ALL THE THINGS LOVE ISN'T

I have driven men to drink, the madhouse and confession…well I fast-tracked where they were already heading. I have ignited atrocious behaviour in men.

I attract it and I have been called it; “trouble”. I have engaged in folie-a-deux more times than I care to remember. Call it what you will; romantic, turbulent, passionate, exciting. I call it exhausting.

I have opened myself up to men and been consumed, devoured and left a dry husk. I have opened myself up to men and abandoned myself in the process, lost my sense of self and ended up being and doing what they wanted. I have been accommodating and tolerant as much as I have been difficult and intolerant.

I have had to fight my corner always. I have been told who I am, what I think and how I feel by well-meaning men (and bossy women – what’s their excuse?) I have been insulted more times than I can even count. I take it in my stride but I have never taken it lying down with men. This is because I feel safe enough with lovers to “have it out”. Intimacy provides that privilege.

Whenever I feel like being mean about men, I think of my son and how much I adore him and that stops me in my tracks. I also think about my father, step-father, brothers, uncles, friends. Besides all the great things men have done and can do. All the great things women have done and can do. All the great things people have done and can do. Then all the awful things men have done and can do. All the awful things women have done and can do. All the awful things people have done and can do.

I have cajoled, competed, undermined, ridiculed, projected, obsessed, goaded and busted balls with the best of them. I have been controlling and interfering. I have crossed boundaries. I have been remarkably annoying pointing out their flaws, deconstructing – even annihilating - their egos until they explode. I have pulled apart their past emptying their baggage all over the road and rummaging through it with disgust (which now makes me cringe). I would hammer square plugs into round holes forcing them to fit when they obviously didn’t. I would re-write history to suit my narrative. I would analyse men to death and then get bored with them and try to fob them off onto someone else as I ran out a back door. 

I was arrogant beyond belief. I would always start from the premise of Oh Yeah? I was naturally ready for combat. Plus I would work too hard which would prevent any natural flow.

I have also had, when I let go, moments of being tender, open, funny, kind, easy-going, generous, caring, warm, understanding, appreciative, admiring and passionate. In turn men have been kind, open, generous, loving, inspiring, creative, adoring and passionate with me.

I have listened to a load of crap and talked even more!

In my supreme arrogance I thought I was doing some men a favour. I existed as the converter between the damned and the delightful. I was like a liver getting toxins out of a body by simultaneously accepting, confronting and transmuting atrocious behaviours. I fancied myself as an asshole-reformer! I imagined I was the fierce Kali-esque girlfriend crossed with the unconditionally loving Quan Yin. I would make sure I would not be forgotten, by any means. All this screams EGO. I would turn avoidant cowboys into needy girls – question, are they the same thing?

I would date the un-dateable (and then pay for it). I would get in the pit with men and fight it out – a conveyor belt of mentally ill, emotionally avoidant, emotionally insecure, needy, obnoxious, arrogant, angry, egoic, antagonistic, antisocial, demanding, difficult, moody, volatile albeit talented, often alcoholic, sex addicted lovers that I would kick into shape for the next woman because how can you love what you’ve trained? How can you love someone you want to change? That ain’t love, that’s pity.

But in all this madness and chaos was I exposing parts of myself and my own insecurities by trying to love unlovable aspects in these men? Were these men in fact doing me a massive favour by being abusive? They were honest about it and they forced me to set my boundary. I would go in knowing (and thinking I’ll change him – that old chestnut). Invariably these relationships would always turn toxic – possibly even begin as toxic too – and this would force me to look at my behaviour and what I wanted and what I did not want.

This took years and years.

I always liked a challenge so I tried to love men who hated themselves – men who covered up their self-hatred with all kinds of devious tricks (none of which got past me). I often reflected it back to them in my behaviours instead of calling it out. I would also risk life and limb and call it out often with explosive reactions (from both parties). It never occurred to me that I could leave and date someone who liked himself. Was this because I was still struggling with liking/ loving/ accepting my own self?

I tried to love men who hated themselves so much they had to spend every waking minute with me and totally disregarded my needs/ wants/ desires. I had to teach them about what I needed. I always needed space. I always had to fight for my space, my domain, my sense of self. I tried to love men who suffocated me and then told me I was the one with the problem. When was the penny going to drop in my head? When would I spot the recurring theme? Join the dots? And what was I doing that made them hunt me down so much?

I could have hired myself out as a rehabilitation centre. I did sterling work. I have done so much mostly unseen emotional labour. One day I realised I just don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to love men who hate themselves. I want to go through another door. So I did.

They say when you evolve the universe will send you even harder tests. In my case, more men. I always meet a man when I’ve had a revelation, when I’ve made some kind of breakthrough, when I feel complete within myself; the first time that feeling happened I was 32 and I felt such a sense of relief. Shortly afterwards the universe sent me a man with a serious mental disorder.  

When I have said “Enough! I want to be single for 5 years!” this is inevitably when I will meet a man. And they fuck it all up for me every time; they mess up and complicate my new-found singledom bliss bubble and pull me into some hate-zone, trauma-pit, hell-scape otherwise known as a tumultuous relationship.

But the universe always has a plan. In my case the universe has been trying to show me all the things love isn’t in practical reality and force me to say NO NOT THIS. How do I put my wants, needs, desires at the centre of my life instead of his? I know it all in theory but how does one test the theory? That’s right. By living it and being confronted with it on a daily basis in real time. See here

By the time I realised what true love is – acceptance and love of self, first and foremost – I had burnt myself out both fighting and rescuing various men in the name of care. Care so often masks control issues. Clearly I had some deep-seated control issues until I hit the wall and had to change. Control is not love. Control is fear. Ever stop to ask why does one always fight the one they rescue? When was I going to wake up? Fighting and rescuing is not love, it is torture. I had been called too often into this role. I had chosen it until I no longer could. And fighting and being rescued is just as bad. I never asked to be rescued and do not enjoy that I was so lost until you came along and rescued me game. That is ego. I have “rescued” enough people to truly know that people, including me, do not want to be rescued. It is an affront to human dignity and as well as disempowering people many cause harm with their help.

Love meets you where you are. Love recognises that you are separate people who come together to share, hopefully harmoniously. Love accepts and loves you just as you are including all your mistakes and flaws. Love does not try to change you. Love is not perfect and does not expect you to be perfect. Love does not control, abuse or insult you. It does not make snide or sarcastic remarks. That is hate. Love lets things unfold at their own pace because love is in no hurry. There is no panic with love. Love can also let go, despite the pain of loss, for the greater good of another. This is a very noble form of sacrifice. Love can give you space because it is not threatened by anything Other than it. Ego – and possibly trauma - is what gets threatened, not love. Love is not higher than or lower than, it just is.

All those other things can be inspired by passion or lust or sex or obsession or hate or desire or anger or trauma but they ain’t love. Love is deeper than that and much simpler. Love is accepting yourself and, dare I say it, liking yourself just as you are. You don’t need to escape yourself if you like yourself. No need to try so hard with love.

It is good to have viewed the thing from all angles and discover all the things love isn’t. Only that way can you discover all the things love actually is.

NOTE: This blog post is about some people in my past and no person in my life now. I have not mentioned any names to protect the privacy of those involved.