My cousin got married yesterday. It was beautiful–as all the weddings I’ve gone to this year have been. Surrounded by their family and friends, they declared their love for one another. And I could tell that this would last a lifetime. It was a beautiful ceremony. I felt lucky that the Church was in San Francisco, on the street that I live on, just ten blocks down. The reception was in Burlingame, but it didn’t even take me that long to get there. I felt like it was the one reprieve I got for going to so many weddings recently. All local. This one was practically next door.
The reception was at the Hyatt Regency Hotel in downtown Burlingame. The area next to the pool was tented off. It reminded me of the Ice Cafe next to Bryant Park in NYC. It felt like a white winter wonderland in the middle of a Northern California heat wave. But I was watching the news this morning and it looks like most of the country is experiencing the same drastic blaze.
I was enjoying myself: snacking on hors d’oeuvres, drinking good wine, and catching up with my family. My sister had flown up with her husband and the baby. I always have a good time with them.
Then–as always–my mom yelled at my dad. They bickered for a minute. It never lasts that long, but it happens often. Whenever I witness this, I just keep quiet. There isn’t much I can do. It’s the way it has always been. Bickering and fighting. I turn away, try to not think about it, and try to not let it bother me.
But this time it really got to me. Maybe because I was at a wedding and I came to enjoy myself, only to be saddened by my own parents’ interaction with eachother. For the rest of the night, I was down. I didn’t show it. I was stoic about the whole thing. But I cried in the car by myself on the drive home. I thought about my life and growing up and still being single. I came to a lot of realizations last night that I think will help me with my relationships.
My parents are not affectionate towards each other. When I’m in a relationship, I crave affection. I think if two people really cared about eachother, they would express it. I have fought this battle too many times with guys, thinking they didn’t care about me if they didn’t hold my hand, etc. I had the opportunity to discuss this with one of my exes a couple weeks ago and he agreed that I have a serious insecurity around affection.
Call me Miss Non-Confrontational. I will avoid fights, squirmishes, heated debates, anything that causes someone to feel awkward…I’m a huge avoider. I hate watching people fight. I hated watching my parents fight. I’d run to my room, close the door, and occasionally cry myself to sleep because I hated the fighting so much. I tend to clam up rather than discuss something I fear may turn into a fight.
I’m also fearful of abandonment and rejection. This has nothing to do with my parents. I’ve been burned by a couple relationships and I hate rejection. I’m a perfectionist. If I sense a relationship isn’t going well, I’m prone to ending the relationship immediately. No discussion, sometimes no communication at all. Finissimo.
I used to be that girl who laughed at people who read self-help books. I’ve now become that person. I’ve been reading a lot lately because I know that if I don’t fix something about myself, I’ll continue dating and being frustrated.
It is a myth that I am picky and have not met the right man for me. That is a myth. I have a lot of fears and insecurities that have caused me to behave in ways that sabotage my relationships. I’ve also projected the traits I hate in myself onto my partner, minimizing the good things that he brings to the relationship and blowing out of proportion the little annoying things.
I have to stop it. I’m starting to realize all this and work through my issues. I’ve met someone who cares about me enough to make me want to care about myself. He reminds me to wear my seatbelt, to try not to drink so much. No one’s ever said that to me before. Before I’m done with one drink, someone’s always at the bar getting me another.
I’m trying to learn what it means to truly love someone–to compromise and make sacrifices. I’m not used to that.
I’m trying because he makes me want to try. And also, he’s worth the effort. He is really good for me.