was describing her search for the right man and was apologizing because she was distracted by her desire to meet her true love; it was all she could talk about. My reply was you are not distracted you are focused. Yes, my friends, focus.
You want deep love? Then make it the most important project on your desk. Give it forty- hour-a-week attention to doing whatever is yours to do.
Get out there and be you. Another colleague said she felt desperate. Good! Use that. I didn’t believe she was desperate as much as she was longing. If you are desperate turn that into desire because hopelessness is not going to be super helpful right now. If you’re untrusting of men then take a break and start with trusting your pretty ol’ self to know who you can give your big brave heart to and who gets a pass, no thank you, bye – bye.
More of the Story
I got clean and clear is how I describe it. I’m a gem. I’m looking for a man will love me just as I am. I don’t need to lose weight or go to therapy (again). I need to stand in my self-loving cowboy boots and call him to me.
It was in the year 2000 when I got on match.com to find me my man. Things happen in threes for me. My third date and it was him, but it almost didn’t happen.
Before our first date he called to cancel because as introvert he thought I’d overwhelm him. Since I am not new to this conversation, I asked permission to coach him and talk about what he’d do if I overwhelmed him and what he needed from me. An hour in he asks, “What are you doing to me?” I tell him we’re talking about what we need upfront so the date will work, and if it’s not working that we can go our own ways and minimize the awkwardness of having to say “next.” We continued to talk for two plus hours and he tells me he’s excited to meet me.
I’m jumping ahead but it’s too good not to share here. We were engaged on our third date which was over the phone while I was on a business trip.
Butt. Butt. Butt.
As we became more vulnerable in that first call, I told him what I didn’t want him to know. Not yet at least. I told him about my cellulite on my butt. I told him that I needed him to see the cellulite on my butt to know if it was deal killer. On our first in-person date I showed him my butt. To this day he doesn’t recall that. As I lifted up the back of my purple linen dress to expose my booty he said, “What do you want me to see?” I said, “Nothing at all darlin’, let’s go to the movies.” Our first date lasted 12 hours; the butt exposure occurred in hour six.
Now I’m not suggesting you show some guy your ass on your first date but you might want to. What is your version of your cellulite booty? I’m not talking about your AA issue or molestation; that can wait till you see if he’s the right one, someone who can hold that. I’m talking about those pieces that you hide and wonder if they’ll love you anyway. Something about you that’s risky but not shocking. And let me be clear that by hour 10 I would have shared my most personal past with this man; it was clear that we were “the ones” for each other. I didn’t unload on him, I revealed myself to him, and he did the same.
Men Looking for Love
My husband was as committed about finding his love as I was. He is an introvert to the max. Quiet, shy computer geek. He took line dancing courses, cooking, other adventures and finally got on match.com. He wrote out questions to ask women so he wouldn’t be shut down on the phone. He put shyness aside for the sake of love. He was committed to finding love. He was available.
Lottery Winners Have Commitment
Mr. DewBerry-Jones dated several women before he got the prize of his life as I remind him so often. I’m saying this to you women because one of those filters you need to have is “he’s committed to love.” It may not end up to be you that he loves but he’s committed; he’s in. All the work my husband had done to meet the most fantastic woman ever (okay, I’ll stop) was done because he wanted to love and be loved. Mr. DewBerry-Jones had twenty of twenty one qualities I was looking for.
We were married shortly after my fortieth. He’s the easiest man I’ve ever been with. Twelve years later, this is the easiest relationship I’ve ever been in. He told me we are a team and we are. Team DewBerry-Jones. You have a team, a partner, a love bucket. You do. And more than one. There are many, many men who will love you. Men who are whole, kind, giving and adoring. Go on, my love, get clear and clean and then make love a priority. Tell everyone you’re ready for love (and marriage if that’s what you want).
The yard is looking better every day. I spent that year off (after Mr. A.) cultivating my new self of do’s and don’ts and noticings.
- Notice what I think I’m attracted to in this man. Is it real or is it a pattern?
- Lust doesn’t equal love. Great sex isn’t love either. You can, however, love great sex.
- Chemistry is what I say it is. Look, I know we have the belief that we are just attracted to some people more than others, but what is that attraction based on? It’s not a chemical mystery. I don’t have the science to back me but it’s my belief that you can love whoever you want. Question your “I’m attracted to tall men” assumptions. Is it because tall men make you feel safe? Sexy? And…it’s fine, just fine, but check to see if it gets you into loser territory.
- Am I listening to what is being said or what I want hear? People tell you very quickly who they are. Listen to what they say and watch what they do. Is it congruent? Is it what you want? Don’t question yourself about what you hear. Accept it.
- Is he emotionally, financially, physically available?
- Am I a priority?
- Generous in spirit, his affection, finances, material, love etc. (Adjust accordingly for you)
- Does he make me laugh?
One last suggestion, because I had very bad track record for choosing men; I took Mr. DewBerry-Jones when he was still Mr. Jones to meet several of my girlfriends to tell me if I had gotten it right. This was a new muscle for me and I needed back up, confirmation, a hey-ho-off-to-work-we-go salute. They loved him.
Don’t even think of doing this alone; not even for a minute.
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