A while ago, I giggled about the one and only time I considered myself a “Triple D.” “Triple D,” was what I named a phase I went through briefly, still, longer than for 18 hours. It stood for:
Divorcee Distracted Dating
Through a slew of varied experiences, I got past my “Triple D” phase pretty quickly. Now, my cup runneth over.
Lately, I’ve had dating and mating on my mind.
After my divorce, not only did I refuse to date, but I couldn’t envision going on a date ever again. This anti-dating activism (in reference to myself only), seemed to last close to 1000 years. Dating was simply unappealing to me and I’m sure that made me all the more attractive to prospective suitors. Just saying the word, “date,” evoked a facial wince and audible groan. At least I could still list, “dates” in calendars, so it could have been worse.
As time marched on, a number of my friends wondered if I was okay. They’d say, “Why don’t you put yourself out there?” or, “Just start dating and it will feel right for you. You just have to get in the swing of it!” My personal favorite was a simple, “What in the hell is wrong with you?”
The truth is, through my wincing and groaning, I myself, started to wonder if there was something wrong with me. Why wasn’t I hungry to date or partner up? When did I start to believe that falling and then remaining in love was potentially an illusion that wasn’t a part of my life’s wheelhouse? I mean, was I EVER going to be ready to at least try SOMETHING? SOMEONE?
Shortly thereafter, I started to date on a very sporadic basis. I was mostly propelled to find out what might be wrong with me. As I went from one dating experience to the next, I found myself distracted in a way I vehemently disliked. There wasn’t a shred of the yummy new relationship type of distraction, where butterflies and feelings of floating on air exist. I felt more like I was taking actions that didn’t feel authentic or right for me. Plus, anyone I was dating deserved better from me, so it didn’t feel great.
I asked myself some key questions. It went something like this:
- Have I processed my divorce? — Yep.
- Am I still in love with my ex-husband? — Nope.
- Am I dead inside? —Nope.
- Am I hopeless? — Nope.
- Have I ever really been in love? — Whoa. Hold on a minute. This is too subjective. Wait. Pass! Can I come back to this one? I don’t really know. Sort of? What defines being in love and staying in love? None of it has ever really made perfect sense to me.
- Have I ever actually located the right person? — Nope.
- Has any man ever elevated my body, mind and spirit, for more than a few years, tops? — Nope.
- Have I ever raised a man up for the long haul? Have I lifted a man’s body, mind and spirit, for more than a few years, tops? — Nope.
- Am I whole? — Yep.
- Is it okay to live a life that may not include my coexistence with a man? — Yep.
I am beyond grateful for the time I took to really know, accept and even celebrate my philosophies and core values. This journey of dating myself, led me to understand that historically, I’d never actually found the right fit. Furthermore, it wasn’t any fault of this man or that man. I dated and coexisted with really wonderful human beings, most of which are still friends of mine. The fit, however, wasn’t on the mark, and sometimes REEEEEALLY off, but I wasn’t in a place to accurately assess it. Therein lies a big difference between now, and then.
My past experience with ill-fitting men is a lot like ill-fitting bras. It’s extremely common for women to go through an entire lifetime wearing the wrong sized or shaped bra. Please note that the bras may be expensive and gorgeous; beautifully shaped, detailed, and soft. Still, if the bra doesn’t fit a woman’s shape, that bra simply has to either go or perhaps, be altered.
Throughout life, we obviously change and grow. Women can have six to ten bra sizes in adulthood alone. So many of us, however, get in a mindset that our bra size is defined at 22 years of age and remains that way through menopause. Yes, I’m serious. I have known too many women who claim, “I have always worn a 38 C.” I myself, have forgotten to head em up and move em out, from time to time.
This comparison between bra fitting and relationship fitting isn’t based in cynicism or even an effort to be cutesy. I see important parallels between the two.
I have witnessed, (and this is 100% true of me when I was younger), scores of people who approach their relationships without seriously considering the initial fit and without preparing for the eventuality of alteration. I think doing this BEFORE approaching a relationship might be the key component for flying rather than, “goodbye-ing.”
This is an important detail I learned well, while in and since my “Triple D” phase. This is one of the many reasons my cup runneth over and over.
And my last truth in this post: I, without a doubt, need another bra fitting and you know, maybe a date.