Love, Post Divorce, is a Minefield

I’ve been dating.  I’ve been putting myself out there.  In the only way you can– give it your all.

I found a gal who was anything I was looking for in a partner.  We shared a lot of the same values and she was beautiful.

She ended it.

And she wanted to remain friends and the typical breakup talking points followed.  Before she could get too far into the weeds I said stop.

She wanted to talk it out, so I can understand how her heart feels and so mine could understand.  I wasn’t interested in her reasoning and I wasn’t interest in remaining friends. I typed up a response, that was never sent, on the logic why I didn’t want to have those conversions…

Let me clarify why I’m not having this conversation,

Jim Carrey’s character, in Liar liar, Mr. Reed is bound by a supernatural wish from a friend to never tell a lie or half truth for 24 hours.  Kindness often comes in forms of half truths or flat out lies.

I adore Mr. Reed’s secretary.  She is full of life and represents everyone I hope to work for one day.  She is unapologetic in her style, compassionate, and is excited to experience life with those around her.  Mr. Reed, when confronted by his secretary on how he feels about her fashion choices, he desperately avoids her. It’s because he doesn’t want to attack her vibrant—playful spirit. If he were to say what he truly feels, it would break or potentially damage her self-love.  He doesn’t want to change her perception of herself, despite his difference of opinion. There is kindness in his censorship. That’s why the film is so humorous. We identify with Jim Carrey’s struggle.

I project that scene onto myself— and whatever we had— I’m sure there are qualities about myself that you found problematic.

You may feel some sort of admiration for me, but the hard truth—you can’t see yourself excluding future opportunities with those whom you find more attractive or whatever qualities you are looking for— meaning I’m not your type and you couldn’t bare the thought of being stuck. That’s okay and you shouldn’t feel ashamed. I could be wrong, but replace whatever topic or issue you have with me…. The principle still stands, ‘An adorable/admirable person that possesses problematic qualities that don’t jive with your taste/preference or type.’

I don’t want to hear these whole truths.  In fact, I prefer and hope you are a kind enough person to censor yourself to near silence.  In a sense, I’m protecting my ego and my admiration for myself. I don’t want to hear your reasoning…  Because I would likely feel more hurt or become more confused. Or angry if your speech felt cliché.

I don’t need that.

Second, the status from a romantic partner to a friendship is a humiliating and embarrassing demotion. Overtime,  if not now, I will see you as a painful reminder of that.  You will unknowingly and unintentionally become my emotional torturer.

If our friendship would blossom, it would inevitably create a false sense of hope that I could become a romantic partner again. That’s wrong and a hopeless, destructive process for me. I think about your ex. When you told him you were “seeing someone,”  he responded that he knew this day would come, and he wasn’t ready for it regardless— even after a year or year and half post break-up.  You have unknowingly and unwittingly become his emotional torturer.

If we were to try an act of friendship, it would degrade the very thought and virtues of friendship.  My best friends from middle school to present are held together, not from an attempt to rescue a romantic partnership from the ashes, but from a bond of commitment to side and nurture the better virtues of a person and tame the darker side of themselves/ myself. And to laugh and support our not so good choices. Those noble goals of what friendship should be would be obscured.  My intent wouldn’t be pure— because I want to be that romantic partner again.  How can I give good council or find joy in your new love/interest when I feel jealousy or shame in that process? I can’t. I can never be your friend.

The best hope for us is civil distance.

Lots and lots of distance.

That civil distance is only created out of complete and sudden severing of whatever we had.  Perhaps you were clear where you stood this whole time and I was recklessly and hopelessly optimistic about where I thought we were going.

Friendship is, thankfully, lost as an idea or possible with you.

I wish you well in the only way a healthy person can do– with civil distance.

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