And I’ve always lived like this
keeping a comfortable distance.
And up until now
I had sworn to myself that I’m content
– Paramore, “The Only Exception”
“You know,” My mom said as we walked to our separate cars in the grocery store parking lot this afternoon, “it would be a lot different if you had someone.”
By “it,” she meant this move. And by “someone,” of course, she meant a boyfriend, a partner, a significant other to come home to, to cook dinner for, to share this life with.
Someone to just be there, unquestioning, when I’m feeling this alone, this lonely.
The past few days have been difficult, that’s been painfully obvious. I had spent the last two months getting ready to achieve a dream — a place that I could call my own, one that I could call my home, and while it’s the happiest I’ve been in a very long time, while this is going down in that memory book as one of the proudest moments of my life, it’s also one of the hardest.
And that I definitely did not expect.
I didn’t expect this mental and physical exhaustion and not being able to handle making even one more decision.
I didn’t expect this emotional fatigue — this sudden onset of homesickness and loneliness that came out of nowhere but rests heavy on the heart.
And I certainly didn’t expect to find myself wanting to share all that I had achieved on my own with someone else.
My mom is right, of course. It would be a lot different if I was with someone. Easier? Maybe. Less lonely? Of course.
But while I’ve been missing people and places these past few nights, while the heart feels a little bit divided, I can’t say for sure that I would be happier had this chapter in my own story begun any other way.
For some inexplicable reason, I’d convinced myself that I was so independent and so self-reliant that I didn’t need anyone. For the last few years, for some reason that even I can’t understand, I’ve been unconsciously trying to prove to myself that I could do everything on my own: I could be that career-woman, I could travel to France, I could buy a house. I didn’t need anyone; I was capable of anything.
And I’ve done it. I’ve done it all. And I’m proud of myself for it.
Now I know that there’s something missing. Someone to laugh with, someone to cry with, someone to share it all with.
I think I miss having that someone.
And truthfully? Even that simple acknowledgement seems to scare me because I haven’t felt that way in a long, long time.
Maybe throughout all of this testing myself and trying to prove to myself that I could do everything on my own, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to really need people, to want people, and to be a part of something.
Maybe it’s time I realize that it’s ok to want to be a part of something…
Maybe this confession means I’m getting ready to lay down this guard, to open my heart and let love in.
I’ve already proven to myself that I could do it all on my own.
Maybe now it’s time to remember what it means to be someone else’s someone once again.