I had a talk with my manager today about my progress and learning curve in my new job. It was a good talk. Way more positive than I’d pictured it beforehand (damn impostor syndrome) and a great clarification on my results these past few months. You see – when it comes to my new endeavors I tend to mostly focus on imperfections and occasions where not everything went absolutely right.
So as I was explaining some struggles I’ve had with slight (but in my head terrible) mistakes – I found myself proudly saying: ‘but at least I learn from them. I only make every mistake once. I’m just looking forward to when all the possibilities for new mistakes run out and it gets to be smooth sailing from then on.’
After that call ended I fell into pondering. Because that pride I’d claimed suddenly felt uncalled for. Because even when I don’t (re)make those silly mistakes at work…why do I in love? And what does that say about me?
In the great big burning heap of mistakes I have made in my lovelife so far – my past relationship (aka – the reason you’re even reading this blog in the first place) was the worst one out of all of them. By a landslide. And that’s saying something because I’ve been a total fuck-up-hoarder when it comes to love.
Yet this one is my biggest regret when it comes to matters of the heart and the one choice I passionately wish I could turn back time for, so as to prevent myself from making it. Coming from someone who generally advertises the total absence of regrets in her life. This was one.
Because by choosing to love a man who was, from the get-go, never capable of loving me the way I needed to be and desperately wanted to be loved – I’ve turned my quest for love into a poison that runs so deeply into my heart that most days I’m still not sure I will ever recover. Or rather – where I’m usually quite sure I never will.
And don’t get me wrong – it’s not that I (or rather we) didn’t see that ending coming. Hell. EVERYONE saw it coming. And it’s not that there were the standard sets of lies and deceit that break up a lot of potential couples. Not at all – we were good in the honesty department. And it’s definitely not that we didn’t try. Or that he didn’t do the work. Or that I didn’t attempt at compromise. It was none of those things.
In a different world. A different time in our lives. Or a different situation we would have had it all. He could have been the one. Would have. And as far as the shattered pieces of my heart often still murmur – should have. But that was never a viable option from that first moment and spark. Not in this life. It was never anything but the buildup to my greatest mistake.
No – actually – it was me willingly and knowingly stepping into territory thoroughly and totally unsuited to my personal survival under the guise of openmindedness and with the excuse of ‘trying everything once‘. It was me – with the most insecure heart and anxious-preoccupied attachment style and desperate need to be chosen thinking I could step into polyamory and escape unscathed. Thinking I could be with someone who in his core was unable to ever do the one thing I needed him to do most: choose (just) me. It was the biggest case of denial, the most crushing struggle and the one battle I could’ve never won regardless of any and all efforts made.
There is not one part of me that had any option of weathering through that fight for love. Because love – there definitely was. But as anyone that’s ever tried mixing water and oil, or cola and milk or business and pleasure will know: it can’t be done. Some things, no matter how badly you want them to, can’t mesh. No matter how hard you stir. Try. Or wish to. That fight was already lost before it started. And looking back we always knew. It’s the STILL attempting it that will always be my mistake.
But that – in itself – should still be a lesson that holds value. This heartbreak should still have its worth if I’d take the knowledge gained to heart. All of this could still have merit if it’d lead to me choosing healthier and better options FOR ME in the future.
And if I’d uphold my words to my manager – learning from my mistakes and only making them once…I’d be golden.
So why is it that recently my dumb ass self sees herself flirting with that-man-chronically-incapable-of-choosing-me. Followed up by messages to-and-from mr-polyamory-himself?
Why is it that in unguarded moments I seem to be so determined to set myself up for that same sort of failure again and again before my brain kicks back in and tells me I’m a fucking idiot that never learns? Am I that much of a broken record? Do I still not TRULY believe that I deserve better? That I need something different? That I am worthy of the type of love that I want? Am I just learning reallyreally slowly? Or am I just so addicted to drama and heartbreak that I willingly invite it into my life?
It’s a puzzle I’ve yet to complete – that is undoubtedly rooted deeply into unsolved issues of all of the classic categories and undeniably something I will struggle with for many a year to come (read: always) but hey… they always say that admitting the problem is the first step to fixing it, right?
Step one: scratching dude 1 and 2 up there off the menu. I can totally do this. I think. I hope. Sigh.
Ps. Yes. I do realize I have written several variations of this post-and-rant ordeal before. I refer the ones feeling like they’re recycling comments to the ‘broken record’ sentence 😅🤪 I do hear you, I do appreciate it – but the lesson doesn’t seem to stick yet.