Two Hearts, Wrong Page

Have you ever caught yourself in a whopper of a lie? Boy howdy, when you get real and look deep to see the truth of what is, it’s like a punch in the gut, or sometimes, to the heart. I experienced such a heart-punch a year ago.

I learned my three year relationship with the man I love was not what I thought it was; essentially a lie, and one that I myself helped create. Punch number one to the heart. But once it ended and the dust settled, I later learned the man I love was an accomplice in creating my false notion of our relationship. Punch to the heart number two, which left me angry, hurt, and picking up the pieces of my broken heart. Neither of us meant to make me feel like a fool. My faith and belief in the man I love overruled my trust and belief in my intuition in myself. His fears fueled cowardice and overruled his kindness and courage to be honest with me when presented with opportunities to do so.

Each and every one of us deserve honesty, especially in affairs of the heart. When I receive dishonesty in return for my heartfelt love, my sensitive heart shatters with disappointment. No one’s love should be taken for granted, or taken advantage of. My heart is precious, and runs deep with love. It deserves to be valued, appreciated by another unconditionally loving heart. When I decide to give my heart to someone, it is after much consideration; cautiously, not impulsively, and only after feeling a sense of trust and confidence in its recipient. I marvel at my heart’s willingness to love again and again, despite the numerous heartbreaks it’s had from those who have rejected it, and those who have gone out of their way to break it and me. Fortunately, my heart is resilient, and when it loves, it is all in. My heart forgives many transgressions, small and large. When my heart feels troubled, it’s calling me to wake up to the reality of my situation, signaling that maybe it’s time to move on. That’s where I get into trouble. I am a creature of loyalty and I, along with my loving heart, will fight tooth and nail to make a connection of the heart work, because I believe so deeply in the other person, his heart and its potential to love.

The problem? A connection requires two hearts be on the same page.

During this relationship, dishonesty won out over courage when inquiries were made about our future. Every time, I believed in him and our future, based on several conversations asking for honesty about where things were between us and his feelings. I asked if we had a future, if “this” was going anywhere, and each time I was reassured there is, and it was. As a result, I continued to trust and believe the man I love and the relationship. With 20/20 hindsight, I see I ignored subtle red flags. Instead of being a smart woman trusting her intuition, I believed in what I thought were “honest” conversations. Then the red flags grew in size, forcing me to see what I knew wasn’t as they appeared:

~Unsolicited conversations about him and his future did not include me. 

~I was never introduced to people he knew/work colleagues in his community, even when we ran into them.

~I was never introduced to his friends, nor was I invited to hang out with them when opportunity arose.

~Interactions with his kids happened because I encouraged it, he didn’t. 

~I was never invited join him and his kids on Christmas or Thanksgiving holidays, or family vacations.

~I was treated as an outsider when we were with his kids, and as if I wasn't there.

~I received reassurances of a future, but was told “I’m happy with the every other weekend”. 

~He never once told me he loved me in three years, despite my expression of love for him.

This time last year, these red flags pounded me over the head, leaving me with a sickening feeling the jig was up. I asked for space and distance; he told me we’d figure out a way to get things back on track. Over the next month, I went into emotional shock. The truth shattered the glass house with in which I held our relationship, exposing it, and worse, my role in facilitating the delusion I had of it. I had to confess to myself that I ignored my intuition and its earlier warning signs. And my heart writhed in absolute misery missing the man I love, while simultaneously reminding me that he did not love me. I felt alone, unwanted, a loser, and a fool. I continued to fight for us and our connection of heart. However, a heart unwilling to love cannot fight the good fight when it fears itself unworthy of a love worth fighting for.

I now recognize the wisdom of lessons learned from the experience.

• I held on too long in hopes the man I love would love me; if he ain’t saying it after a year, he ain’t feeling it, nor is he gonna say it!
• I overlooked the contradictions between his words of reassurance and his actions that defied them.
• I allowed myself to be played the fool by going along with those contradictions, trusting it all still.
• I chose to ignore my intuitive gut, and brilliantly played the part of romantic fool for this play called Love for my friends and family.

Love requires sacrifices, always, but it does not require sacrificing one’s own Self-love and Self-respect. Ultimately, I walked away from the man I love because it was the healthier choice for me, my heart, and my self-respect. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was the best decision. 

Today, I continue working through the grief of this relationship loss, and toward finding unconditional forgiveness for us both. I believe(d) he was the one. I still love him, miss him and us. Eventually, hopefully, I will come to some peace within myself about it all, and reconcile those feelings against all that came to pass. In the meantime . . . . .

What I know for sure:

I want and deserve to be happy, even if that “happy” doesn’t include him in my life.

Letting Go of the Waffle

Hello, long time no write, I know. It's been two years since my last post. There are a number of reasons, but I'll spare you. My heart and soul has urged me to write for awhile, and I resisted. I am finally giving in to their urging. I just hope you find it worthwhile to read. Thank you for reading in the past.

One of my first memories of waffles are those my mom made on Sunday mornings. Mom took great care making our waffle breakfast, mixing the ingredients until just blended then folding in the beaten-stiff egg whites. The waffles came out fluffy and I loved them, because I loved my mom. I loved those Sunday mornings when my family sat down together for a meal, talked and enjoyed each other’s company. Those times are fond memories.

Since my mom died, I hadn’t enjoyed homemade waffles until three years ago. Nor has a waffle breakfast meant as much until someone else I loved made them for me on Sunday mornings. The waffles were simple, a recipe on the back of a Bisquick box, yet tasted incredibly delicious. With a few slices of bacon, scrambled eggs, and a waffle topped with butter and syrup, adding a cup of Starbucks coffee or hot tea along with a side dish of meaningful and intellectually stimulating conversation, I enjoyed the togetherness of my favorite meal of the day. My heart warmed once again with the fond moments shared with my loved one.

Just as the togetherness of family waffle breakfasts ended, so ended my recent experiences of Sunday morning waffles. Since the end of July, I have felt out of sort with loneliness every other weekend, and I missed those waffle breakfasts. I decided to tackle the overwhelming sense of emptiness by making Sunday morning waffles myself. I buy a waffle maker and a box of Bisquick. The smell of bacon and Starbuck’s coffee wafts through the air, triggering within me a sense of comforting familiarity. The waffle iron heated, I prepare the waffle mix, making my own waffle while eggs scrambled nearby. I sit down at the table with a waffle dressed in butter and syrup, bacon to its left and eggs to its right, ready to savor the joy of a breakfast I’ve missed. I take one bite, and the letdown takes over. My waffle doesn’t taste the same, lacking something, but what? I used Bisquick, and the same recipe on the side of the box, so what happened? I try it again the next weekend, and once again, my waffle experience disappoints, leaving me feeling unfulfilled.

I decide to try another strategy, picking up a box of actual waffle mix with the hope of yielding a more palatable experience. Once again, my anticipation is let down as the breakfast leaves little to be desired. Wait! I remember I had my mom’s cookbook, contained within it the very waffle recipe she used. I gather what I need, carefully following the recipe to the nth degree. Ever hopeful, I sit down to the waffle breakfast I cherished in the long ago past, as well as the ones more recently. I cut a piece of the waffle dressed in butter and syrup and bring it to my mouth. I chew in anticipation of that warm and fuzzy feeling I have missed over the last twenty weeks; that both my mouth and heart long to experience once again. I chew. I wait for that familiar feeling. While the waffle was the best waffle I had made thus far, it isn’t the waffle I sought.

In that moment I realized the missing ingredient was the company I loved when eating the waffle. The flavor of togetherness seasoned my Sunday morning breakfasts. It added to the meal which was a beautiful way to start my day, to end the weekend, and to start my week. What I was seeking was the company I loved and enjoyed while eating the waffle on Sunday mornings.

Upon this realization, I knew it is time for me to let go of the waffle. It only wanted to be my breakfast every other weekend; and only then because I filled a void on weekends when others weren’t around to enjoy it. This understanding reminded me why I chose to end my three-year relationship. I just never realized that doing so would make a waffle taste so heartbreakingly different.