If you have been following me here, you know I have this thing for synchronicities and for going after the metaphysical meaning of whatever happens in my life. So let me explain to you how this post is coming about first. In the beginning of this week I caught myself thinking “Oh, great! I haven’t been thinking of him!”, and I smiled because I had been so busy doing what I love that I didn’t give two seconds of my time to stop and ponder whether hope is really the last one dying or whether I’m really crazy for still even let him cross my thoughts. Do you know what happened afterwards? Of course, I started overthinking things all over, but this time differently. I saw that I miss what was good about him, but I was also reminded of aspects that I honestly wouldn’t like in a man. I would like a sensitive man, but not a baby boy. In a moment of crisis, I would like a man to make me feel safe and not a boy who will shake his hands in despair and have a melt-down.
Wait, I’m not saying that men can’t cry and that men can’t panic. I’m saying I would like to be the one in someone’s arms and not the one who holds, at least not on twenty-four hour non-stop shifts. Since I have been acknowledging my softy, fluffy, and pinky side, I have been changing my mindset over romantic relationships. I have pretty clear that 1) I don’t want baby boys, 2) I don’t want a clone of my father, and 3) I don’t want abusive, narcissistic men. I hope this is crystal clear in my heart so that God knows I learned the lesson. Or at least I’m trying to solidifying the teachings and I have been doing the best I can everyday to move one step closer to a better version of myself.
Let me go back, however, to the synchronicities that led me to write these words. I was trying to catch up with WordPress, which lately became a lot harder, and as I was reading a couple of posts of women who have been dealing with dark nights, longing for partners who emotionally abused them and who surely don’t give a damn about the amount of kleenex’s boxes on their living room’s floor, I felt this huge protective barrier between me and them as if I was watching over like parents who watch their premature newborn in the nursery through a glass window. I could feel those women’s pain but the glass reminded me that there was nothing I could really do to help them. None of my direct words make sense to them, because they don’t hear. In fact, it doesn’t matter whatever people say to comfort them, because they will only get out of the dark when they decide they had enough. In other words, when they truly realise their value.
This leads me to the next synchronicity. After the weird experience of feeling like I was watching those women through a glass window, fighting to survive, I stumbled on a complete different story. I stumbled on one of the most recent blog posts from Angell, entitled “Are You Worth It?“. Ladies and gents, this post is absolutely vavavoom and I totally recommend it because it invites you to change your perspective about dating and choosing a partner. As I was reading Angell’s post, I caught myself thinking of him again and I made the question Is he worth it? No, he isn’t, and this answer became clearer when I got to this epic phrase Potential is cute, but it’s not sustainable. Potential is cute but it’s not sustainable. Damn, I had got stuck in potential and cuteness without doing a sustainability assessment. Why? Well, because I couldn’t see value in my own life and I romantically thought he was everything I ever wanted. I should revisit my Neuropsychology books, because I keep forgetting that we can surely think stupid things when running on dopamine.
So I would like to leave you with this question: is he or she worth your blank future? You know, time is passing by and we compromise our future when we cling onto people who will never come back and be our person. Yes, it takes time to heal, I’m all for that, but it also takes a shift in perspective. Think about it. Are you waiting on potential and cuteness, or are you creating sustainability in your life? Baby boys and baby girls can’t really play the game you have been wishing for. And if we keep loathing ourselves, crying over spilled milk ad eternum, then we’re the babies, we haven’t gown up yet and thus we are unfit to play the upper game. Now, for fun, to change the energy, I leave you with a latin beat for us to step in, because it takes a L-O-T of attitude from our part to stop living a miserable life and running after pointless drama in our own heads. You know I’m no better than you; you know I suck at it, but we don’t have another option. We either snap out of it or we won’t live what life has prepared for us.