We accept the love we think we deserve.

I was sitting at the lake tonight. It was cold. I had Maria Taylor playing on repeat. Tears were streaming down my face. And I felt the wall I always resurrect start to thicken and rebuild. When I got home I came downstairs and penned the PS of my last blog post. My sister texted me and I eventually surfaced to face my family. I didn't wipe the smears of mascara and eyeliner off. I didn't stop the tears. I also didn't say very much, at first. I just sat there silent in my pain. 

I don't let people in. I rarely try, because I get hurt and the wall that I build subconsciously becomes thicker and harder. Most people see my exterior as confident. It's a mask I've fashioned well to hide my very fragile, pieced-together heart. Not even my family is privy to that side of me. Pain is experienced solitarily. Details complicate things, so it's better to suffer alone than burden anybody else or show my weakness. 

But tonight, the loneliness wasn't a familiar old friend. It was stabbing and piercing and rolling down my cheeks in mascara-blackened beads. I somehow croaked out my desperation at never being chosen by the ones I choose. A small crack began in my wall and threatened to start another. Before I knew it, I was talking to my mom and sister about my feelings. About my fear of never being picked and ending up alone. About my broken heart. 

And my mom told me she thinks the timing is off. That a divorce hurts and I haven't healed. That I don't let myself be vulnerable, ever. And that maybe I wasn't ready to be in a relationship in the first place. So me sitting on the couch, crying and letting my wall crack a little was probably a good thing. 

And as I lay here in bed, I agree. I don't let myself feel vulnerable. Because I am so afraid of rejection and pain. So I cut it off at the first sign. And I shut myself down. And I felt that happening tonight. I can become robotic and void of feeling. I've been there. I use people and I discard them after they've served their purpose for me. I don't let myself experience emotions. I try to fool myself into thinking I don't care. Deep down I just care too much. But it's only when I'm alone, that I ever let that part of me show. 

So I think I'll take a break from finding somebody new. I don't think a new relationship can heal the pain from the last one. I don't think getting older is a good excuse for making exceptions to the list of things I want in my partner. Or for accepting less than what I deserve. And I don't think shutting down and turning off is going to help me achieve my goal of being whole. 

I thought being wanted and messaged by all these guys online would make up for my ex-husband not wanting me. I thought being told I'm beautiful by strangers would make up for the years of being horribly overweight and feeling ugly about myself. I thought dating would somehow validate me to the world; prove that I am not the messed-up, hideous person I often perceive myself to be. 

But a thousand people telling me I'm beautiful doesn't matter if I don't believe it and feel it myself. A thousand first dates won't prove anything to anybody about who I am or am not. And men wanting me cannot erase the hurt and rejection that comes from a rocky marriage ending on a terrible note. Those are tough truths to digest. I think the toughest truth is this: I've never felt at home with people because I've never been my true self with them. You can't find a home hidden within a fortress of protective layers that are impenetrable. I don't feel like I belong because I don't let anybody know me. 

Letting Tyler know me was a good step, but that has also come to an end, which has catalyzed this self-reflection. And so my fear that I'll never find that feeling of "home" again cropped up when I felt those walls rebuilding tonight. But somebody else can't break down those walls. I have to do it myself. We accept the love we think we deserve. So for now, I work on me.