Alcoholism almost killed me, my life fell apart, and everyone left. Years later, I’m still alone, getting older, and feel a new longing for a love story. A new story for a new me.
“Am I going to be alone forever, or am I just not ready?”
My last relationship ended in 2015 and I haven’t dated since. Most of the time, I’m comfortable with that. I never had a healthy relationship with myself, which I realize doomed every relationship I had. Perhaps that I can be alone at 55, means I’ve finally stumbled through the door of adulthood.
If so, why am I feeling curious about love lately?
Usually, I would pull out a quote from an expert on relationships and plop it here. Why We Don’t Want to be Alone or 5 Signs, You’re Addicted to Love. Not this time.
I don’t want to research or dissect love like it’s a formaldehyde soaked cadaver, even though it may be the fitting metaphor for my past love life. I want to sit with my confused heart and listen to what it whispers to me. Love, after all, is a deeply emotional state.
Is that what I’m missing? The emotional sparks of love? Or physical touch?
Out of necessity, as a person still healing from past trauma and growing in sobriety, I live a reasonably safe life. I write, read, stay connected with my people, and force myself to engage socially by leaving my house at least twice per week.
It’s admittedly a quiet and simple life. I’m calm and secure in my recovery, but there are times it feels tasteless… empty.
Perhaps I’m craving intimacy, but it’s more than that.
Maybe this new love curiosity is signaling the end of grief. I had much to grieve. Losing some significant people, some expected, a few sudden, had blanketed me in sadness. These deaths have percolated naturally, quietly in the background, for years now.
6 years without a special someone has gifted me time to process. I’m grateful for that. I needed time alone to break a destructive cycle.
I married for the first time at 18. Every 8 to 10 years I began another long-term relationship. I didn’t date, have flings, or play the field. I went for dinner, fell in love, and tried to recreate what my parents had. They were together for 55 years.
I was the baby in a family of 8 children. 9 years younger than my closest sibling; I watched them all marry young, have kids, and stay together. There are only 2 divorces in my family, both mine. I’m the sole alcoholic. I never did fit in, but damn, I tried. Part of growing and healing is gaining self-awareness and perspective.
These prior relationships had many beautiful moments. I’m blessed to have 3 amazing children. There was genuine love, because despite my untreated mental health illness and subsequent substance abuse, I loved hard. I’m a romantic at heart, I’m caring, and I know how to commit. Unfortunately, I didn’t love, nor was I committed to, caring for myself.
One relationship ended with a bitter truth.
You are a beautiful, loving man with an amazing heart. But, you’re too broken to accept love, and I can’t watch you slowly die.
My last partner remains one of my best friends. We are close; we get each other’s shortcuts, know our dark stuff, and support each other daily. She dates, and even though I admit to twinges of discomfort when she talks about it, I care enough to wish her the love she deserves.
So what do I deserve?
The best I can figure, I deserve the possibility of love.
Trust me, I’ve spent hours upon hours trying to convince myself that I will be alone forever. It seemed easier that way. No rejection. No potential failure. No heartbreak.
Recovery and trauma counseling threw a wrench into that strategy. It’s taught me some very important things that have become fundamental to my life.
I live life with an open heart. That vulnerability reconnected me with the world. My heart is open or closed. I can’t close it to one thing and open it to something else. I trust my heart to filter out what it needs.
I don’t live in finite terms. Words like never crush hope and prevent me from tasting the delicious mysteries of life.
While I’m often scared, I don’t give fear power over decisions. I decide by listening to all my parts, not just the screaming voice of fear which ran roughshod over my previous life.
I am worthy of love. I’ve made mistakes, but those mistakes don’t prevent me from growing and being a better person.
“Am I going to be alone forever, or am I just not ready?”
Today, accepting the possibility of love is enough.
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This post was previously published on Hello, Love.
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