The Rebecca Theory

I’ve been struggling lately with loneliness, maybe not loneliness per say because I really do enjoy my time on my own. Moreso the whole ‘sharing my life with someone’ thing. I miss having someone to come home to, someone to do life with. A best friend that I can love and confide with like I do my bff’s, but you know.. with a penis. Someone that I can get really weird with, but still wants to get naked with me at the end of the day. Someone I can open up to mentally and physically, and who knows how to handle me both ways equally well.

Maybe it’s the most recent birthday that went by a couple of weeks ago. Another year closer to 40 and I still haven’t found my “Prince Charming.” I thought I had him at one point, but that ended badly and broke my heart in more ways than it has ever been broken before. I thought he was my happily ever after. I thought him and I would make it work long term, but the end of that relationship broke my heart so badly that after him, I pushed the thought of marriage or even relationship from my head indefinitely. I actually stayed single for quite a bit after him. It took me a long time to heal from that one, but I knew the healing was essential if I wanted to partake in any relationships moving forward.

I’ve never really been concerned with settling down, and marriage was not really a thought process after my first long term relationship. I had no desire to get married since my ex was adamantly against it (aside from my temporary Prince Charming mentioned previously). I spent 9 years wanting to marry this guy because I thought that’s what people do in long term relationships with babies. I wanted to be an “honest woman,” (I didn’t even know what that meant, but I’d heard it and it sounded like it might help change the direction of my life) even though I knew he wasn’t “the one.”

By the time we ended things, I wanted nothing to do with the institution of marriage at all. 

Everything I ever believed in and thought I wanted for myself – fall in love, get married, have babies, live happily ever after – was a giant fucking scam!

The “Rebecca” Theory.

In Jeff Brown’s book, Soulshaping: A journey of self-creation, he talks about a woman he met named “Rebecca.” She showed him the greatest love of his life and then disappeared as quickly as she appeared. He spoke to his mentors and gurus about her and asked how someone could feel so deeply, yet walk away so easily. He was told that “Rebecca” was an Angel sent to earth to show others what real love is. She would never find her happy ending, but she would introduce people to higher expectations in love and relationships and then move along to help another lost and damaged soul. 

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

Holy shit. What if I’m a “Rebecca?” What if my purpose here is to show people the possibility of love so they can start believing in the entity of love and the power of love itself. Love heals, after all.

Just as any woman would do, I ran to the bff with my epiphany and told her my theory.

“Holy shit, that’s deep man. “

“No kidding! What if I am destined for a lifetime of rehabilitation for men and… loneliness? What if THIS *gesturing to everything* is my destiny? This is fucking bullshit. I did NOT sign up for this.”

Good Love. Fake Love.

Not to toot my own horn, but beep-fucking-beep, when I open up to love or even try my hand at it, I love really damn hard. I put my all into it, I pour my heart and soul into the other person. I’ve only done this (the whole pouring of the soul thing) on one, mayyyyybe two occasions (because I’m so bloody guarded and afraid to love again that I have walls like Fort Knox), but regardless, those I have been in relationships with over the last couple of years have all said the same thing – they’ve never experienced love as they have with me. While I hold back like a mf on my end, I’m still able to give them enough space and comfort to truly revel in the feelings and bask in the greatness of what it feels like to love and be loved properly. I’m able to open the doors for them to what proper love feels like, what it should be and then I tap out and leave… but I leave them in a way in which they can carry those feelings and replicate them in their next relationship. 

So… “you’re welcome” to all my ex’s new partners. 

As they say, always leave something better than it was when you found it.

Apparently, that means men too.

Live Fast. Fall Hard.

I never quite understood how I could have my feelings simply turn off like the flip of a light switch, but time and time again it happens. On the surface, at the beginning of a new relationship, I dive in headfirst. I get all up in my feelings and I create an illusion of love… but under the surface, my mind is racing like a duck on water (calm and cool on the surface, but those little feet are kicking like hell under the water). I’m constantly in my head, telling myself to stop giving like I’m giving, that I’m only going to make them fall harder, I’m only making things worse. I tell myself that I should stop or hold back and save these emotions and moments for the man I know I am supposed to spend my life with, but like an idiot, I don’t. I know I will end up hurting the other person, but it’s like I have no control over it. It’s like some evil fucked up little cupid is playing love connection without my consent. I literally have no control.

Red flags? They’re like beacons for me. Like “Heyyy girl, I see you. I’ve got some of that drama you’ve been trying to avoid.” And like a moth, mesmerized by the light of death, I fly to it and ignore the blaring red lights in my face. 

I mean, red flags all look pink when I have my rose coloured glasses on, right?

I end up getting involved in relationships with men I have no business being involved with. Men I know are not good for me, and men that don’t or won’t or will never stack up to my expectations.

Why am I like this? 

I’m still trying to figure that out… but acceptance is the first step, right?

On The Flip Side.

When a man purposely slows things down and controls the pace, it drives me insane, like, why can’t I get to you?? What’s so wrong with me that I can’t get you to love me! I get all up in my head, but after a few days of being psycho and not speaking up about anything (I prefer to act out my psychotic tendencies in private forum), I eventually process what’s actually happening. People have lives, I need to honour that space for them. It’s not that they don’t want me around or enjoy talking to me, it’s that they are busy living their life just as I am, and then I promptly tell my anxiety to take a fucking lorazepam and chill out.

Again, why am I like this? I’m still working on that…

So this “Rebecca theory” of mine is a couple of years old. It’s weighed heavy on me over the years, but it’s shifted recently with the impending 4-0 coming up in the next few years.

This next thought was short-lived but still worth mentioning. 

My anxiety recently got the best of me and made me question my worth as a woman.

Was it me?

Was I not the amazing catch that I know that I am?

Am I setting my standards too damn high?

Am I the actual problem here? 

It took a pep talk from the bff to quickly talk me down from that cliff. 

“No, you are the catch you know you are. Most men are intimidated because you’ve got so much going for you. Everyone has baggage, even you have baggage, but it’s about finding someone whose baggage goes well with yours. Finding someone who is worth riding out the storm with. You will meet someone, that’s a fact. I’m pretty sure everyone has this fear at some point in their life. You just need to get out of your head and stop worrying so much. Trust the process.”

Finding someone whose demons play well with yours. 

I like this analogy. 

At the end of the day, if I am being honest, I’m afraid to date and meet people because: 

a) I generally hate meeting new people and more often than not, I prefer the company of my pets to most people I meet these days. 

b) Online dating is how it’s done now and online dating is fucking stupid. 

c) I’m afraid of getting wrapped up with (again, sigh) the dumbass wrapped in tinfoil pretending to be my knight 

In conclusion, I’ve been told that I must leave the house and socialize in order to meet new people. While I think this is unacceptable, I get it. My Mr. Right isn’t going to find me cooped up in my house writing articles about finding love, and if he does, it wouldn’t actually surprise me if I fell for the man breaking into my house, because people do stupid things sometimes… I happen to do them a lot. 

I’m still unsure of whether the Rebecca Theory is true or not, I’m yet to meet someone who can prove it otherwise, so I will wait it out. Until then, I will hope for the best and attempt, to the greatest extent of my ability, to keep my heart and mind open to the possibilities of love.

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