By La Truly

Source: politic365.com

Yes, I’ve been breaking my own heart over the years. Not that I’ve tumbled through a laundry list worth of relationships to come to this realization, because the first page wouldn’t even be complete in my Little Black Book. I chalk that up to being a shy, spastic, late-blooming bookworm. Having started dating at 19, most of the few relationships I did cultivate all shared one thing: at some point they ended with a wide range of heartbreak that went from “Hurt But Frontin’ Like It’s All Good”  pain to “Ugly Crying For Two Weeks With Little To No Food, Replaying Every Sad Love Song Written In The Last Decade” sadness.

I didn’t notice a pattern back then and I had a group of girlfriends who coddled me and protected my feelings swearing that “He wasn’t worth my time,” whenever a courtship/relationship would combust in imaginary flames. I was never the problem in my narrow mind. Let’s be real, sometimes we walk around feeling as though there is something wrong with EVERY man we involve ourselves with, but just looking at that rationally, it makes absolutely no sense. There’s always a common thread that runs through all of our mistakes as well as our triumphs. The only common denominator in all… one, two, three, four, FIVE of my previous relationship distresses… was me.

After reviewing my early twenties – the weeping and/or cussing a little (OK, a LOT), the frustrated, sleepless, Häagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche-sponsored nights – it finally hit me like a ton of bricks exactly how I had gotten so far gone. Breaking my own heart has been one of the easiest things I’ve unknowingly learned how to do since I started dating all those years ago. It’s an easy practice if you build up extreme expectations before you even know each other’s last name; or if you overlook clear red flags of incompatibility; OR better yet, if you are more into the idea of a relationship than you are into the guy. Who’s guilty? *raises both hands*

I’ve ignored the fact that he had absolutely NONE of the same interests because I was enamored by his great job and how tidy he was. I’ve pushed aside the fact that he was a drunken party rat who only ever teetered on the edge of sobriety when he had to take his mother to church once or twice a year. And still, I’ve copied and pasted over that major flaw with the fact that he told me I was beautiful and he paid his bills on time. *Sigh and a shake of the head*

These men (sometimes, boys) were showing me who they were from the gate. But being the young, naïve, passionate Aries that I was, I ignored all clear warning signs making my heartbreak inevitable. Then, I would have the nerve to sulk and inhale whole pints of ice cream after I had – say it with me – broken my OWN heart. The fact that a man may not be the right one for me is nobody’s fault. Trying to MAKE him the one was MY fault, as an overly eager woman.

Looking back, I was so pressed to experience love that I would see a man with ONE good quality and run with that without any further investigation or forethought. I had one speed: Go. I set myself up for an unavoidable fall every single time.

Now, at 26-years-old with a deeper, more secure sense of self and a more honest/objective lens, inspecting my life and guarding my heart is Priority Numero Uno. I’m not so quick to get involved with any ol’ body for the sake of being involved. It’ll happen when it’s right. I am more aware of my emotions and I check all outrageous expectations at the door. I’ve had enough of self-inflicted heartbreak and when you’ve had enough and you know better, you do better.

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