Some might call it a momentary lapse of reason. But I don’t. My eyes are wide open.
love monkey
My family is staging an intervention to my ‘love addiction’. My natural inclination is to bristle with indignation for being accused and placed on trial for, gasp, exhibiting delirium and showing joy. Of course the look on my face isn’t something they’re used to seeing. It’s called happiness. Because I look like a deer who is caught in the headlights, does it mean that I am blind to my surroundings? Because I’ve been thrilled by the prospects of love at other times in my life, and ventured forth in hopes that it was indeed truth, only to learn that I was once again mistaken, does it mean that I am incapable of discerning anything? Am I not allowed to make mistakes and learn from them? Good Lord in heaven above, I put myself through more than enough condemnation for the mistakes I’ve made. More than enough. I hold myself to an extremely high standard, and of course I continue to fall short. Yet I strive, strive, and strive some more to be better, see more clearly, be more wise, be more patient.
I understand their concern, and I stifle my inclination to be angry and hurt for the accusations put forth. They love me. Who can possibly ever measure up to be good enough for me? After all, nobody ever has. They’re protective, and I understand that.
I took the quiz. I’m not a love addict.
In the nearly two years since I’ve been divorced, I’ve learned much. My marriage was a legal agreement and a place of desolation. The air that we breathed was stifling. The space in which we moved was thick with tension. There was no joy, no freedom, no peace, no comfort, no communication, no sharing, no meeting of the minds, no blending of the hearts. No love. It was an abyss, and I’m grateful to have had the strength and courage to make it end.
Of course I effervesced in the thrill of new love, when new love is what I thought I had found. And during that rebound I found that I had compromised myself and my children, to my utmost horror. Retrospectively, I understand that the thrill of new love was indeed the rush of infatuation, and not love at all. I learned from that experience. Truly.
The next time I allowed myself to get involved, the circumstances seemed different. Two single parents, wanting the best for their child(ren) and wanting a long term, loving, committed relationship. Again, the thrill of the prospect of happily ever after. Again, like oil and vinegar briefly mix, it was quickly evident that there was no possible way of amalgamating our lives.
Am I an addict because in my heart of hearts and for all of my life, what I’ve wanted most was to settle down, entrust all of me with one and only one man who entrusts all of himself to me and only me, and be a whole and loving family? Must I forfeit that dream, because I failed the marriage that I had? Do I only get one chance, and that chance is spent because I have children? Of course I need to protect and shield my children. Of course I need to edify them, and keep them safe, secure, healthy, and sound. I am. I do.
Why is it a character flaw for me to want to love and be loved?
I’m in love, and I want to shout it from the mountaintops! Am I infatuated? Of course. Am I delirious? Maybe. Am I blind? No.
Love that is real bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love, in truth, does not fail.
Does. Not. Fail.
I’m all in.
taking a chance on love
