Introverted-false-extrovert that I am, I people-watch.  I am especially fond of contemplating those engaged in romantic relationships.  How do they function as a unit yet still remain seperate?  What keeps them together?  What makes them push apart? Why does one relationship last 65 years (my mom worked for this old couple who had been married 65 year before he died at age 91)–while another one barely lasts a few weeks (ahem: Kim Kardashian)?

It’s  really not unlike watching an animal habit-you sit still long enough and the subjects become comfortable forgetting that you are present.  It is very much like watching people slow dance. The movement I see is so beautifully painful, or painfully beautiful, depending on the perspective of the day.

The rituals that I find most odd–even more than the preening-getting-to-know-you-do-you-like-me dance–is the ritual of breaking a relationship.   It seems to be the most difficult of all acts to consummate.  How does one leave-gracefully yet completely when one must leave before “til death”?  Some of the customary promenades look like these:

The “You’re Body’s Here With Me, But Your Mind Is On The Other Side Of Town”:

The most common of the couples, these are most often found…not together.  Whenever they are together very little chemistry or emotional investment exists.  New people watchers will often naively mistake the happiness in the face of one as genuine affection for one another; a more seasoned onlooker will identify the affect as the effect of someone else.  The people in these relationships will have found someone else to make them happy, and like  some bird species, one or the other partner has given their “shine” away while replacing it with something less fabulous.  What’s more, the other partner knows but keeps believing the best, hoping, praying, wishing.

The “There’s Nothing Left To Say”:

This breed of couple often ends in violence of some sort: beginning with a seemingly harmless mistake or a superficial slight set off one of the pair before they both go down into the flames of passionate hatred.  The volatile duo can often be seen in parking lots and foyers of hotels and restaurants or out with very uncomfortable friends as they screaming at the top of their lungs and verbally assault each other.   They find solace in the howling, which covers the painfully obvious silence that comes from staying in a dead situation.   These couples also use the violence to create an atmosphere of sympathy from their friends, which is used to replenish courage enough to move on.

The “I’m Lonely Whenever You’re Around”: 

These kind sit around cafes and trendy restaurants NOT SAYING A WORD TO EACH OTHER.  Using technology, menus, waitstaff, even friends and strangers to occupy the abyss that neither other them cares to attempt to cross.  Lost in plain sight, these couples have past the point of anger and hate, strolling casually side by side into the cold arms of indifference.  Neither cares enough about the other to actually end it yet both savor the contempt he/she feels in the perceived weakness of the other not being able to walk away.  These often end up in relationships that last for years, even develop into marriages that look…decent, but feel odd to the outside world.

The similarity running through each group of couples?  The fear of discussing the inevitable breaking that must occur in order to move on… the fear of the dance coming to an end, of finding another partner who actually understands the rhythm.  Nary a word ever spoken, these demented duos battle it out, never actually “quitting” each other even though they left a long time ago.  Whether through silence or violent argument or falseness, each one foolishly strains to “make” the other person leave–instead of just sitting down and speaking the truth:  that it’s over.

My idea of paradise would be sweet honesty with only the other person’s interest at heart.  While I wait on that dream to ascend into the heavens, I continue to watch the dance of love and life and breaking, waiting to see the rarest dance of all:  The “Let’s Just Kiss and Say Goodbye.”  In this unique dance, the two parties meet in the middle, apologize for any pain caused, as for forgiveness, appreciate the time spent, respect the feelings of the other and go their separate ways.

Like I said, I’ll keep watching.

A funny thing happened the other night.

I had lain down to sleep after having a really busy day at work and no sign of stress relief from the home front.  It seemed as if I’d just dozed off real good when I felt a nudge waking me up.  My first reaction was to roll over thinking it was the hubby waking me for some midnight nookie but to my surprise he was waking me for something way different.  As I frantically rubbed my eyes into focus all I hear are the words, “we’re done”.  It was as if my iPod was stuck on repeat and that was being blasted in my ears.  Still being out of it, I glanced to the side and noticed my phone was sitting on the bed next to me, but not on the home screen that I always leave it on.  The message that I saw on the phone was a very old one.   A text exchange with a dude I met on G+ when I first started hanging out over there.  The cursor was vehemently blinking at a line that read, “when I get back to Dallas I’ll call you if it’s not late…hopefully we can hook up before I head back to LA”.  Those were the words that would come to haunt me for the next few days.  A gesture that was totally unintentional was about to contribute to the demise of my 8 year marriage.

I was now fully awake, and even though that same song was still playing in my ears (“we’re done”) I was trying to quickly figure out what my next move would be.  What could/should I say to help ease this extremely tense situation?  How can I explain to my husband that the man I was reaching out to is just a platonic long distance friend that I occasionally exchange playful conversation with?  He wouldn’t understand.  His first impression of that message was that I’d flew 2000 miles away to meet up with some dude and have a fling that he would never find out about.  Trying to discuss this with him having a level head right now was damn near impossible.  He wanted no parts of an explanation.  He was out for blood and wasn’t settling for anything less.

He stormed in and out of the bedroom dragging black garbage bags behind him.  Intensely yanking out drawers and throwing his clothes in the bags.  It seemed with every separation of a bag my heart was tearing at the seam.  How could he totally assume that something was going on and not even bother to ask me about it?  It was if he had been suspecting me of cheating for a long time and he’d finally found the morsel of proof that he’d been looking for.  Like this message was his out.  His key to freedom.  His excuse for finally saying he’d had enough and wanted out of this relationship. There were so many bags.  Not just clothes for a 3 day cool off period but every damn thing that he owned.  At first I just sat there looking at him in disbelief and trying to figure out what to say.  Then my sadness immediately turned into anger when I realized that he was blindly accusing me of cheating and totally failed to give me the benefit of the doubt.  I jumped in his face trying to delay his progress and started yelling how full-of-shit I thought he was for making a big deal out of what I thought was absolutely nothing.  I accused him of trying to cover up his own cheating by shifting blame onto me and we almost got into a physical altercation.

There were still so many damn bags.  He started to haul them to his truck as I sat on the side of the bed watching him.  I refused to let him see me cry, which was so hard because I’m such an emotional person.  I just sat there.  Like a rock.  Looking at him and shaking my head in disbelief.  I wasn’t gonna cry.  I had done nothing wrong and he was determined to break my heart over what I perceived to be some stupid shit.  It was so hard to just sit there and let him walk away.  He was not just walking away from me but he was also walking out on our kids as far as I’m concerned.  I felt like he was just abandoning all because of a few meaningless words that he misconstrued.  I was in shock.  He finally put all of the bags in his truck.  Told me he would be staying at his moms and threw the house keys on the coffee table as he walked out slamming the door behind him.  I just stood there.  Still in total shock.  Hoping that I was just dreaming and what I thought just took place would be all better in the morning when I wake up.  I walked back into the bedroom, looked around at the tornado that just blew through my life and effectively collapsed on the floor.

It’s been 6 days since he threw those keys down.  I haven’t spoken to him.  Still not sure what I would say if I did.  Just makes me question if one of us will end up being the bigger person, the adult in the room.  Neither of us wants to give in.  Neither of us wants to admit wrong.  At some point somebody’s gotta say something.  We eventually have to talk about this.  But do we really want to talk about it is really the question.  This isn’t a simple misunderstanding.  Nor is it just an issue of trust.  Its ongoing issues of non-communication, past hurt, privacy, mistrust and questionable faithfulness.  How do you recover from all of that?  How do we even attempt to start healing from this?  It’s the straw that broke the camel’s back alright.  Only no one knew that the camel’s back would break into so many pieces.  It’s like cleaning up broken glass, you can see all of the big pieces but it’s the tiny particles that act like glue that compromise the overall structure.  Will we try to salvage our relationship? Maybe.  Right now I’m enjoying the quiet reflections and although I’m praying for restoration I wonder if it’s the best thing for us.  I guess we’ll all find out in time.

When I think about Billy Wayne these days, it is with clinical detachment—as though he is a character in a novel I must study in order to pass a course.  That is really all he has ever been to me, a ghostly shadow given substance by the meaning I pulled from my mother’s answers to my questions and given life through my compulsive imaginings.  But the vain imagination of a girl without a name is a potent thing, and he grew into someone I knew—completely fictional, but still I knew him and grew to love him in this way.

I cannot even remember what he looks like; and now that I am older there isn’t even the pretend face that I used to look up to with my arms stretched wide for love.  What does remain is a feeling that has never gone away.  It is not love; having finally experienced love in its entirety, I know that love should not feel unpleasant and this unending thing is highly uncomfortable.  It also is not pain—as a connoisseur of pain, I know that much of my pain is attached to experiences and memories–and of these I have none with Billy Wayne.  What I feel is more akin to the sensation that I would imagine a heart attack victim might feel right before the pain. It’s the unnaturally tight feeling you get in the chest followed by a moment of panic—a suffocating pressure that won’t allow you to draw breath, that forces you to fight your way mightily into the darkness of passing out.

Yes.  Pressure…then, panic.

Immediately, someone could say—well maybe you’re just suffering from anxiety.  I believe that I am experiencing the effects of a series of small heart attacks.  You see, when someone breaks your heart that first time, and it isn’t fixed, each new crack simply splinters off the first original wound.  My heart has never fully healed from this first heart attack.  After the main fracture, then a second, and a third, and a fourth, and a fifth…into infinity, each new shattering experience pulling the scab off the old, not quite healed places.

And so the memory, the legacy that I have from my father is a broken heart, and a lifetime of not knowing how to get over it.  This is where I live, where I have lived all of my life–stuck in a moment of pressure, then panic, then brief escapes into emptiness before the inevitable agony that lies beyond the dark.

I hate falling in love.  My love is voracious, eating partners alive with my insatiable need.  I can barely hold myself together, teetering between being completely call0us and dispassionate to violently obsessive.

I doubt I’m the only woman out there who lives in a state of bipolar love-switching from uncaring and cold to very much crazy in love.  The sad fact is that many of us lead these double lives because as the world has increasingly opened up to us professionally and financially, we find ourselves more and more out of touch with how to be a woman for a real man.  I’m not talking June Cleaver–though some of you hard, hateful chicks can take a lesson from her…or Florida Evans, whichever your spirit can jive with–but I am talking about being able to be feminine and soft while still being a strong, accomplished professional.  And being able to maintain a modicum of control of your emotional self.

I don’t want to waste words here, but bear with me as I struggle with this issue myself.    The reason (this is my opinion, my feeling–not necessarily fact) that we–that I struggle so much with these emotional roller coasters comes from a lack of trust in a man to do the right thing by me.  I know, I know–guys out there will roll their eyes and say what’s so deep about that.  Just hear me out, though.  There is a point.

Trust is an act of submission to someone else’s intentions.  My trouble has always stemmed from distrust in men in general to take care of me–my heart, my resources, my dreams, my passion–rather than take advantage or completely ignore me period.  Just about every man I have known has in some way proven that internal point: I cannot trust you, you will hurt me in a very deep and heart breaking way.  Mind you, maybe I should not have been there to begin with, but some should have been givens–dad, step dad, grand dad, uncle, pastor… instead I was repeatedly beat up, so to speak.

So now I struggle–even in a really good relationship–to expect the best, let alone ASSUME that the best is coming my way.  I don’t trust it.  I don’t trust it.  I don’t trust it.  And at the same time, I crave that trust so much so that I have never eased into natural submission–I have forced it, going in too early and creating a space where a man has the option of using me instead of protecting me. And me going absolutely ape-shit in the process.  I’m talking R. Kelly Can’t Eat, Can’t Sleep REMIX–nanananananana and all of that.  Bonkers.

We have all met this person, or are related to this person, or have heard of this person… the (wo)man who has been married and divorced four times, can’t manage to stay in a marriage for more than three years, are ready to jump the broom again before the ink is even dry on the previous divorce decree; the serial spouse. I think we can all agree that, more likely than not, he or she is doing something wrong when it comes to the state of holy matrimony.

But what about people like me? People who may have just not married the right person that first time around for whatever reason. Is there an automatic assumption about people in that situation that they must not be marriage material, that the failure of their marriage is proof of their lack of spouse potential? Are we, in fact, “damaged goods”?

I had a conversation about this once at an engagement party. The conversation started out discussing the appropriate age for marriage– young vs. older– but as a divorcee over the age of thirty, I had to put my two cents in regarding those of us who have already been down the aisle (and back) once. Not only did I advocate that you should wait til after the age of twenty-five to do anything permanent (marriage, kids, tattoos).

I also state the case that a divorce is not necessarily the mark of failure, but the mark of experience. Sometimes knowing what doesn’t work is just as important as knowing what does. It’s like learning to drive… you may know the basics of gas, brake, turn signal, slow down on curves, but you may not know how to get yourself out of a snow bank unless you’ve actually run into, and had to get out of, one. I know that simply pushing down the gas pedal doesn’t work. I’ve learned from experience (and a little advice from mom, i.e. an experienced snow driver) that rocking the car back and forth in forward and reverse does… but only AFTER I drove into said snow bank.

I have spent the last three years doing a lot of self-reflection to figure out what went wrong, how might I have reacted better to problems, and what can I do better in the future. I see little utility in playing the blame game and thinking up all the reasons why your ex is to blame for the demise of your relationship. Since the only person you can change and control is yourself, it is best to focus on the things that YOU can change about YOU, because in most divorces where the cause was “irreconcilable differences” both parties played a part in its undoing to some extent. His or her admission of fault or change does nothing for your future relationships.

For example: I figured out that I am a rug sweeper. Instead of addressing issues as they arose, I would always back down and sweep the issue under the rug instead of saying my piece, just to keep peace. This then led to an unhealthy level of distraction seeking, which, again, instead of facing the issue, I found ways to distract myself from thinking about them. Now I make a conscious effort not to sweep so much under the rug, and I try to express myself more so I don’t wind up in the same mess I was in before repeating the same mistakes.
I’d like to think of myself as being battle tested, and though I’ve had a few casualties, I think I’ve come away with some valuable lessons for the future. I know that every little (or big) fight isn’t the end of the world, that you should have some “untouchable” subject matters and rules for fighting because you will HAVE to see this person later that night and the next day, that every day isn’t roses and candle light dinners, that you may have days (or even weeks) where you just don’t LIKE the other person, but that doesn’t mean that the love isn’t there and it’s time to ditch the relationship.

I think many single people are afraid of marriage because it is harder to jump ship at any sign of trouble. At least with someone who has been married before you know that they at least abandoned that fear once and they know how painful it is to get out. Personally, I never want to go through that ever again…. been there, done that, don’t want another t-shirt. So the next time I get married, I’m going to do everything I can so I don’t have to.

So for all of my fellow divorcee’s out there, don’t get down on yourselves as you head back out into the dating world. And to anyone out there who may meet a divorcee, don’t automatically assume that he or she must not know how marriage works. Most of us know exactly how it works….. AND how it doesn’t.

Breaking up with someone is never easy. Well, let me take that back. In some instances, it’s the easiest decision to make, when it just involves you and one other person. In my case, though, it was a difficult decision, not only because I had to break up with someone but I, also, had to decide with WHOM to break up with. How did I end up in such a predicament?

Well, it all started back  in my sophomore year at a community college. I was pretty shy in school. I was about 20 years old at the time and had only had one boyfriend in my entire life. It was instilled in me that school was only for getting an education, not for “galavanting” so while I was on campus, I had tunnel-vision. I paid no mind to the many guys who tried to get my attention, whether they smiled at me or physically spoke to me. All they would get in return was a fleeting smile and a head nod as I continued on my way to class or to the library to do some studying. It wasn’t to say that I was a hermit, though, I did have some friends. My sister and I were very popular on campus, despite our being somewhat introverted and being each other’s company outside of class. Everyone knew us because we were the “sexiest twins on campus.”

One day, my sister and I were hanging out with some friends in front of one of the buildings on campus and they had started a little freestyle cypher session. As one of our friends had finished his freestyle, another guy named Terry started rapping behind me. I turned around to see who it was and my jaw hit the floor. He was the most gorgeous, most handsome guy I had ever laid my eyes on and he could really rap. When he had finished, he caught my eye and smiled at me and I smiled back shyly before turning back to my sister. I overheard him talking to one of our friends behind us and he was asking about me. Long story short, we started dating about a month later and it was WONDERFUL. He made me so happy, he was thoughtful, sweet, caring, loving, and every other word you can think of. Our relationship was perfect (in my eyes).

A year later, Terry and I were still in together and very much in love but some unexpected events occurred that summer that put a heavy strain on our relationship. Being that he was originally from Georgia and was only in Florida for school, Terry had decided to go back to GA for a couple of weeks when school let out for the summer. We spoke on the phone every day and kept up the great communication we’d always had. I even went as far as to start counting down the days until he returned on my calendar. The day that he was supposed to come back, though, was the day he hit me with the news that he wouldn’t be returning to Florida. His uncle, who he was staying with here in Florida, had talked his parents into making Terry enlist in the military. I was livid. My number one fear was being with someone who was in the military for a fear of them never returning. It wasn’t something I could handle. I cried for days when Terry told me about it but I loved him so much that I held on to our relationship.

After he completed his bootcamp, he had assured me that he was going to be stationed somewhere in Florida and not be in active duty, which brought relief to me… Until he found out that he was going to be shipped to Iraq right away. He didn’t like it anymore than I did and there was nothing either of us could do about it except hold on to each other so we did. I wrote letters to Terry every single day and we talked on the phone every chance he had to call me. I sent him pictures, he wrote me postcards, the whole nine. I prayed for him every single day and assured him that I’d never leave him and never hurt him… Until I met Jeremy.

Jeremy was the best friend of the guy my sister was seeing at the time. I happened to meet him when my sister’s boyfriend picked us up from school one day. She sat in the front seat with her boyfriend so I, naturally, ended up in the backseat with him. I didn’t make eye contact with him at all, but I did notice that he was a cutie. But I was determined to stay loyal and faithful to Terry because I truly did love him and made him a promise. Well, Jeremy managed to infiltrate my senses and fill the physical void that had developed when Terry left. Jeremy was there to hug me and hold me and talk to me and I truly missed that interaction with Terry. I began to feel extremely guilty about it because I was betraying Terry who was overseas fighting for our country, fighting for me and our future. I couldn’t help it, though. Terry gave me love but Jeremy was giving me the physical aspect that I was so craving at the time. I don’t recall ever having telling Jeremy that Terry was my boyfriend but he found out one day when we were at my house hanging out and Terry called. I answered and tried to act like everything was cool but Terry could sense something in my voice and so could Jeremy, who was sitting right next to me. Jeremy asked who I was talking to and I came out and told him. He made me put the call on speakerphone so that he could talk to Terry and I started to cry. I was confused as hell. After passing some words back and forth to each other, Jeremy turned to me and told me to make a choice. Him or Terry. Everything in my heart, mind, soul, and spirit screamed at me to choose Terry. I chose Jeremy. Terry hung up the phone and I hadn’t heard from him again.

That wasn’t the end of it, though. Karma dealt me a huge blow. Just shortly after having chosen Jeremy over Terry, I paid for it dearly. Jeremy turned out to be abusive, physically, emotionally, verbally, sexually, and mentally. We were together for roughly 6 months after I made my decision and he treated me like garbage and cheated on me the entire time. Not to mention that he, himself, was already with a girl for the past 2 years but she was away at college, which is how he ended up being with me. When she came back home, he left me, acted like he never met me or knew who I was.

That was one of the biggest lessons life had taught me. Here I had one of the greatest men in my life that loved me deeply and cared for me so much and I ruined something so beautiful because he was there and not here. To this day, I regret making the choice that I made and I constantly find myself  wondering “what if?” Things happen for a reason, this is true, but that is one time in my life that I would definitely change, if I could…

My advice to anyone out there would be that if you’re going to break up with someone, make sure it’s for a true reason and not for self-gratification or selfishness. You will end up paying for it in the end…

It’s over… the love is gone… time to move on… so now I just need to get my stuff and go. I can move on with my life and now my new “ex” can too, right?

WRONG!

Why is it not ever that easy?
Why does it usually seem like one partner just can’t let go?
Why does one partner just want to give it ONE MORE TRY?
Why does one partner just not want to GO AWAY?

The truth is, love (or lust in some cases) affects each of us differently. When one partner is ready to throw in the towel, it seems as if the other just isn’t quite there yet. Once the second person gets there, why does the first person now want to rekindle those old feelings?

I know many men that have said “once mine, always mine”. Though this may seem to be primal, from my many conversations with men of all ages, socioeconomic statuses and regions, men tend to be pretty primal creatures. That is not an insult, but more the truth. As an underlying constant, men tend to be very simple and direct. In the view of a man, everything is pretty much black and white with no grey area. Men see what they want. Men go after what they want. Once a man has what he wants, he doesn’t want to let go of it until he is ready to let go of it. Much like a child with a toy, what he has is his. Though he may put it down, if another wants to play with it, he reverts back to the mindset of simple possession. It’s his until he no longer wants it. Cut and dry, black and white….this is “man-logic” and it perfectly sensible to the one thinking that way. Women look at this simplistic approach as being “too simple”. “Of course it’s more complex than that”;” It can’t be that easy“. Well, actually, to a man, it is.
Now, of course, there is a woman’s perspective as well. The most popular, by far, is “I’ve invested all of this time in him, so I’m not going to let my hard work go to waste or let someone else benefit from it”. Just by the explanation alone, you can tell that women are much more complex than men. Women tend to overanalyze and give different angles and ponder and weigh options and, and, and; well, you get the point. Women tend to look at what they have done to mold him into the perfect mate. Usually women tend not to want another to benefit from the time they have invested. Does that mean that now the relationship will last forever? Of course it doesn’t. In the mind of a woman though, it gives a very strong argument to why it’s not time to give up. Does that make sense to a man? No, of course it does not.

A man’s reasoning has four words. A woman’s reasoning has two sentences and variables. One simple question and such varying responses is the first major difference in the way each looks at break-ups. Does that make one view point better than the other? Of course it does not. It just means we must work harder to understand the other gender. These gender differences not only surface during the relationship, but also the break-up. One would have never suspected that two people that were once thought to be so compatible could actually have such underlying differences when it came to time to part ways.

So, what about the case of a same-gender couple? Everyone should understand their partner perfectly and never have any misunderstandings, right? WRONG! From the discussions I have had it seems as if the relationship roles, not the actual gender of the partner, dictate how partners behave both within the relationship and when the relationship comes to an end. It seems that no matter the demographic or relationship details, we can’t seem to get this break-up thing right.

So, let’s say that we have finally mutually decided to part ways, that’s the end of it right? I no longer want you and you no longer want me. It was fun while it lasted; now we can both move on. This is not usually the case. At this point, another very large obstacle usually remains. Is this obstacle who will keep the house or apartment? No, it’s not. Is this obstacle how will we split the bills we made while we are together? I’m afraid not. Is the obstacle how we will divide up our mutual friends so we don’t have to encounter our new ex? Nope, that’s not it either. The answer may surprise you, but if you have ever had a nasty break-up, it may not.

The biggest and most difficult part of going your own separate way is “How do I get my stuff back?” I never realized how much of an issue this was until I took a survey of the most difficult part of breaking up with someone. The resounding response was that very statement. It may make sense as to why we may want to keep what we purchased for our partner. If we spent our hard-earned money on this item, that is perfectly logical, right? It may make sense as to why we may want our partner to keep what we bought for them. We don’t want it back and they should want to hold on to the trinkets of the relationship, right? The looming question is why would we want to keep items that belonged to our partner before we got together? From my understanding, some people look at it as a trophy. “Yes, my partner can leave, but I’m keeping the big screen TV”; or “I know my partner loved that video game console so I’m going to keep it just to get back at them”. Whatever the case may be, trying to leave a relationship with the material possessions you came into it with can prove to be quite difficult.

I’m sure as you are reading this you are expecting this to be the part of the article where I offer advice on how to get your stuff back. I must say you are quite mistaken! I cannot understand this concept and unfortunately cannot begin to offer an explanation to why people think this way. Quite honestly, if I had that answer, there would be a lot less repurchasing of items originally owned that have now seemed to walk out of our lives and I’m quite certain that a lot of retail outlets would stop this article from being seen before it could be published.

The only bit of advice I can offer at this point is this: be very careful who you commit yourself to. Don’t pick someone simply because it is an open opportunity. Be selective with whom you give access to your heart and your possessions. It usually proves to be quite difficult to get both back and usually this cannot be done without some form of damage.

I honestly have to say I never thought I would find myself in a situation like this. I have watched it on TV so many times screaming at the TV at women’s stupidity and how she can’t see that he is never going to leave his wife. Then one day, I met a man.

He wasn’t too hard on the eyes, met the height requirement and he believed in the same things I did when it came to relationships. We spent time together and every time was great. A mutual friend of mine then told me the breaking news. This man was married.

I looked up and said “Really God? Really?” and with that I had to bring it to the table and so I asked him. “Are you married?” he didn’t lie,  he said that he was but that they were having problems and he would be moving out soon. He said he just needed to tie up a few loose ends and make sure that his kids were okay. You have no idea of how many red flags went up in my head but I was curious to see how this was going to go.

I talked to my friend and she said that he has been saying that same thing since she had known him.

What the hell was I thinking?
Why didn’t I just walk away?
Why did I allow my feeling to get involved into something I knew was a mess?

We talked about and talked about it and he kept reassuring me that he was leaving her. I know, I know it’s just like on the TV. But this man was taking care of me like no man in life ever was. Anything I wanted or needed, he would be there to provide. Who cares right? He belonged to someone else no matter how much I wished the words were different no matter if he never wore his ring (there wasn’t even a band mark on his finger) he was married and that kept playing in my head over and over again.  I couldn’t take it. I had to fight the feelings and stand up for what is right.

I have never been married and when I do, I would never want someone to spend the time that I was spending with him with my husband. The sad part is, I don’t think the woman cared at all. It seemed as if they both lived separate lives and all they did at the end of the day was go to a mutual place of living. But that didn’t matter either. I needed divorce papers if that is what you claimed was in the works and his response was money just isn’t right and my response “this just isn’t right”.

So, I had to go, I can’t be your girl any longer. A year later he is still married to this woman and living there pushing out the words, “she’s just my wife and soon as I get my money together I am moving out.”  What was I thinking back then?Even though I still may not have a man of my own, till this day I am happy with my choice to break up with a married man.

At the very beginning of my relationship I came into it with certain expectations.  In my head, I told myself that I wasn’t going to allow him to do this and he better do that.  Past that, since I am clearly the woman here he better do what I say or there’ll be no cooking, no cleaning and definitely no sex.

The joke was totally on me.

Shortly after we began dating he told me that he would be having knee surgery.  I went into overdrive.  I went online, found a Paula Deen recipe and made what felt like a ten pound banana cake.  I proudly carted it over to his house and took a very small bite.  The cake was so big he shared with his mentee and his dad (both of which were THRILLED).  There went my ‘no cooking’ rule.

On the same night, I found dishes in the sink.  My mind went racing: “Well, he is off work for now but he’s had this knee surgery.  I wondered if his sister is going to come wash them.  But wait, he does have a dishwasher.”   All the while, I was running hot water and adding dish detergent.  There went my ‘no cleaning’ rule.

A few weeks of chaste kisses and warm hugs later, we went out to dinner with friends of mine.  Riding back in the car, he expressed a thought he was having to me.  In fact, he flat out said, “I’m celibate.”

Say what?
Stop the car.
As a matter of fact, just let me out right here and I’ll walk.

I was completely floored.  I was getting ready to tell him that the evening didn’t have to end.  The fact that it had been as long as it had and he’d added no pressure made me most definitely read to take him straight to bed and now you mean to tell me you don’t even want it. There went my ‘no sex’ rule.

All of my first three rules are out the window but, by the way, do you think you could at least call or text me every day?  Of course not!  He’s not a phone guy at all AND really he doesn’t have time to fool with that and isn’t face to face time so much better?  Well, there went that idea.

After all that time, I still didn’t learn. I continued to pressure him for the things I expected.  Letting him be him and just enjoying that wasn’t enough for me and one day, my complaining landed me in tears because I didn’t understand quite yet that you can’t change a person.

Now, here I am many days after those days and the lesson is just about complete for me.  Seventy-two hours ago I learned when you least expect it and you aren’t sure of it and you are wondering what his intentions are, he will shock you.  A man will show you where his heart is without you asking and without pressure.  It doesn’t matter if this same man has acted a complete fool or shown a previous lack of interest.  It doesn’t matter if you have lectured him to death about it or whether you’ve casually mentioned it.  When it concerns you and your heart (or the things important to you) he will show up and show out.

I’ve learned through prayer, listening to him and strong meditation that men want you to allow them to be men.  They don’t need you to tell them how to that.  They just need you to be a lady and be grateful for what they are giving.  After all, they can’t sit under you all the time.  They have to make a living and they are probably trying to make the world a better place.  They are trying to be Superman in the real world and when they’ve carved out time and space to chill with you, they want to do just that chill.

As women, we have to stop having unnecessary and superfluous expectations of the men in our lives.  If he values you in a sacred way then he has likely placed you with the other sacred relationships in his life (think of his mother, sisters, and aunts).   Those women have only expected him to be the best he can be in all areas.  They haven’t expected him to spend hundreds of dollars buying purses and getting hair done.  They have expected him to be upright and have integrity and a sense of pride.  Sometimes we need to just sit back and let him be.  If you do that, I guarantee he’ll meet your every need…

Just when you least expect it.

As I watched the weekend marathon run of “Millionaire Matchmaker” (don’t judge me), Patti had me enthralled as she read a 44 year-old multi-millionaire concerning his short-lived romances. “You’re always looking for the BBD-the bigger, better deal,” she scolded, tossing her fabulous weave. I nearly fell out of my bed.  Bigger, better deal.  Who knew my condition had a name all this time?

Until relatively recently,  I have been a chronic cheater who masqueraded as a serial monogamist-meaning that I have always been in long term relationships (my shortest being a six month rebound) while acting devilishly single when I ran into some guy that I wanted to…ummm…experience.  I always had my cake and ate some, too–very regularly sampling the flavor of the month…or the week… or the day.  These days, every celebrity male and female uses some perceived disorder to cover up their bad behavior but none seemed to fit my situation.  Until Patti Stanger hit that thang on the head.  I was out hunting for the BBD; always making sure that I wasn’t missing out on anything better than I have.

Despite my seemingly cavalier tones about  my many forays outside my “regularly scheduled” relationships, I was really miserable for a long time.  Never satisfied with anybody or anything (but longing for that real romantic Hallmark kind of love), I spent a large portion of my dating life trying to sate my deepest needs by holding onto deeply flawed relationships with one hand while exploring the multiple (but equally flawed) possibilities with the other.  In my misery, I went from one long term relationship to another, never finding any fulfillment in any of them.

I went on this way for a long time-I won’t give all of my secrets away-until finally I got caught.  Yep, finally.  And even then, I didn’t really understand why I went around pretending to be all wifey while living  scandalously beneath the radar.  But I did know that for the first time ever, I didn’t want to lose what I had.  He forgave me and cast it all into the sea of forgetfulness.  And I have spent the last few years  teasing out the hidden secrets of my heart.  What did I find?

I discovered that much like Amy Winehouse, I was trouble-no good (as it were) for myself-let alone for anybody else.  I had managed to cheat myself and a bevy of boyfriends by never giving any of my relationships a fighting chance.  I lived in conquest mode.  The moment a guy sealed the deal with promises of monogamy and exclusivity, I checked out of the relationship.  It was no longer exciting because the prize I sought had been won and cast on the shelf.  My heart was never engaged and my mind (and libido) was already on to the next one.

In living like this, I never really had a real relationship.  None of the guys who were with me ever knew me as I am: not a one could tell you my talents, my dreams, my goals, my fears, my needs, my shortcomings… because I never invested in them at all, they lived with counterfeits of myself, designed to be agreeable and pleasurable to each individual man.  I guess you could kind of call me a kind of spy–always undercover (in more ways than one); a whole lot of surface stories but no history; disguises by the dozens; the ability to shift and change with the next assignment.

After years of living the life of an impostor, I had to learn how to be in a relationship.  I found out very quickly that a different set of skills were required.  I couldn’t walk away when things got heated or too hard; I could no longer seek for pleasure outside of my relationship; I could not even entertain thoughts of “it doesn’t matter cos I’ll just leave” when I was angry.

It has been a peculiar journey, but I have finally found my way to a satisfying relationship.  I would not dare venture to say that every cheater’s story is like mine;  and I really give no excuse for my choices.  What I will say is this:  after cheating myself for so long, I’m glad to know that I am able to experience the resulting love that comes from engaging in real love.