How to love a broken person

Love, science says

or rather how to love another and your self. We’re all broken in some way.

Once I dated a man that had his shit together. He hadn’t seen any up hill battles. His family had given him the life that every family longs for. He was emotionally sound. He daydreamed about marrying me, taking care of us, having adventures. And he bored me. 

Every other man that have ever exchanged emotions with has been exponentially fucked up. I misdiagnose the coping mechanisms as excitement. I yearn for their dependency. I think I can fix them or at least patch the holes enough to hold air.

I never fix them. They don’t fix me. I know this. I’ve let go of that notion as much as I can. Yet it still lingers like the post trash take out funk.

What I’m trying to keep in mind is that they are their own atonomous persons. Gone are the days of someone else revolving around me — us. And here to stay is the era of keeping my own shit together. 

What I’ve painted as ebs and flows of a relationship are actually ebs and flows of two peoples independent psyches.

I’ll speak for my self. I’ve been extra emotional lately. It’s largely hormonal. It’s also anxiety and stress about life changes. It’s also just living in this climate, ingesting all of the hatred and trying to generate tolerance and love for the sake of our collective consciousness. Being the bigger person is not easy and I’ve failed many times.

Some real unenlightened shit has been happening lately. It’s been a full four weeks of teater tottering between are you fucking kidding me and fuck this shit. That’s not who I am ANY MORE. It’s just simply too easy to slip back into who you had been for so long. It takes a lot of work to be present and grandeous about the lot of it.

I often start posts with a bullet list of ideas. Then when I have time I go back and lace them all together into something semi-coherent. (A lot of gems end up on the cutting room floor for better or worse). This particular post is taking a much different turn than I entended. It was supposed to be full of out rage. In retrospect my angry list is just funny here it is: [I’ve bracketed in further interpretation]

•••••Postfeminist era. Let’s be real who’s cleaning your toilets.

[I’m a self declared feminist. I’m very motivated by the gap in gender equality that I experience in my daily life and in general by the atrocious subjugated life that half of the population in so many places are taught to believe is normal. I truly believe in my heart of hearts that healing of our Earth and our human relationships will come from the work of women. OUR TIME IS NOW. We’re all sitting on top of the shit mountain that men have built in the way of global politics, civil rights, environmentalism and social responsibility and it fucking stinks. We want a better way and to ohhh I don’t know…. avoid the total collapse of our species. It’s time to step up in a big way and grab the male domenance by the(ir) balls. I’m really into brainstorming the how’s with you sister.]

So why am I mad about a clean toilet? Because I fucking cleaned it. Instead of spending my precious spare time using my abundance of skills and talents to brew up a magical potion of girl power and allegiance I’m dusting base boards and washing windows. And I will continue to do so because otherwise it’s not going to happen and I like nice things. See what you’re doing to me— us. 😁]

•••••Fight with neighbors. 

[I’ve filled you on before about the tumultuous relationship that I have with my downstairs neighbor. Well it all came to a head a couple of weeks ago and we had a strongly worded ‘conversation’. I was seething with anger. Which sucks because that level of rage never really leaves your body. Plus I’m really into dancing around the fire  with free flopping breasts with my fellow women declaring unity and love. And less into finger wagging and elevated voices over walking up the stairs too loudly.

That was that for a few weeks. And then last night as I pulled into my parking lot my neighbor was coming out to her car. That awkward tension of power play and wishing you had an invisibility cloak washed over me. I got out of the car casting a glare I’m sure. The next thing you know she called me over to apologize for her behavior.

Said that it wasn’t representative of who she was. That life had been really hard this year and she was displacing her anger. She wanted to start the new year on a new foot. I was totally taken a back. Plus felt like an extra extra asshole for not being the bigger person first. We agreed to let bye gones be bye gones. Her vulnerability and authenticity was truly beautiful. Love won even when I was harboring the hate.]


•I wouldn’t put anything past you because at the end of the day you’re still a man. Yes we’ve already had this argument and no I wasn’t persuaded. 

[There are certain issues for all of us that are still tender raw wounds. I’ve got more than I wish to acknowledge. Some days a little salt gets in there and it makes me want to scream and curl into the fetal position. Lately those insecurities have been trust issues with men. Frustration towards not being heard and understood. Plus this old stubborn inpatience with being taken for granted. The one,two, three punch of those lately has almost taken me out. I keep getting up in the knick of time braced for the next set of blows. ]

•Reverting to old ways old pain. The same old fears.

[There’s clearly something about me that attracts this- chooses this – and/ or creates it. That’s an even harder set of facts to sit with. I feel like I’m at the cross roads far to often. The really hard decisions never get easier to make, I’m afraid. So, that’s where I am at the moment weighing the scales. The jury has been hung at the last two trials, I’m ready for a recess.]

There’s still blood in my fridge and I’m folding your underwear. 

[To be fair J cleaned the fridge after a couple of weeks of me silently loosing my shit every time I opened the fridge. He’s also folded plenty of my underwear and is the only one in our house that actually puts clothes in dressers.]

•••Ted talk on why happy people cheat shook my world. Stacey saying that she was trying to accept that her man just fulfilled certain aspects of her life.

[Like some fucked up pre destiny I listened to this Ted Talk about cheating. *Warning this video will fuck with your head*

I don’t know if it was the chicken or the egg but it had me thrown. It was the culmination of every thing that I know about biology, psychology and human sexology that I regularly repress for the preservation of a semi normal romantic relationship.

The Stacey part refers to a conversation that I had with a good friend towards the end of one of her relationships. She was trying to figure out if she should savor the satisfaction that this man wast really great at a few elements of their relationship and totally absent for many others. She was questioning if it was right to lean so heavily on our partner to completely fulfill you. That’s something the Ted talk talks about. Also, that viral Jada Pinkett Smith video screams this loudly.

Essentially that modern society has put way too much pressure on us to be everything, a vortex of complete support to our partner, and that simply isn’t realistic. I’ve been fighting that reality. As I’ve spent the past 10 years waiting for Prince Charming, okay not prince charming but someone that totally fulfills me in this intangible way. So here I am back at the drawing board of my own perceptions and expectations .]

•••••Having a best friend.

[Thank the Gods that my best friend is always a second away offering me insight and straight up reality checks. I hope that you have a someone that you can be 1000% vulnerable with. I hope that that person looks you squarely in the eye and tells you exactly what you need to hear even if that means change and work. The two scariest things in life.]


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