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I am not special.
I want to be, but I am not. The very fact that I know I am not special makes me special. It makes us all special—special enough to still be here, but not special enough that we are immune to life’s disasters.
I entered by my own will into a situationship, knowing that I have been to this party before.
Because I am a deeply-feeling soul, I overthink and project my fantasies and hopes onto other people and places that don’t necessarily warrant it. However, it makes me hope that, perhaps, one of these days, the way I feel will be real…it is what keeps me going. So I have to believe that what I am seeking, I will find.
For many years, I stayed in a situationship with a person who always said to me, “You’re awesome, but…”
I tried to be prettier, smarter, more enough, perfect, but none of that could change the fact that I was just not what that person wanted. There was nothing I could do to fit into a relationship that, no matter how bad I desired it, just wasn’t for me.
I compromised myself, made myself smaller, tried to speak less than more. I didn’t complain and didn’t ask for anything. I chose to “go with the flow” when I am someone who needs to at least know there is hope of a future.
I found myself running in circles in the same story. I had contacted this person and started a texting-type relationship that meant so much to me and presumably nothing to them. I tried to be chill and relaxed; I didn’t ask too many questions. I didn’t suggest many options.
On a few occasions, we formed somewhat of a laid-back plan, and they never really showed up. I should have known then that I was never going to be “one of his girls,” but I carried onward, hoping that I was “special” enough to change it.
How often do we do these things? How often do we feel so stupid because we were acting incredibly stupid? Why do we shame ourselves away from using words that don’t describe us, but instead describe how cringey some of the things we do in the name of love are?
Sometimes, we cannot see how negative a situation is until we are out of it and can give ourselves some space to see it for what it is. I still don’t know what it was, but upon reflecting, it didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel reciprocated like I believed it to be; they left effortlessly. The only time they paid any real attention to me was when they were getting pictures of my gloriousness, and even then, it was only when it suited them.
It has ended, like all other good things in life. I recognized my own pattern and chose to walk away. Hallelujah. I always kept things honest on my end. I assumed that what they were telling me was their truth, but I am not really capable of knowing if that is true or not. People don’t always know how to be honest with themselves, so expecting them to be honest with you is unrealistic.
I received four words back to my paragraph text, so that told me where I stood. It hurt me because endings hurt. I want for them to come back to me and tell me that they made a mistake. But I am not special, and we all want that. We all want to believe they will come back; I am not saying they don’t, but truthfully, they usually don’t.
We never really know what it is like for another when things end. We only know how we feel, and we so badly want to know that they feel that way too. We get caught up in mind reading and assuming; it can cause so much additional despair.
The truth is, they might care, they might not, and we may never know. Thoughts run through our minds, “Did they even care? Did I get played? Will I ever hear from them again? It felt so special to me; how come I wasn’t special for them?”
We assume we have the answers, and we assume that the answers deeply reflect our inability to be enough for literally anyone. The spiral of shame, guilt, and unworthiness that follow a rejection can stop us dead in our tracks. Everything becomes cloudy, and we just need the world to stop for a minute so we can catch up with it.
It, of course, doesn’t stop, so we must find a way to balance it; we must stay grateful and try to find the lesson. We must not get caught up in the rejection and, instead, try to receive it as protection. It is so much easier said than done, but we have to hold on, we have to have faith, and we have to deeply know that whatever is meant for us will find us.
Part of the reason I am so sad is because I deeply understand I will never get the opportunity to be “one of his girls,” and that feels awful to me because I wanted to be that…but it is my idea of him who I wanted to be that for.
I flipped that dialogue, though, and realized that I won’t ever get to be one of his girls, but even though I am not special, I deeply recognize that I am of value, and I am not forgettable, so I get to be this girl:
I get to be the girl who walked away because what he was offering didn’t align with her own self-respect and worth.
I get to be the girl who said, “Thank you, but no, thanks.”
I get to be the girl who saw through his bullsh*t.
I get to be the girl who wasn’t late this time to the party—the party she even didn’t want to be at.
I get to be the girl he will wonder about and think, “What if?”—but, of course, by that time, I will be with the guy who couldn’t dream of leaving me at what if.
I get to be the girl who I love and adore.
I get to be the girl who I admire.
I get to be the girl I couldn’t ever get enough of.
I get to be the girl who will choose herself, knowing that no man in the world is worth ruining her own self-esteem over.
I get to be the girl who is strong and inspires herself.
I get to be the girl who chose herself.
So no, I won’t get to be one of his girls, but I do get to be my own girl; I choose myself.
And there isn’t a person in the world I’d rather be chosen by.
I think that makes me special enough, to not even need to be special.