Coming Clean

I went back to my home state for the Memorial Day weekend to visit the graves of my ancestors. This is the day I lovingly refer to as “my favorite day of the year.” The thing is that this year, I didn’t really feel into it, in no small part due to something Mommydukes said to me. “You’ve played hard to get for so long that it wouldn’t surprise me if that’s what you ended up being.” To anyone else, this would probably be an insignificant comment, but as it was said at the beginning of our day, and with my singlehood being foremost in my mind recently, it felt very cruel and it hung in my thoughts. In fact, it has taken me several days to feel at a point where I can write about it.

For the record, I want to note that I do not consciously “play hard to get” and why my mother should see me that way really confuses me. I would claim that I am selective. And rightly so considering my teen years, when my father confessed his affair to me rather than to my mother. The separation and resulting divorce was such a source of pain to me that I resolved that I never wanted to feel that way again. If my parents have ever convinced themselves over the years to think that the divorce only happened between the two of them, then they are absolutely misguided.

From the beginning, I was put in the middle; I was the conduit through which the affair was related to my mother. I, who until that time had felt closer to my father, suddenly realized through birthday and Christmas presents that my Pop had no idea who I was or what I was interested in. I knew that I didn’t want to live with him, but I would have felt a bit more consoled if he had expressed any amount of interest in having custody or visitation rights during the divorce proceedings. He made it very clear that any relationship was financial only and that would end as soon as I turned 18. I even had to decline attending my first choice college because the school expected him to pony up funds and he refused.

Pop and me, in happier times

Mommydukes was hardly any better. Yes, she was the custodial parent and to this day I marvel at how she was able to support us on her meager income. However, during their year-long separation, I was regularly employed to pray with her for guidance and for my father to come home to his family (because of course, God is more likely to take your request seriously if there are two people praying in tandem… Guess what? All that praying didn’t do a lick of good). When we weren’t genuflecting by the side of the bed, Mommydukes would wait until I was a captive audience in the car to lecture me about how my behavior or my attitude was reflective of my father. I’m sure it goes without saying that she would vent her hurt and pain and anger over my Pop’s actions to me.

I was polluted with the poison of their divorce.

Since then, I have been very cautious about my own relationships. I am not a quickly trusting person to begin with, but even less so when my emotions are involved. One devastating pain during my formative years and I am unwilling to make myself vulnerable. If I am guilty of anything, it is not being hasty in my love life. I find that I often judge relationships with the question, “can I see myself married to this person for the rest of my life?” and with the exception of one person, the answer has always been “no.”

Believe me when I wonder aloud if I have done myself a disservice over the years. I don’t think I have ever walked away from someone who would have made me over-the-moon happy. In fact, I usually congratulate myself for eventually seeing men for the drips that they are: too needy, too controlling, too absent, too uncommunicative, too uncommitted. But I wonder, if I were less guarded, if I were less distrustful, if I were less wary of the world, would I give those men more slack? Would I be married by now? Ignorance is bliss, after all.

I am actually ashamed to admit that I want to be married. I am ashamed that this is even a thought that occupies my time. I am also ashamed that I am 36 years old with no marriage prospects after 20 years of dating.

So tell me, does this all give credence to my mother’s claim that I play hard to get?