Give Your Heart a Break - Romantic Love and the Differently-Able Part II

Okay, so here we are at part two of my romantic misadventures. I hope all of you had a great Valentine's Day.  So...I thought long and hard about how to approach this post. This blog is about my life and about giving you a window into my life, as such I try to be brutally honest here. I present myself to you warts and all. But I don't mean to embarrass anyone.

Embarrassing myself is fine, but there is a guy in this next story, a kind, caring, decent, generous guy who is, I think, still blissfully unaware that 10 years ago I had a major crush on him. He was at the time unmarried and a few years younger than me. He never shared my feelings, I never expected him to, but he was then and remains to this day, a good friend.

This crush lasted about two years, but was mercifully, long over by the time he met the woman who is now his wife. The only reason I will speak about this crush here is because of what it taught me. Here then is the anatomy of a crush in your 30's.

The Anatomy of a Crush

A crush in your teens is kind of expected, right?  A teen crush is like a rite of passage, a taste of what it may feel like when you finally, truly fall in love. A teenage crush is a beginning, a prelude to dating and somewhere in your early to late twenties, finding Mr. Right and settling into a career and so on.

Ideally, by your mid 30's you're more or less settled. (I'm aware that there can be various and varied exceptions to this general rule of thumb.)

2010 was my year of 'YES'. I was 35 years old and had met a group of young working adults who seemed to genuinely like me and who took pains to look beyond the wheelchair. They treated me as normal, and they invited me places. Weddings, dances, bachelorette parties, braais and to every invitation I said 'YES' even if it scared me, or I was unsure, I said yes. These people seemed to want nothing from me except my company and they in turn actively did what they could to better my quality of life and broaden my horizons.

Looking back now that crush was inevitable really, but when it came it hit me like a ten-ton truck falling from the clear blue sky.

I had never had a real boyfriend in High-School, I had friends who found me intelligent, maybe even interesting, but no one ever called me sexy or pretty and by the time my thirties rolled around with me never having experienced one single date, I accepted the fact that having a partner in life was probably not in the cards for me.

It hurt, yes, but I dealt with it, or at least I thought I had until this ten ton crush hit me five years later. I was 35 and mortified, not to mention angry with myself. Really this could not be more inconvenient and I wanted it over as soon as possible.

I thought God might be able to help, so I asked nicely and in my best Sunday voice that these feelings be removed. He could do that right? I mean after walking on water getting rid of a pesky, impossible crush should be a piece of cake.

And God said: No, sorry the only way out is through it.

The thing is through it hurt, probably more than anything ever had. My pillow was soaked in tears every night and part of me couldn't understand why this hurt so much, the pain seemed disproportionate to the situation.

At night in the privacy of my bedroom, I'd yell at God, like Job screaming into the void.

I don't get why You can't just take this away, I carry my Cross Lord every day, I carry it and I do so in full view of everyone. Others have the luxury of hiding their burdens, but not me, oh no. I have to carry my cross for all to see and it's fine, I cope. Don't I cope, Lord? Don't I smile through it all?

But this...these feelings, it's too much and it HURTS! Don't You get it? Do You even care? This is like taking me up a mountain and showing me the world and then marching me back down and saying, "See that? That's everything you CAN'T have, you stupid useless, broken piece of shi..."

You need to trust me. Trust the process, grieving takes time.  

Grieving? The word caught me up short. Was I grieving and if so what was I grieving for? I knew the answer almost as soon as I asked the question. I was grieving all the things I'd never have and never do. I was grieving a life that would never be mine, the children I would never have, the husband or partner I'd never make love to. I was watching the death throes of a young girl's dream and grieving for it.

Strangely enough, once I realized all this, things suddenly got much easier. I allowed myself to grief in private, attending the funeral and laying a wreath and in the months that followed my romantic feelings for this guy dissipated, leaving only friendship and heartfelt gratitude for the lessons he unwittingly taught me.

I know now that those feelings were never really about him, per se. Rather he had become for me a symbol of everything I could never have.

A few years later a new girl came into the group and I watched from the sidelines as they found one another, saw the slow blossoming of friendship into love. A  couple more years later I cheered the loudest when I learned of their engagement. They were so happy and I was happy for them. All was as it should be.

Don't wanna break your heart, wanna give your heart a break

After that crush in my thirties, I was determined never to drink from that cup again, no more silly crushes for me. I threw myself into my writing. Five years later, now aged 42 I had three novels behind my name, I'd found a spiritual home in Celtic Christianity and my social life was as lively as ever. Life was good, great even.

I rode into the optometrist office one sunny weekday morning for a routine eye test. I knew there was trouble the moment he walks in the room. Young, cute and those eyes, sweet sugary gumdrops I could lose myself in those eyes and as fate would have it, he's the optometrist.

My heart starts beating about a million miles a minute as he leads me into his office. He is friendly, professional and does not talk down to me and he's cute, did I mention how cute he is?

My heart continues its dangerous gallop throughout the exam, but my voice stays put, thank heaven for small mercies!  Once the test is done he takes me to go look at frames. He puts one frame on me, then another. He steps back and regards me critically.

''Hmm, not bad, but I think..." He takes another frame from the shelf and puts it on me. Stepping back again a smile breaks over his face. "Perfect. What do you think?"

I look in the mirror, seeing nothing much.

"It compliments your face shape very well. I think it looks really pretty on you..."

Of course, I took the frame.

He insisted on walking with me out of the office and across the street and I let him, inwardly rolling my eyes at my 42-year-old self.

Aren't we seriously getting too old for this crap?

On the other side of the street, he tells me goodbye, assuring me that he'd call when my specs were ready. As he walks back to his office a woman who is part of that group of young people I mentioned earlier walks by and says: "Hmm nice!"

Realizing that she's talking about the cute optometrist, makes me laugh and I feel better, less foolish somehow.

That evening over coffee I share the encounter with the group, poking fun at myself. They laugh and I laugh it's fun and light and frivolous.

It's okay, you know? It's okay to feel and it's okay to feel this, you're human, you're a woman and it is okay to feel this to enjoy it, even. You're going to be okay...

I felt a weight lift from me at that moment.

Cute optometrist called two days later to say my specs were ready. I asked the carers of the facility where I lived at the time to put on my red dress, the red dress, to do my hair and as they got me ready I told them about the cute optometrist and there was giggling and good-natured teasing.

So this is what it feels like, this is what a crush feels like when your not afraid of rejection, or worried about embarrassing yourself or someone else...

So I set off to go fetch my specs and he was there, making sure they fit perfectly, telling me how nice I looked. When it was over he helped me across the street once more. He smiled as he told me goodbye and I smiled back.

I counted the steps as he turned and walked back across the street, disappearing into the building, then I turned my wheelchair and headed home, an old Eurythmics song in my head and a big smile on my face.

Love is a stranger

In an open car
To tempt you in
And drive you far away

And I want you
And I want you
And I want you so
It's an obsession

Love is a danger
Of a different kind
To take you away
And leave you far behind
And love love love
Is a dangerous drug
You have to receive it
And you still can't
Get enough of the stuff...

Regards

Freeda Moon

Next Time: The Differently-Able in Pop Culture