Friday, July 24, 2015

the low maintenance me

I used to want to be loved. There was a time when I craved it, in fact. Sometimes that craving would lead to desperate acts that embarrass me now when I think of them.
My partner of five years has never said he loves me, and I don't expect he ever will. I don't need him to say it, though I tell him almost every day I love him.
I stopped wanting 'romance' when the relationship before this one ended.
It was in 2003, and he was married. Our breakup hurt so much I came to wish I'd never met him. For years afterwards I would fantasize he'd change his mind and come find me, sweeping me back into the life I'd dreamed of with him.
I came to my senses eventually, and met Sean. After six years or so of singlehood, I was in a balanced place. I liked myself and was content. I still do and I still am.

I understand how this must sound. It's natural to suspect something must be wrong, to believe I'm missing something. I'm not saying my feelings won't change, but right now and for the last five years, I just haven't needed or wanted any of the verbal expressions of affection. I don't need or expect Sean to tell me what I mean to him. I know it from his actions, yes, but it's not something I even think about except in passing.

It's as though the cravings I used to endure finally flamed out, freeing me to accept what I have and what I receive.

This post was inspired by The True Secret of Writing: Connecting Life With Language, by Natalie Goldberg.

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