Discount shelf

I met with a dear school friend yesterday. Being mid 40s has it’s challenges as a single woman. Especially for one who is simply tired of coming home to an empty home. Over a Rose on South Terrace, we discussed what it means to be single, what kind of guy would fit the bill at this age. A beautiful and independent person laughed, I don’t shoot above the waste. I know I’m on the discount shelf now. I found this comment astounding, and it filled me with empathy to the brim. She went on – I’m more like a man than a woman, I try to fix things. I know that I need to be better at listening, not trying to fix things. Was she truly suggesting that only masculine women try to ‘fix things’, rather than just listen? “I’ve never really gotten over the guy that nearly beat me to a pulp, I know I carry shit around.” We went on, I said – have you ever talked to someone about that – insinuating a ‘professional’. She said no way. “I don’t need a counselor to tell me anything. I don’t see the point in retelling the shit in my life that i already know.” While I see her point of view – and I’m no expert here, but I think most people know what their ‘shit’ is, we go to therapists and the like to get it off our chest and let it go, as the story seems to repeat itself, we go to therapists when we can’t seem to shake age-old habits. It’s the people who don’t even know their stuff that scare me. I know several of those on a personal level.

One of my therapists once write down all the things I tell myself, during our 1.5hour session. Towards teh end, she showed me the image, with all the invisible thought bubbles I’d uttered. It was full of ‘should haves’ and ‘shouldn’t haves’. It was very confronting. When she asked me what I was thinking, while looking at her info-graphic of my brain, I simply started to cry. I shook my head and said – what a waste of time and energy.

I’d like to say that I had an epiphany then and there. Well I guess I did a little. But old habits die hard don’t they? I tried some of this psychology on my friend. Listen to the story you’re telling yourself, I said with as much empathy in my voice as I could squeeze. Even though it clunked out of my mouth, I think she got the message. You are so mean to yourself. Change that shit story now. I asked if she’d heard of Brenee Brown? Vulnerability. She said – yeah, one time, I don’t get it. Why would anyone want to be vulnerable?

We went on to chat about the kind of guys we could expect to meet at this age and what is important and not. Facing an almost certain state of singledom myself, I suggested – Let’s get together and write a list of all the things were are looking for. The non-negotiables. The bendy bits. If we cannot describe what we are looking for, how on earth will we find it, or know it when it’s in front of us? And until she changes her story, what chance will she have even when Mr potential partner appears? (I’m second hand, not beautiful, more man than woman, unfeminine. Someone who doesn’t matter to anyone.)

I said you matter to me. You’re here with me having a drink and listening to my crappy repeat story. You are amazing with my girls. You just spent 6 weeks in Africa living a dream people talk about but don’t have the balls to do. You matter to a lot of people. You look after yourself, legs of a 20 year old. Workout. Self sufficient. So we’re going to workshop our futures over wine soon. I love this shit.