June Renew: Day 4.
Weight: 233.0
I felt sad today. And I was at the Yankee game. It was fine, I was happy to be out and sitting in left field. I’m not a huge sports fan but I always enjoy going to the events. Even with everything everywhere plastered with corporate logos. I had a nice time. And they won. But I couldn’t ignore being surrounded by couples, friends, and families when I was sitting there all alone. And it’s not like I mind being alone. It’s that certain things about relationships are beginning to lose me, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get them back. And I’ve only got the stamina for a few good swings left.
There were a lot of couples there, sipping hard seltzer and beers, arms around each other, genuinely enjoying the sunshine and each other’s company. My mind wanders when I see people in this manner. How did they meet? What do they tell one another? Do they actually like each other, or will they eventually break up? I’ve been a singular woman for so long that I’m not even sure anyone would ever want to make that effort with me. Like it’s too late to find that at this point in my life. Maybe I just don’t understand how to even begin a relationship anymore. What do I do? What do I say? How do people decide they actually want to be together? What does that conversation even look like? I’m starting to think I’ll just be asking these questions forever unless I open the playbook and find a new way.
I’ve been trying to assess some parts of my early childhood and look at what I remember. Your parents’ relationship can act as a blueprint for what kind of relationship you want, and what you don’t want. Yet you still learn traits of what it took to make, or sometimes, break them. I don’t remember ever seeing or hearing how my parents felt about each other. I remember a lot of yelling. They both worked together and worked from home (before it was cool) so they got on each other’s nerves a lot. There was a lot of frustration between them, and sometimes I wasn’t sure they even liked each other. Now that we’re all older, I see the affection my dad has for my mom. He’s the caretaker. He holds her hand as they walk. He tells her he loves her. And even though the words don’t always come out for my mom, I know she loves and cares for him too.
But the adult-me has it in her head that it’s somehow unattainable for me. Like I’m not worthy of it. Unable to feel it. Unable to give it or receive it. Like it’s just not in the cards or I’ll never get a chance at bat. I’ve been conditioned to seeing that permanently being annoyed with someone translates into loving and caring for them. I don’t want this to be, but I don’t know any other way. I want to find the words to tell someone how much I love them. But I fear when the time comes, if it ever does, I won’t know what to say. It’ll always be cringey and weird and wrong to me. And I don’t know what it’s going to take for me to make a call to the bullpen and change things up.
Maybe right now I’m not supposed to see myself with someone. Maybe, for a little longer anyway, I’m meant to be alone in order to find something about myself. There’s clearly something that hasn’t yet had the chance to connect, and I’m hoping the clearer I stay, the easier it will be to grasp that puzzle piece and complete the picture. The words will come one day, and I’ll have the actions to back them up. When it’s right, it’ll be right, and this confusion will slowly but surely fall away. Until then, I’ll stay quiet and observe what’s around me. I’ll wish for good things for those who’ve found their special one. I can’t feel jealous or force anyone to fall in love with me. I’ve just gotta be me, even if that means sitting alone at the baseball game. After all, how can I strike out when no one’s thrown it over home plate yet?