Dear Prince Clueless,
About a month and a half ago, I met a lady at my apartment laundromat.
She found out I was single, and she asked me if wanted to get married someday.
I answered honestly: "I don't know."
So, this is what it's come to. All those years of wanting to meet you,
date you, get engaged to you, marry you, have babies with you, and grow old
with you have dissolved into a pitiful little "I don't know." This is
what's happened after years of me waiting for you to come, looking for you,
thinking I had finally found you, and trying to get over you when I finally
discovered that you didn't want me the way I wanted you.
This post boiled and churned through my heart all day today, and I
wrestled with whether or not I should even write this. Shouldn't we Christians
forgive? Yes. Isn't it to one's glory, isn't it a sign of maturity, to overlook
an offense? Yes, of course it is. Doesn't God forgive us? If we accept it, yes.
But the God who removes our transgressions from us as far as the east is from
the west... this same God is the One who also declared pages after pages in the
Bible to His people Israel through the prophets: "You hurt Me. We had
something good together, and you messed it up. You went after someone else
instead of Me. Let Me show you how your actions affected Me, and let Me show you
how the consequences of your actions will affect the future."
It is with a similar jilted-lover, botched-romance passion that I
compose this.
I believed in you.
I believed that you would actually be a man who would come fully equipped
with a backbone, a voice, and a pair. I believed that you would use them to
pursue me, communicate your intentions to me, and win my heart in the way that
any woman's heart deserves to be won. I believed that you would stand up for me,
defend me, and protect my honor. I believed that you would respect me. I
believed that you would be a real man.
Instead, you turned out to be a little boy. Little boys still expect
their mama to do everything for them. Well, here's a newsflash, buddy: I ain't
your mama.
I'm a woman who took a risk and actually allowed her heart to care for
you. I'm a woman who repented long ago of controlling every relationship she
had. I'm a woman who gave up manipulating the male species into wanting her.
I'm a woman who finally began to be a woman.
But apparently, that wasn't good enough for you.
All those times that I tried to sit next to you or just be near you --
that was me expressing interest in you. All those times that I attempted to
have a conversation with you and tripped over my words accordingly -- that was
me expressing interest IN YOU. All those times that I embarrassed myself just
so that I could connect with you -- THAT WAS ME EXPRESSING INTEREST IN YOU! How
many times did I have to spell it out?
But I guess I wasn't good enough for you.
Instead of getting to know me and maybe letting yourself develop even a
tiny little crush on me, you joined an online dating site. Or you married one
of my friends. Or you developed a platonic friendship with me that got so deep
that you felt comfortable enough to tell me that you only had your pillow for
affection at night. And you ignored me when I told you how I felt about you.
The truth is, I don't talk to men unless I have to (or unless they're
already married and I trust that they're going to stay married). I don't usually develop friendships with single men unless I want them to become more than just
friendships. Most of the time, I don't let men into my personal space. Because
men have hurt me.
But I guess you don't really care about that.
You were too busy talking to me because you were uncomfortable with the
silence. You were too busy developing a friendship with me because it was
something you wanted, and that was all you wanted it to be. You were too busy
side-hugging me to see that I wanted to be close to you.
But even though reaching out to people isn't my style, I reached out to
you because I wanted you. I wanted to belong to you someday. I wanted us to be
together forever. But you rejected me. Whether it was directly or indirectly,
you made it clear that you didn't return the feelings that I had allowed myself
to become vulnerable and feel for you.
So, in case I still need to spell things out for you, it's over. That ship
has sailed. That window of opportunity has closed. And I want to thank you. (Yes, I get sarcastic when I'm bitter.)
Thank you for the loneliness. Thank you for letting me spend evenings
and weekends all by myself. Thank you for allowing me to keep hating Valentine's
Day year after year -- each year feeling worse and worse. Yes, I was hoping to
spend an entire day shining a spotlight on my singlehood and vomiting my
bitterness onto a blog post. This is every woman's dream.
Thank you for not being there for me. Thank you for not defending me
when my parents abused me. Thank you for not protecting me when two perverts
preyed on me at church. Thank you for not being my boyfriend -- or
specifically, thank you for not being my date at awkward social functions like
that one wedding where that one guy shook my hand, creepily felt my hand, and asked me
how I kept my hand so soft. "Lotion," I replied. Your absence helped
to burn that special memory into my skull forever.
Thank you for rejecting me. I love explaining to people how a
good-looking, young-looking, intelligent woman like myself has never been
married -- how she has remained involuntarily single and could possibly die an
old maid. Thank you for deferring my hope indefinitely, to the point where my
heart is not only sick -- it's got chronic walking pneumonia. Thank you for
never fulfilling my longing -- because who wants to eat from a tree of life?
Obviously not you. Otherwise, you would have me now. You would have
overcome your fear and pursued me. You would have grown a pair and come after
me.
Well, I'm sorry if I'm too good-looking for you. I'm sorry if I seem
too young to you. I'm sorry if I'm too smart for you... or if I'm just too good
for you, period. I guess it's my fault that I'm 40 and completely, involuntary
available. And not to you.
And yet... (I will now switch from sarcasm to sincerity.)
Thank you for the loneliness. Because you never came after me, I've had
to deal with this gnawing state that creeps up on me every Friday night, every
weekend, every holiday, every time I'm invited to an event and asked if I'll
bring a guest with me, or every time the word "family" is mentioned.
Because you never showed up, I became a stronger person.
Thank you for not being there for me. Because you never came after me, I
had to learn how to live my life by myself. I had to make the best of things. I
had to break out of my shell, like a chick who needs to develop her strength
unassisted while she's still hatching. I learned how to make boundaries, how to
stick to them, and how to not feel guilty because of them. And I learned how to
do adult things like buy furniture and pay people to deliver it for me, because
I don't have a husband to lean on for that. But I also learned that there's no
shame in that. Because you weren't there for me, I became a stronger person.
Thank you for rejecting me. Because you never came after me, I've
learned how to talk to God more deeply than I've ever talked to Him before.
Yes, I've had to learn how to relate to Him as if He were my Husband... because
He is. Because He's the only One I've ever known. When I've felt like I've been
cast into the reject pile of humankind, my Father is the One whose embrace I've
melted into. He and I have had lots of slumber-party-style conversations about
you. Like, lots of chats. Because you allowed me to remain single all these
years, I know what it's like to be single at 40. I know what it's like for
people at church to have very good intentions but not know exactly what to do
with me, because very few people have made it this far and survived. Yes, because
you rejected me, I became a stronger person.
Or... (Seriously, when will this dream finally just die once and for
all?)
It's possible that what you've just read is all a pile of crap, and
that maybe -- just maybe -- you really are going to be a man and come after me.
Maybe you've just been waiting for the right time. (Maybe this rant was the
kick in the butt that you needed.) If you are, I think there are some things
that you should know.
In case you haven't noticed, I'm currently mad at you. Great way to
start a relationship. (That last sentence was sarcasm.) But I won't stay mad.
The quickest way to my heart is through my stomach... especially if it comes
along with some face-to-face quality time. (Five-star restaurant, McDonald's,
who cares? Just show up.)
God will always, always, always, always, always be Number One for me.
He's my Friend who has always been there for me. I've developed the habit of
running things by Him before anyone else, and I don't intend to break that
habit. Ever. And He's in charge. Period.
Our bedroom would be a very happy place. That's all I'm gonna say about
that.
Since I'm 40, I'm saggy, pudgy, stretch-marky, and joint-achy.
Menopause is kind of around the corner, so there's no guarantee that you could
still pursue me in time for me to bear any of your children. I'm honestly not
sure if I would have enough energy to raise a child, or if I still want
children anymore. But maybe we could cross that bridge when we get there. Or
maybe we could adopt. Or maybe we could just enjoy a home all to ourselves.
My little mixed-Siamese cat and I are a package deal, no exceptions. If
you're allergic to cats, too bad. (She's put up with 16.5 years of me crying
over you, so deal with it.)
I'm fiercely loyal, ridiculously obsessive, incredibly artsy-fartsy, and
I can be very stubborn. But I would be all yours.
I would support your dreams. I would offer you a listening ear and a
shoulder to cry on (if you've already learned how to cry). I would stay with
you forever, and I would insist on you doing the same for me, till death do us
part.
Here's what I've learned while I've been waiting for you -- while I've
pretty much given up waiting for you: I don't really need you. As you can
hopefully see, I can survive without you, and I will continue to do so if
that's what God wants (or if Prince Clueless never grows up and becomes Prince
Charming). But I would want you.
Even though I don't need you, I will want you.
But if you never come after me, I will never believe in you ever again.
And I will still be me. I will still be good enough. I will still be
strong.
Love (maybe),
Tirzah
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