I will warn you that this story is not my most interesting.  It is a meandering stream of my thoughts about why I am single, at this age, when my strongest dream, as a child, was to be married with children.  I no longer have that dream, and I am not unhappy being single – just pondering…  I remember one time, saying that “I am not starring in the script that I would have written for my life.”

I am going to state the obvious on some things, but keep in mind that all opinions expressed in blogs belong to the writer (obvious, right?)   For me, blogging allows me to talk through my thoughts and share them with others, letting “you” into my head.

Although I have a journalism degree, I decided during college, that I never wanted to be a reporter.  This decision resulted from events that occurred while I was in college.  An example was the Kent State incident.  I desperately wanted to know the truth, but the more news stories I read, the more frustrated I got.  It became apparent to me that each reporter was writing from their own point of view and that was “their truth” – but the stories varied widely in what had happened.

So this blog tells you “my truth.”   The difference between this and writing stories for a newspaper is that I am not claiming to be “right,” and I do not expect you to agree with me.  You haven’t walked in my shoes and I haven’t walked in yours, which is what makes us so unique (and interesting).  We can attempt to relate to each others’ experiences, but I think all we can really do is listen (and learn).

Something I’ve been thinking about recently is how often I have been the target of mean people (usually women.)  I think there are also mean men, but men seem to stick together more than women.  My experience has taught me that women are more competitive/territorial.

I do not think that I am difficult to understand.  But it’s because I want to be understood.  To me, this is part of my “don’t want to play games” and “avoid drama” personality.  It’s also because my mother never taught me about flirting or being mysterious.   She also told me things like “men don’t like smart women” and “men – you can’t live with them and you can’t live without them.”  (Was she right?  Is this why I am not in a relationship?)

Mom tried to teach me how to be dumber, but she did not succeed.  A few examples about women I’ve known…

My very first roommate in college, Melinda, had men chasing her like crazy.  I don’t think she was dumb, but she needed rescuing a lot.  Melinda couldn’t even walk up a few steps without falling down, and several guys were always eager to help her to her feet.  She wasn’t that great looking, but she had something that attracted men.  Maybe it was her non-threatening nature or was it because she was a “damsel in distress?”

I have never intended to be “threatening,” but I have had to fight hard to survive since I was 9 years old.   This skill set has probably made me appear to be quite strong and independent, which has served me well in the business world.   However, it doesn’t seem to work in personal relationships.   I am sure that I don’t give off a “helpless” vibe.  However, I need and want to be loved, just like everyone else.

I’ve obviously picked up some flirtatious clues along the way, watching my friends (and attempting to learn some things from Melinda).   But I would say that I’ve lost several relationships to women who were much more skillful in using their feminine, sometimes deceptive, wiles.

I put myself more in the category of wanting an equal partnership with a strong man, who appreciates me for who I am – not because I deviously captured him with my web of intrigue.  Oh the stories I could tell you about tricks women have played, the hurt they have inflicted at my expense…to steal my guy.  I have had more than my share of run-ins with meanness.  (I wonder if they ever got nicer as they got older…)

I will share one brief example.  I had a girlfriend, fictional Diane, whose sole purpose was to keep guys guessing, by never telling the truth.  She admitted openly that she didn’t even try to keep track of her lies, because that would be way too much work.  She married a very nice guy, Doug, (and I dated his brother for awhile).  Doug told me that he had no idea how old she was or if any of her stories were true.  I asked him why that didn’t bother him, and he replied, “I love her and I don’t really care about any of that stuff.”

I was surprised to find out that she had several driver’s licenses with different birth dates.  She used whichever one she wanted, to suit her particular purpose.  I wouldn’t even know how to pull that off!

It turns out that, once they were married, he realized what a control freak she was and she became bored with him.  Divorced after a year or two.  My friendship with her also ended because she intentionally tried to steal, and succeeded, several of my boyfriends – just for fun.  She admitted to me that she had no interest in any of those guys, but that she loved the thrill of stealing them.  She also told me that she knew she was a pathological liar.  She apologized to me for all the hurt she had caused me, and wished that she could be different, but had no desire to change.  I had been the only girlfriend she had ever had.

Kind of sad, huh?

I will be including a couple of stories (later) where vindictive women, at work, tried to destroy my confidence on a daily basis and also attempted to get me fired.  In most instances, I was oblivious to what was going on.  I just tried to keep my head down, below the radar, and work really hard.  It was only when someone told me what they were doing that I found out the truth.  I have to admit that I don’t understand that kind of meanness.  Their motive must have been jealousy.   They thought I was having an affair with “their” man (who was actually married to someone else), but I never had any sexual relationship of any kind with those men.  (As I read that last sentence, it sounds like Bill Clinton…but I was innocent in these instances and definitely not a threat to those women.)

I have always had friends, both men and women.  I see people as people – which seems like a statement that should be obviously true.  I have typically worked in male-dominated professions, so my girlfriends have usually been outside of work.

One reason I will not be sharing stories about meanness, outside of work, is because that’s just way too personal and still hurts too much.  When I write these stories, I relive the experiences, and there are some I just don’t want to re-visit.

I cannot think of even one instance where I intentionally tried to break up a relationship.  The word “intentionally” is important, because there may have been a time or two when I unknowingly triggered a split.  I would have to dig really deep into my memory bank to figure out whether that happened, because if it occurred, I didn’t hang on to him.

I fight frequent battles, on behalf of others, and I win most of them.  But those conflicts involve brain power.  When it comes to the heart, I don’t fight.  I either don’t know how or there has been too much pain in that area.

I will end this story by admitting that, in general, I do not allow people to get close to me; I am too afraid of being hurt.  I think that part of the reason is because my life is so filled with physical pain.  When the foot surgery crippled me, I decided that no man would ever want to be with me.  So I protectively went into hiding.  (I would ask that you read my story, “No more dancing until heaven,” even if you have read it before.)

Here’s kind of a cute story, in the midst of all this deep stuff…  One day one of my great nephews (4 yrs old) asked me, “Aunt Katie, why do you sit so much?”  I replied, “Because my feet hurt.”  He asked me why, and I said that a doctor had cut them and they had never healed.  He came over and looked at my feet, and I showed him the scars.  He said, “When I have a boo boo, my mommy kisses it, and it gets better.”

Is my fear causing me to miss out on things that are very important?  Absolutely!  But, so far, I haven’t been able to get through the roadblock that is me.

 

 

 

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