Dancing With Ourselves.

Sometimes I think that marrieds have no realistic memory of what it is like to be single. I swear that many of them think we're dancing around a fire, naked, playing by our own rules, in a sexy love free for all, like a perverse Lord of the Spanish Flies or something.
In the last few months I've had a few occasions to spend time with my married cousins. I love them dearly, but sometimes I really feel like they would rather not deal with me. Even though we have a lot in common, I still feel like there is awkwardness in conversations. They find it amusing that I have dated the men that I have, and find my take on my relationships humorous, but they really don't remember how to give advice on dealing with different men. It more often becomes advice on what it takes to remain married. Which is great, except that I am not engaged to be married, or even dating one person in specific right now as I just broke up with the fighter. It's like trying to teach a duck's egg how to swim. You can talk until your face is blue, but that egg isn't going to learn a thing until it hatches, if it even does that much.
I know they mean well, but it baffles me sometimes how much they have forgotten how it is to be independent. To not have anyone to depend on for your finances other than yourself. To not have anyone to cry to about your fears of not having a family, or the stress of not always being able to pay bills on time. To feel lucky to be held for more than just a few minutes, rather than to know that you always have arms you can run to. The conversations that they take for granted, about where to take their next trip, planning what to make for dinner for two, laughing without saying anything, even doing a funny dance because it is okay for your loved one to see your stupid side, well, those are things that just don't really exist for the single girl. Not on a regular basis, anyway.
When I get those rare moments where I am in a relationship long enough to trust someone to that extent, I truly cherish them. That's why it is so difficult for me to let go. My ex, the one with all the kids, who broke my heart and sprained my hip, he's also the one whose arms I crawled into when my world was destroyed. He was also the last person who saw me let loose and dance like a gangster rapper when we were BBQing together on a hot summer day. He was the one who held me up close against him as we slept every night. He was the one nodding off on the couch, refusing to go to bed until I was done with what I was doing, so he could fall asleep holding me. Not only did I have to learn to be on my own again, amidst heartache and loneliness, but I also had to learn that it was all a lie. When we recently revisited the idea of hanging out, I realized how true it is that I am single, and always have been, even when I felt whole with him. Now that the shine is off, he doesn't want to hold me. He doesn't want to spend time with me. He doesn't care about my fears, nor my hopes. It wasn't that he ever cared for me. He just loved me at the time. Marrieds don't necessarily get that. It's not wanting to be independent, it's surviving the realization that you have to be.