There Isn’t Always a Bad Guy

Before I married at age 21, I was dating one of those Really Good Guys - someone who had little ego, was complimentary, affectionate, generous, and nurturing. We met as street actors at the “original” Renaissance Pleasure Faire and fell pretty hard pretty fast.

The hard part was that we lived four hours apart (this was before cell phones/text messages, FB, or even email).

To stay connected, we caught up on the telephone every few nights (long-distance calling fees still applied), but we could only see each other in person when both our work schedules lined up and one of our often-failing cars could make the long drive. He was hard-working and creative, and his sporadic theater jobs took him all around the state.

At that time, I only had experience with monogamy, so those periods of infrequent contact were particularly painful because I longed to be with him, to bask in “being a couple”.

Over time, the relationship faded because of the lack of connectedness we were feeling. I know that, for me, the quiet, empty spaces created by the infrequent contact were easy to fill with my fears and insecurities.

What must he be doing with all that time away?
Surely, it wasn’t thinking about me or he would call more.

I remember he had just returned home after several weeks on a set-building job in San Francisco. I was anxious to see him because I missed him and our relationship, but also because we’d had a couple of phone calls that had “gone bad”. The physical distance was causing an emotional distance - or so I told myself.

He was so likable, and my insecurities were convinced that he was obviously working with other (more) gregarious and exciting people.

Surely, he’d met someone else and just wasn’t telling me.
I mean, how could I possibly compete from so far away?

[Man, the stories we make up in order to prove to ourselves how unlovable we are…]

When the breakup came days later, it still took me by surprise, because my general relationship philosophy at that time wasn't "Is this the thing that will finally break us up?" but rather "How will we work through it this time?"

[By the way, I'm not implying that my philosophy was better. In many instances it meant I stayed too long in relationships that weren't serving me.]

At that time in my life I was still equating the success of my romantic relationships with my self worth, so the breakup was a devastating blow to my self-esteem, which was already in meager supply.

Initially, I was hurt that he wasn't willing to work through the issues were that were creating the disconnect - I mean, weren’t relationships supposed to be work? - but really, I was feeling the pain of the loss of this person I had wanted to give everything to (spoiler alert: that’s not a healthy goal), coupled with the fear that no one would ever love me now since he clearly didn't.

I wasn't conscious of all of these thoughts in the moment. Instead, all of the hurt was being masked by anger:

He'd said he loved me, but if he had truly loved me then he wouldn't have broken up with me.
Well, then he clearly never loved me to begin with.
In fact, he must've been lying to me this whole time.

That's what I was telling myself.

And I needed to believe that story because then I could be the victim and I could make him the villain and I would never have to face the deep truth that - in addition to whatever led to the breakup - my insecurities and reactiveness had been strangling him.

I remember dog-paddling in my little pity-pool for a few days, woe-is-me-ing and feeling sorry for myself until my more rational, emotional self returned and reminded me who I had fallen in love with.

That Really Good Guy…
That he was before.
That he’d always been.

That he was, still.

He hadn't been lying or deceiving me this whole time about how he felt about me. That just wasn't who he was. Which left only one truth:

That he'd meant what he said at the time he said it.

That he had loved me.

And his feelings had simply changed.

THERE WAS NO VILLAIN.

[This moment was significant to me in another important way because it was also the moment I realized that if what I was telling myself was true - if he had, in fact, truly loved me - then I was worthy of someone's love. This moment of clarity became the seed for all the healing that came afterward…]

It was a humbling lightbulb moment for me.

Why was it important to make myself out as a victim? How was that serving me? Well, it made the situation less painful by removing any accountability on my part, allowing me to ignore any contribution I might've made to the breakdown of the relationship.

And by distracting myself with all of these other thoughts and feelings, I didn't have to confront the idea that I might not be worthy of anyone's love and attention.

Powerful motivators to hide from oneself.

He wasn't a bad guy because he couldn't be the person I wanted him to be, or the fantasy I needed him to be to assuage my subconscious fears.

He wasn't a bad guy because his feelings had changed.

There was no "right" or "wrong". Only what was right for him, or for me at that moment in time.

There isn't always a bad guy.

In wholeness,
Sharon Marie Scott

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