Through my blogging, I get to share my experiences as a single gal dating in Atlanta. I project an image of a bravado and spitfire, which is true to form 99.9% of the time. But this is where I tell you, without apology or disclaimer, I feel like I am losing hope of ever finding love.
I have grown to understand the very real possibility that I may never marry or have kids. Yet no matter how much I try to force-feed my own acceptance of that scenario, something inside me protests violently.
This inner rebellion makes me feel guilty for betraying the feminist viewpoint that every woman should be confident enough with herself to live a life of Forever-Alone. But then there are times when my phone doesn’t ring for days at a time, and I no longer give a shit. I think of when I could remember how it felt to sleep next to another living, breathing body. How it was to be needed, wanted and treasured. And I damn the tears that fall.
I do not seek compassion or empathy. Instead, I want to scream at the marrieds. Tell them to be glad that at the age of 34, they never have to place the names of their parents/siblings in the Emergency Contact field because there is no one else. Tell them to never take for granted something as seemingly insignificant as a touch. To remember that this very basic element of contact is a wickedly potent drug placed just out of reach while I agonize in withdrawal. To bathe often in the comfort of your person’s arms surrounding you when you need a safe place.
But I don’t scream. All my effort is spent covering up the truth.
I don’t want to be alone.
This heart has enormous amounts of love to give. I want to be loved in return; equally and powerfully, for all that I am and am not. For all my imperfections and complexities. For my overactive brain and my lack of a filter. For my muscles and green eyes and slightly crooked tooth.
So now the secret is out. There is a real person under here, beneath the impenetrable lacquer of my words.
The woman behind the unassuming name is one who feels too deeply and trusts too soon. She is the one who hides behind humor and sarcasm. She is the one who has been broken time and again, but stubbornly lifts her chin in defiance and asks for more. She willingly seeks the bumps and bruises because she is romantic enough to believe that there is a capital-L-Love for her in this great big wonderful world. Someone who can see through the protective armor of sass and into the person she is. Someone who dares to challenge her head-on, but with panache.
Please tell her battered heart to hang on long enough to find it.