I wanted a love that would stand the test of time. We’d grow together, evolve together. I wanted a man to love me for decades. I wanted the inside jokes, the memories, the pictures, the house, the garden, the dogs, the rocking chairs… even the kids. I wanted it all.
But I picked wrong. I picked the wrong men. They never loved me enough or somehow, I got annoying the moment I wasn’t subservient enough or I asked them to match my energy. They were too immature and selfish to be husbands, let alone fathers. Not one of them showed any potential to be a good Dad. Not one. I am SO GLAD I didn’t have kids, but I mourn the fact that I didn’t find someone worthy enough to have kids with.
I wanted someone to look at me and think that my creativity, my spontaneity, my excessive flirting, my big emotions… he’d look at me and think he was lucky to go through life with someone like me. He wanted me as I am… wild and free. A woman who kept him on his toes. A challenge. He’d find it irresistible.
My big Halloween decorating projects, my home improvement lust, my love of entertaining, my obsession on trying a new recipe or sexual position, the soft spot I have for animals. Why was my zest for life looked at as a curse? As a problem? As annoying???
The only thing I can come up with is that all of these men, and I mean ALL of them, wanted a subservient meek little servant to take care of them. None of them wanted a big as life, funny, whirlwind of positive energy, sparkling woman as a partner. They all tried to kill my spark and dim my light.
Maybe they didn’t like women?
These men basically wanted to be alone with a silent house elf. A sex slave. A cook. A maid. A silent sweet little compliant appliance.
No challenges, no meaningful joy, no connection, no fights that lead to great make up sex. They want their casseroles on Tuesday, missionary 4 times a week, the birthday blowjob, a perfect garage and to not be questioned at all. What a dull, boring life. Predictable, dull and fucking boring.
And for her? That’s not a life at all. Ooh, maybe a shopping spree to Hobby Lobby twice a year and maybe a grand Birthday dinner at Chili’s annually, if she planned it. And her energy and appearance would reflect the things she gave up to tend to the family.*
Not me. Not anymore at least. I gave up my soul for a man. I’ll never do it again.
I want color, excitement, passionate sex, connection, adventures, naked coffee and morning sex, garden sex… not a dinner schedule in sight. Just poetry in motion. Connection, eye contact, making out and a vibrancy that is palpable. I wanted to live boldly and have someone next to me who wanted the same thing. A relationship worth throwing yourself into. A love with effort.
And, forgot to mention, he cares about my safety and my health because he would be sad if I died. The others weren’t bothered if I died. I guess you’d just go to The Best Buys and get another wife or something.
I want him to like me so much that he’d care if I had cancer or died. Shocker, I know!
I know I can be a good wife. I know how to make a man happy, but I have yet to be with a man who has made me actually happy, made me actually feel safe, loved, appreciated, admired and wanted for more than 10 months.
Ten months of bliss and then YEARS of me begging for that person to come back to me. It’s a fucking scam.
And if I have to beg for love, beg for attention, I’m overlooked and he’s doing that micro aggression, controlling, breaking of my will thing… I’m out. Immediately. Either we are a partnership in every sense of the word, or I’m gone. This, right here, is my breakthrough. Me growing up.
Also, he MUST bathe, he must take care of basic hygiene, he must help with chores and cooking. He must be nice to his Mom. Bonus if he can swing a hammer and knows how to fix things and has a truck. He must be kind, funny as hell and good with nonverbal communication.
Oh, and he must do sexual favors for me on my birthday.
*Some women obviously love this life, but my circle of friends and me, we are the exception. And I want the women who don’t want to be forced into this life to have a voice.
