Patterns left by the X

When most people recognize they are stuck in patterns they try to break them. This single life, as short as it’s been thus far, has me stuck in a repetitive scenario. What is becoming obvious is the type of guy I go for. This has nothing to do with the physical, but the emotional.

My “jury”, that is my well-trusted friends, seem to think I go for an emotionally unavailable guy. The men I have dated, in particular the ones without children, have a decidedly self-centred bent. My thinking is that without a history of responsibilities and feelings toward those, whether that is an indication of maturity or not, it is a hard mesh with my life.

I suppose I may fall into that odd category of a non-traditional woman. That is, I am not looking for a guy to support me, to give me children, or even to live with me. If that is what the trend now calls a “cougar”, so be it. I’m all for the feline comparisons, though I feel slightly young to be thrown into that stereotype. Most men, stuck in traditional thinking, have a hard time with this concept.

Back to the emotionally unavailable. I have expectations about how I think men should respond. Unfortunately, I find myself disappointed by most responses, even when it’s obvious there is something there. I always want more, want to give more, and now even hold myself back emotionally. This leads me to inevitable preoccupation. Expectation is a killer. Then again there is that nagging thought that if this was “to be” it would be easy and obvious. I’ve been told this is idealistic.

As time has gone on, I see that the X was very much like that. Not giving emotionally what I wanted or needed. This left me with an odd desire I feel stuck with and have no outlet for. But I don't want to end up in the same situation I tried to fit into for so long. The next time has to be different.

In the short time of singledom, I am already trying to figure out these patterns and see what works for me. It’s an ongoing process. Awareness first.

High heels and other single gal exploits

One of the major effects I was left with after my stroke was my physical imbalance. The result was a limp and months of using a cane and wearing flat shoes. I admit I was thrilled that flats were in fashion. Now I have achieved the goal of wearing heels. It sounds superficial but it speaks volumes as I click clack my way along the sidewalk.

High heels were one thing I never thought I'd be able to wear again. This goes along with running, dancing and skiing. The feeling, being completely absorbed in the feminine sway, is hard to describe. It's not that I want to be another character or wear them as part of a role, it's part of me I thought was lost and the rediscovery is rather thrilling.

Like a kid on a rollercoaster, I feel all grown up now and have that "hey, look at me" quality. I feel like a superhero, perhaps I should don a cape. My kids look at me as if I'm high up in a tower, as it should be. That way I can instill more fear (kidding).

I have found out that after a couple drinks I can be rather wobbly on my high heels. This is not cute. And like a friend that had to make a similar choice, I choose heels over cocktails. For the moment anyway, we'll see how long that lasts.

I suppose underlying this new leggy look is whether men will take interest, but in the moment I am not thinking of that. It is truly an afterthought and to be honest, when I think about it, it seems a bit much, overwhelming and perhaps intimidating. I mean if I were a guy I wouldn't dig it. But clearly some men do. I'm not sure if it's the hobbling around bit or the idea of long legs wrapped around them.

People's shoes, particularly women's shoes, tell much about the person without really knowing them, over the knee boots, stilettos, platform pumps or ballet flats. Whatever their story, it's all tied up in the feminine, how you embrace it, your commitment to it, or not. Of course it is not everyone's thing.

While I am taking small steps, my heels are not really that high, I take them confidently and finally feel like I'm striding. It's not a bad thing to live in a metaphor.

When the X comes to call

I have just endured another visit from the X. It was nice actually and we spent a fair bit of time together with ease and comfort. He had the kids a lot, which I realized I missed more than anything else, that sort of shared parenting camaraderie. And then he was gone. A harsh reminder that this would still be my life if we were together. So here I am, boomeranged back into single parenthood.

I do give him credit for being a stand up guy. He came back earlier than planned because I wasn’t well. The allergies to god-knows-what, continue. Luckily no more hospital visits, but I’m plagued by skin irritations and low energy.

Mainly I am supremely frustrated that this illness continues to be a reminder in my life of the state I am in. There are so many periods where I feel fine, then there is this kind of regression. One friend pointed out that he sees me as someone who really wants to be active but my body won’t allow it. I guess my brain won’t allow it since that is where this has all stemmed from.

Needless to point out, I was pleased to have some time off from the kids. The X was instrumental in segueing into our routine. I felt some guilt when the classroom seasonal cold made it’s rounds with the kids, but then realized it was good for him to see what that is like too ie. Sick kids staying home for days on end.

I cheekily emailed him an article on Shared Parenting this week. It is a fantasy for me really. He travels to work and will probably never live in the same city as us. He briefly replied that he agreed with the concept in principle but reminded me that it just wasn’t in the cards with our life.

On I go, forging ahead and mapping my way through this single life with all its checks and balances, ups and downs.