Here is a story that
shows what not defining what you want could lead to and, how to resolve the
aftermath.
“On the
surface my life was perfect: in my 30s, I was working in a fashion
house and living in London. It was the dream. In reality, I’d
outgrown the insidious fashion business and was stumbling through a dysfunctional romance in pursuit of love.
I’d fallen into
this relationship on the back of a bad one. With my previous partner, who
was 10 years older, I had money and age on my side. We were ripe
for building a future together. Yet, three years in, I found
messages from another woman on his phone. When I called
her she had no idea who I was but they’d been together the whole time.
In the aftermath, another
man walked into my life. He was ruggedly beautiful and wild. After
a few months of my relentless pursuit of him, we embarked on a
sexual relationship and became an item – but we had little in
common. He led cycling tours around the world and I worked in
fashion. He detested my corporate career and I resented his
carefree lifestyle. All things considered, what happened next
shouldn’t have come as a surprise.
A few months into our coupledom
I’d arranged a romantic dinner for his birthday at a restaurant in Mayfair. As
I took my seat, he triggered the events that changed the course of my life.
Looking into my eyes he said: “I had a one night stand. She’s pregnant. I’m
going to be with her.”
It was brutal. I stared back in disbelief
as tears rolled down my cheeks. All I could do was run outside. He followed me
out and walked away. I was left hysterically crying on the street, alone. I
would not see him again.
This second betrayal had a
profound effect on me. I couldn’t brush it off as easily as I’d done the first
one because this time around, my heart was broken. I wanted to erase it from my
memory but more importantly, I wanted to change the person it had happened to.
I enrolled on a three-day group
therapy, life-coaching workshop and learnt to hold myself accountable. As I
took responsibility for my actions, I felt free from the burden of my past. One
by one, I deleted things that no longer served me. My career was the first to
go, followed by mutual friends I’d shared with my ex, acquaintances and
unhealthy habits.
I contacted a women’s charity in
Guatemala and took up a voluntary position helping marginalized women. I
couldn’t get away soon enough. I slept on a camp bed in the office, dealt with
those far less fortunate than I had ever been and spent my evenings and
weekends strolling the beaches and making new friends.
When I returned to London six
months later I found a job in fashion but with far less responsibility, which
allowed me to prioritize my family, friends and more importantly, myself.
Yet one thing eluded me. I
couldn’t form a romantic attachment to men. I found men attractive and felt
sexual energy towards some. I enjoyed flirting but avoided sex out of fear it
would cause an emotional attachment. For the next decade of my life, from the
age of 35 to 45, I had no relationships, one night stands or dalliances that
would throw me off balance.
In that time, loneliness emotionally
crippled me. I craved the love and affection of a partner and yearned for the
comfort of a stable relationship. But it also terrified me. I had rebuilt my
life but lost the courage to share it. I’d lean on friends and family to fill
the void, but in the end, I’d go back home and cry myself to sleep, wake up and
reinforce the self-imposed dating hiatus. I could not break the cycle.
Even as I attended friends’
engagements, weddings and baby showers I still felt dread at the thought of
committing myself to someone else in that way. I applauded their bravery but
resented their happiness. I counted all the ways these relationships could go
wrong and that was enough to send me running back to the comfort of my hiatus.
Then the unthinkable happened. I lost my father to heart failure unexpectedly.
He died within minutes while he sat on his favourite chair at home. I felt the
full force of the impermanence of the things I loved. Nothing is forever. It
never had been. I finally understood that I had wasted a decade of my life
trying to control an outcome I had no control over.
With the help of friends, I
joined a dating app and set up five consecutive dates. This time, I chose
differently. I put into practice what I’d learned from 10 years of being alone.
I would not choose the one who made my heart flutter. Instead, I would look for
traits that might serve me well: empathy, intelligence and kindness. Appearance
no longer held sway with me.
The first date went remarkably
well, but I never heard from him again. I carried on regardless. My second date
was everything I’d been searching for: smart, witty and interesting. We met and
our connection was instant. I never went on the remaining dates.
Date Number Two and I have now
been together for a couple of months. Just three months ago I couldn’t have
imagined being this happy. Even if nothing comes out of it, I’ve finally broken
my self-imposed dating hiatus. After a decade of denying myself tenderness, it
feels good, not only to love another, but to accept it in return. I am aware
I’m vulnerable but now I am also courageous”
Before you jump into any
relationship on a deeper level, ask yourself, what do I really want? And watch
out. This, of course, doesn’t mean that you would sit on the sideline and
observe the traits in the other person. No; the only way to truly get the
insight you want is to get involved, on a peripheral level. Don’t stake everything
at first but be truly and sincerely involved. The reason why you should be
truly and sincerely involved is because the other party might also be watching
to see if the two lifestyles match. That cannot be done if any of the parties
is pretentious about that initial contact.
Written by Ali Elias
This is a very deep insight that will surely help people develop their capacity for relationships.
ReplyDeleteThank you Mr Ali.