Getting Reprogrammed

The thing about new love after divorce is you have to get reprogrammed. There's so much to unlearn and so much to figure out.

Let me take you back.

After leaving my husband, I started dating a salsa instructor. He taught lessons at a restaurant on Tuesday nights. One night, he invited me to join him.

What he meant: join his class, be his dance partner, hang with him during the dance break, join him for dinner after.

What I did: showed up at the restaurant, planted myself at the bar, made friends & socialized with everyone there, ordered myself food, ate alone, and waved hello when he waved me to come over.

When the evening was over, he asked why I didn't join him, why I chose to eat by myself. It went like this:

Me: (confident, almost offended by the question) I am an independent woman, you were working and I don't need you to tend to me.

Him: (confused) Well, I knew I'd be working when I asked you to come. Of course you don't need me to tend to you. But, I wanted to.

Me: (doubling down, proud even of my self-sufficiency) listen it's fine. I don't need to be taken care of. I had a fine time at the bar and met some new people.

Him: (confused. Trying to make sense of it) Got it. I just want to make sure I understand where you're coming from. So, to be sure, you don't like to be taken care of then?

The question reverberated through me. Do I like being tended to? I mean… I don't even know anymore. When was the last time I felt taken care of?

As I considered the question, I realized how little I knew of myself. Surely, it would probably be nice to be taken care of, but do I even know how to be?

I had to learn to live a pretty independent life and forge my own way when I was married…. My husband - very different from how he presented when we first met - was disengaged and disinterested in much of anything. I refused to stop living on account of not having a partner, and just proceeded to do it all alone.

I was that girl that always rode solo and started to wear it as a badge of honor….

When I wanted to visit family out of town, I'd pack up my kids and just go.

Alone.

On my birthday, when my husband was not hungry or interested in going to dinner because "adults don't celebrate birthdays," I'd just celebrate.

Alone.

When my best friends got together for our annual Friendsgiving with their husbands/partners and kids, I'd bring my daughter and just go.

Alone.

When there were parties or celebrations for people he found too boring, too stupid, too uninteresting to spend time with, I'd just go.

Alone.

When a hospital couch was too uncomfortable to sleep on to accompany your wife who just delivered your first baby and you just need to sleep in your bed, I'd just stay in the hospital room.

Alone.

When my feelings were too dramatic, too big, too much for him to deal with and were invalidated and met with a disapproving "why are we still talking about this?" -- when actually we never did get around to talking -- I'd just deal with them.

Alone.

It was giving so independent, so fearless, so free.

"So, to be sure, you don't like to be taken care of?" he asked.

It feels like a lifetime since that question. There have been other first dates. New personalities. So many lessons about myself.

I have found love since then. Calm love. Warm love. Safe love.

He wraps me up in his arms and in the emotional safety of his vulnerability, openness and acceptance of my full self.

The kind of love that understands that muscle memory may occasionally cause me to self-sabotage, and is there to engage in mature, safe, nurturing, challenging conversations.... he shows empathy and a gentle reminder that he is.... there. That I don't have to do any of this alone.

He shows accountability for his errors and leaves room for the humanity that causes me to make mine. I can be vulnerable and free and not a single word I say or feeling I express is ever weaponized against me.

He tends to my mind. He tends to my body. He feeds my spirit.

And I see… being tended to and cared for is actually quite nice.