I don’t like to be coddled. Usually. (I have to throw that in, because lately, gentleness is what I need.) I’ve always been a strong person; I’ve always had a clear view on where I stood about certain issues, about certain viewpoints, about myself. But things happened, life happened…beautiful and scary and hurtful and harmful and joyous and laughable and regrettable and endearing things happened. I happened. I evolved, not into something that I enjoy some days, but we all do what we have to to survive. And that’s okay; it’s sad, but it’s alright. Maybe it was a learning experience, maybe now it’s something I can use. Before now, I used to say “no kid gloves, don’t treat me like something less than I am, please” But recently I’ve heard myself say, “I want those kid gloves. If that’s what you have to use to treat me decently, then YEAH, put those on, man!” Maybe along the way something got lost in translation. I mistook “kid gloves” for “loved”, in my own way. I took “kid gloves” to mean “straight talk”. Please don’t lie to me. Please talk to me plainly. Honestly. The best advice I ever received was from someone that told me the word “love” means many different things to different people. I had been terribly simplistic in my thoughts, in my feelings, and in my actions. I do that a lot, and I notice sometimes he behaves as if I have an ulterior motive. I act, I behave, how I feel. I did not have an ulterior motive. When I say, “Is everything okay?” I mean, “Is everything okay?” I mean, “I am genuinely concerned for your well being, please tell me, because I am asking, here and now, if there is anything I can personally do for you in this moment.” I don’t mean, “What the heck is the matter with you, why are you acting/doing/feeling/thinking like that?” or the myriad of other things he has, by experience, taken to assume “Are you alright?” to mean.
So by “kid gloves” I mean don’t talk to me like I am incapable of understanding. Speak to me like a human. Speak to me with caring and compassion. Speak to me as an equal, as I was meant to be spoken to. Because if you’re with me, you obviously saw something worthwhile in me. But apparently “kid gloves” meant something else entirely, so when I requested not using them, I got bare-knuckle, bloody and brutal.
The blame, ultimately, is mine; no one can treat you any worse than you allow them to treat you. You decide how things go down. Circumstance and others are only an easy out, and only an easy way to shift blame so that you don’t have to worry about tarnishing “self”. But in the end, you come out worse for the wear.
I miss me. I love me. I miss being a little girl sometimes, and I miss being able to afford moving through emotion and feeling rather than what is best, what should be or what is. Is being an adult defined by sacrificing self for the greater good? And whose “good” are we worried about here, anyway? His? I was not faithful to myself. I didn’t ever forgive me for being me once I was told that it wasn’t okay to be who I was. And I wonder why the heck I listened to that person in the first place once they started attacking me. Where was the question? And why did I ever answer the call?
I do not want this. Growing up I thought love was something different. I thought relationships were something different. There is so much bitterness and pain and resentment. So many grudges. So much fighting. Why can’t two people just coexist? Why is it okay to treat each other like something less than human? Why can’t a person in a relationship come to the other in honesty and simplicity? Why do problems have to be squirreled away, filed away, buried, so that they can grow and emerge from the dirt of thoughts like some ugly carrion butterfly? Things become more complicated than they ever needed to be. And even if they weren’t hidden or filed away for a later date, a later argument to be brought out like some emotionally bruised trophy, if you address the problem in the now, why can’t it be done calmly, rationally? Why does a person have to change it to be a game of, “let’s see who can hit the hardest with their words.”?
To the person whom I end up with:
I want to know what goes on in your mind. I want to sit and listen to the hum buzz whir of your wheels turning. I want to curl up in the cushion of your thoughts and know them as I know my own. I want to sprawl with you, to lay on the couch, open window, sweet cool breeze, music flowing, lounging, tangled limbs, slow jazz slow buzz slow burn kindred. Sweet, simple love; sweet simple adoration. Sweet, simple and knowing. I want absolute reciprocation. I want the sense of giving that is also taking, to love so much and so fiercely that it makes me greedy. I want to revel in that stupid ache. All this is the “you” I refer to is the “you” I imagined when I was a little girl. This is the love I had imagined, and a multitude of other scenarios that include give and take, respect and reassurance.
I thought that it was something that exists. I don’t know that it exists. I hope it does. I hope I find it someday. My fingers are crossed, and I’m wishing on stars.
Because I’m that kind of girl.
And I’m alright with it.