Sometimes the perfect man is not the one you fall in love with. Sometimes he is the match instead of the flame.
Thank you for never appreciating me for my individuality and spirit, because it taught me how important it is to stay true to myself.
Thank you for attempting to dim my light so I learned that I needed to burn as bright as I could.
Thank you for being afraid of the power of my sexuality, and the mysteries of my eyes because it taught me that only those who can match my passion should be allowed to share in it with me.
Thank you for being scared of my intelligence and the depths of my mind, because it taught me there is a difference in loving how I look, or how I make you feel versus loving who I really am.
Thank you for not being the man that I needed, so that instead I was able to see the woman I already was.
Thank you for never having the balls to stake a claim on my heart, because it left the space and opportunity for someone who will be brave enough to take a chance on the wonderful desire of the unknown—someone who will cultivate every trait you tried to suppress.
Thank you for teaching me that the love I seek is the one that is extraordinary.
Thank you for being all wrong, because it showed me what right will look like—and for that I will always be eternally grateful.
(Words by Kate Rose)
Some men can be so toxic to your health. They don’t want to love you properly, but they don’t want to let you go either. The more you give the less they appreciate, and the minute you’ve had enough and decide to walk away is when they are ready to love you and treat you right. So you give them a chance in the hopes they’ve changed only to realise it was all fake.
You find the strength to walk away once more and here he comes again proclaiming his love for you and you give in, AGAIN.
A man showing anger and persistence to get you back once you try to break it of isn’t proof of love; its a knee jerk reaction. A man kissing your ass or making flaccid attempts to be nicer for two weeks isn’t proof that he’s trying, its proof that he knows you well enough to know how to defuse you long enough to hook you once again. Take away a toy, a little boy cries. Take away a relationship of convenience, a man cries. Just because he cries doesn’t mean you give him what he wants.
Stop listening to what your man keeps promising and start watching what his actions actually keep telling you. A lot of you women don’t know what its like to be loved by a real man. You know lust, you know joy, you know passion and you know the fear of abandonment. Stop chasing your idea of what love should be and recognize what love IS.
Love isn’t promising to act right after he gets caught fucking up time and time again. Love is him acting right from the start because he doesn’t want to fuck up. Love isn’t telling your grown man he needs to change so he can keep you; love is a grown man changing on his own because he cant imagine life without you.
They say you are handsome.
I didn’t see that.
They say you have amazing eyes.
I failed to see that too.
They say you have a body of a Greek God.
Why I didn’t notice?
To me, you were just one of those.
Looking at your pictures now, I can see they are right.
Not that it matters.
It will never work out.
Come to think of it, maybe I vanished you due to hearsay.
So stupid of me. Naive.
I wonder if you are innocent.
Like you always claim to be.
But then again___
Does it make any difference?
I guess not.
So, it is better you’re there and I am here.
Like probably it meant to be.
And your heart knows the risk is worth it.
Then I met him. It was a love I resisted at first. On paper, we didn’t match. The lens into the future was foggy at best. But, maybe the best romances are the ones we can’t push away—the ones we can’t ignore because the pull outweighs the resistance.
I often wonder if God placed him in my world to love me so profoundly that I hang on forever, or if he’s here to rock my soul. To teach me never to accept any less than a love that makes me feel this wildly alive.
After all, some lovers only need a season to teach us what others couldn’t in a lifetime. And a traditional love story is boring anyway.
(AUTHOR: JENNA IRVIN)
There was this gorgeous natural pool between two mountains with cute, small waterfalls descending from one side and a river with a reasonable fast current down on the other side with a picturesque bamboo bridge across.
I like the place because it was kind of private, peaceful and the fauna and flora were simply breath-taking. I was stripped down from the waist up and ready to hit the water when I saw her.
She didn’t see me at first; she was deep in thoughts concentrating on negotiating the narrow, steep path leading down to the pool. She was wearing a blue bikini with a green and yellow flower pattern with a matching pareo tied around her hips. She was so beautiful! The sight of her almost took my breath away.
When she was almost at the bottom of the steps, she saw me. A strange mixture of surprise and fear (?) registered on her face. But that was only for a fraction of a second, she quickly pivoted on her heels and run!
But I was quick. I only wanted to stop her and talk, thinking this is maybe my only chance to catch her alone, I simply could not let her go away.
I caught up with her easily. This is my terrain, my playground; I know the place better than anyone, I grew up here, negotiating treacherous surfaces is second nature to me. She, on the other hand, is a city girl. Too bad for her.
When I reached her something I never planned happened. What I did was___ grabbed her, turned her towards me, pulled her closer, and kissed her passionately. It happened so fast she didn’t get the chance to react. Why she must taste so sweet and so soft to hold I right away lost control of myself?
I pulled her even closer against me, she let a moan, she said: “Oh, Michael.” And went limp in my arms. My knees buckled, my legs turned to Jell-O, my mind went blank, and suddenly the world had stopped from turning. I heard thunder and lightning everywhere and I was stiff as a pole.
When I carried and laid her on the grass, she did not resist. It was starting to get dark. When I lay next to her; she closed her eyes and bit her lips. We kissed hungrily for a while, touching, exploring. I was only beginning to discover where everything is. I never realized that a kiss could taste like heaven I didn’t want to stop.
The moment I removed her bikini top, she gave me a look I had never seen before anywhere or from anyone in my life. Not even on her. All I know was what the look did to my blood ‒ boil!
When I pulled the rest of the bikini all the way down, she clung to me passionately, we’re like two people drowning; very fast and there was no tomorrow. When I entered her, I thought I was going to pass out from ecstasy. It was good. No, better than good, better than anything I have ever experience so far, it was worth dying twice over.
When I murmured in her ear that I have no idea it would be like this, she said: “You don’t see nothing yet.” And she showed me. Not one, not twice, but six times over!
We laid side by side afterward looking at the moon.
Then she said: “Now, what?”
Dusk is just an illusion because the sun is either above the horizon or below it. And that means that day and night are linked in a way that few things are there cannot be one without the other yet they cannot exist at the same time. How would it feel I remember wondering to be always together yet forever apart? ―
The above quote reminds me of the film Ladyhawke with Rutger Hauer and Michelle Pfeiffer starring Matthew Broderick. But most of all, it makes me think of a song my mother used to sing when I was little. I told D. about it and for some unknown reason, it seems to traumatized him. I don’t understand why. It is just a song. Here are the lyrics.
There was a girl, there was a boy
If they had met they might have found a world of joy
But he lived on the morning side of the mountain
And she lived on the twilight side of the hill
They never met, they never kissed
They will never know what happiness they’ve missed
‘Cause he lived on the morning side of the mountain
And she lived on the twilight side of the hill
For love’s a rose that never grows
Without the kiss of the morning dew
And every Jack must have a Jill
To know the thrill of a dream that comes true
And you and I are just like they
For all we know our love is just a kiss away
But you are on the…
“Roaching” is a new name for a practice that’s been around for many years. Essentially, it’s a failure to define a relationship as monogamous (or otherwise) and the hurt feelings that often result.
One person believes that the relationship is progressing toward a meaningful one-on-one partnership and is blindsided when they find out that their partner has been seeing other people.
The offending party claims to be surprised that monogamy was assumed or expected because it was never openly discussed. This can seem heartless to some, myself included, but viewed objectively, it’s a valid point.
Mismatched expectations in relationships are nothing new, but regardless of the details or what new dating terms are used, the root cause is the same: the lack of open communication. [Source: Renée Suzanne via Tiny Buddha]
I’ve lost a few friendships because of misunderstanding. In my experience, boy-girl friendship always ends up in tears. Unless both of you belong to a group. Then, there is a chance the relationship might survive. But seeing each other exclusively (even) on friends term, sooner or later, it would go amiss. One of you will expect more and want more and from there downhill all the way.
Aside from one, all of my best friends had been boys. Easier to deal with, play with open cards and no trouble with jealousy. Till they demand to (re) define the relationship, give it an official title and rights to go with the title. That was when it started to go wrong for me and I had no choice but to terminate the connection.
Why they cannot leave it as it was, enjoy the ride while it lasts and forgets about terminology. Who cares about labels? isn’t the moments you share what’s important? Why throw a spanner in the works? Why fix what is not broken? Like Shakespeare said: What’s in a name?
If we started as lovers, then that’s what we are. If we’re friends, then we are no matter how the relationship evolves. We can redefine (not the meaning because like Juliet said – Romeo is still the man she loves had he a different name. It means that a name means little – it is the worth of the individual that counts) the relationship. But it got to be a mutual understanding. You have to be on the same page regarding this matter. But oftentimes, giving another label to the relationship leads to confusion. Suddenly, there are rules involved and expectations become sky-high, so are the disappointments when both parties failed to meet the expectations.
In my experience, men are notorious for wanting to define a relationship. And how fast you can get rid of them when the relationship becomes official. But when it is the other way around- a girl wanting a name attach to a certain understanding- they are also notorious for looking the other way and pretend they don’t understand. So, I found out (accidentally) that it is better not to care (too much) and let whatever you two are having to run its own course.
I enjoy certain togetherness as long as it is not interfering with my own agenda and doesn’t have too many rules attached to it. I think the appropriate term for it is no string attached. I love that. Everybody is free to do what they wish because it will come down to that anyway. And I truly believe that if someone wants to be with you they will be there. If someone wants to stay they will. Likewise, when somebody wants to leave, they would no matter what you say or do. So, relax and enjoy. Don’t overthink and never, never forbid or try to change someone. It is a sure recipe for disaster I can tell you. Not that I tried already. Just logical thinking. Would you like someone to lay down the rules? Tell you what you can and cannot do and force you to be someone you are not? I don’t think so. You know… Golden rule… Don’t do unto others what you don’t want to be done unto you. That’s it! If You do not agree with whatever it is you don’t agree about in a relationship… You always have a choice: You can either stay or go. And whatever decision you make, don’t blame it on anyone but yourself. You got a choice, remember?
So, I will disagree with what was mentioned above: Open communication. Communication is good. The saving grace of every relationship romantic or otherwise. And the downfall too. Hearing the truth doesn’t always mean a solution to the problem. Often times it is the opposite. The glue that holds most relationships together isn’t love, honesty understanding or trust but acceptance in every sense of the word. Acceptance of the situation and of the person you are having a relationship with. Acceptance of the mistakes and shortcomings and acceptance of yourself.
I will tell you what is even better than open communication in regard to an understanding between a man and a woman: Expectation. Or rather the lack of it. We all know that if we don’t expect something we will never be disappointed. If s/he is treating you right and you feel good about it, who needs a definition. If you have the formality but being abused, what good is the name attached to a union? I’m all for undefined as long as I’m okay with whatever is there at the moment. But the moment I feel violated and used, that’s when I am going to close the chapter ring on it or not.
If you ask me what I can tell you is: nothing is forever. Things will sort itself out. No use stressing yourself about the things that you have no control about. You will make decisions along the way and it’s up to you to choose which one is right. For the moment, enjoy the ride.
“Healing is less about ‘saving’ or ‘fixing’ and more about ‘allowing’ ourselves to ease into the remembering that there’s a wholeness that has been there all along.” ~ Emmanuel Dagher
Sometimes healing can look a lot like breaking.
I have always despised the terms broken home or broken marriage because if something is broken there is the expectation that it is able to be fixed—yet sometimes the sad reality is that it’s just not meant to be.
The decision to leave my marriage was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever made, and it would be futile and dishonest to pretend otherwise. I never set out in this life to be divorced, I never wanted this to be my life, or to have these stereotypes surround me that I feel I constantly have to break—yet that doesn’t mean that this isn’t the life I am meant to live.
I’m a forever person—I always have been and I always will be.
So the decision to leave my marriage not only became about that but about who I was because of those choices. And perhaps most of all, who was I, now that a relationship I had used to define myself, had to come to an end.
It was never about breaking my marriage, but about healing me.
It wasn’t about an ending—but about a beginning.
There might have been one moment, but the reality is there were several, where I suddenly realized that this just wasn’t where I was meant to be. But knowing that and actually deciding to leave are two very different things. Once we have had those moments though, we become faced with a choice; do we choose ourselves, or do we choose someone else? In the end, we will either make a choice for ourselves, or we will make it for our children, family, or even our spouse.
But for me, the longer time went on, the more difficult it became to just simply not choose myself.
Perhaps there are those instances or times when we don’t need to completely undo our entire lives in order to get back to who we really are, but for me, there was no other way.
It wasn’t just my marriage that was over, it was me. I was done with not being happy, with not being the woman I truly am, and with not living a life that felt connected to my soul.
In truth, it was me that broke long before my marriage did—and so I had no other choice but to break it so that I could find myself again—and perhaps really for the first time.
There’s no easy manual for getting divorced and building a life following it. There is no one right way, so that means there isn’t any real wrong way of doing this for any of us. We just have to be willing to try, to explore and to fail all the while hopefully getting closer to ourselves. We have to open ourselves up to life again and this means all of it—the joy, the confusion, the love, and even the pain.
In order to heal our deepest wounds, we actually need to expand rather than try to shut down and close ourselves off.
So, I made the choice to take in everything and make as many mistakes as I could along the way. I made the choice to end my marriage and not look back at this time. I was done wondering if it was the right decision, or questioning if I really didn’t love my husband anymore.
I was done. Period. I never looked back.
Instead of spending time thinking about all of the hurt and mistakes, I focused my energy on what kind of life I was building now, and what type of woman I was becoming in this process.
More importantly—I often stopped to wonder—do I like this new woman? Was I becoming someone that I wanted to spend my time with, someone that I valued and respected? Was I becoming myself or just another version of someone else?
There were check-points to see if I felt authentic in this new life and if I felt connected to it.
Those who haven’t had to start their lives over don’t always understand what it means to have to redefine ourselves but for me for the first time in my adult life I wasn’t someone’s wife, wasn’t part of a family unit, and therefore I had nothing to define or heal me but myself and my own choices.
When we venture out on a new path in this life, we don’t really know what lies ahead and sometimes our only choice is to continue on even when we can’t see or don’t know all the answers. It becomes the choice to follow our hearts; our inner compass on what feels right—even if it doesn’t make sense to everyone else.
Ultimately, my healing began when I made the choice to put myself first—not selfishly, or carelessly, but with a knowing that if I wasn’t truly happy then no one else in my life would be either—including my children. I had to first figure out what I was all about before I could even know what would make me happy, and the only way that was done was by trying it all on for size.
I experimented, I played, I forgot to follow the rules, and in between the moments of breaking down, I realized that I was truly just breaking up with life as I had known it. I was leaving behind the pain because I wanted to become the healing.
I made the choice to find out what this life could be when no one was holding me back—not even myself.
There have been many nights where I have cried myself to sleep, and I still don’t profess to have it all figured out but the one thing that I do know is that I am headed in the right direction because for once, I am undoubtedly following my heart.
No matter where it leads me.
“You have the right to change your story.” ~ The Goddess Rebellion
~ Author: Kate Rose
By Julie Balsiger
“How is it possible that we landed on the moon before we figured out the anatomy of the clitoris?”
It’s not surprising that most men haven’t a clue about the female sexual organ—the clitoris…most women don’t either. Today the word vagina is used for that general region of our lady bits, but as Sophia Wallace states,
“‘Vagina’—the single-most misused word in the English language. This is one of the laws of Cliteracy. It’s intentionally hyperbolic. ‘Vagina’ is a Latin word. It means ‘sword holder’. Vagina, medically, technically, only includes the opening. This term is used almost universally in doctor’s offices. It’s also used in feminism to sort of advocate. But it’s a term that ignores the clitoris, which is the female sexual organ.”
I don’t remember having “the talk” growing up, other than the often-heard, “don’t get pregnant!” shame-filled accusation thrown at me before every school dance. In school, we had a few vague conversations about periods, but mostly these talks centered around what not to do on your period. The female body was only discussed when we talked about where babies come from and never about female pleasure. I babysat for a young couple who had an interesting library of books and that’s where I first read The Joy of Sex, and then that other classic, Our Bodies, Ourselves. This book introduced me to all sorts of new worlds and I still have my vintage copy.
What we’re taught about our bodies extends to equality in the world.
“In sex education, it is taught that boys are both sexual and reproductive, boys have erections, boys have wet dreams, boys ejaculate, and then the semen fertilizes the egg. Girls, we’re taught, have reproductive organs, they menstruate, menstruation is painful. Girls should not get pregnant if they don’t mean to. Girls should not get sexually transmitted diseases. We never learn about the clitoris. We never learn that girls have a desire, that this is natural, that girls have sexual dreams, that girls have fantasies.”
Clearly, some better sex education is needed for teens but also for everyone. There’s no real excuse to not know more about our bodies. Like…about the clitoris, did you know that inside that “iceberg” it is actually shaped almost like a penis? That only what we see on the outside is the “tip of that iceberg.” I didn’t, but so much makes sense now.
Check out this image, it’s basically a hidden droopy penis with balls (not the actual medical term):
Mind. Blown. Life makes a bit more sense, no? I’ve known so many powerful women “with balls” and now it’s true. Science! And maybe if we start to know more about our powerful bodies, we’ll stop using female anatomy references as a way to put down men? We should be rising up, erect and powerful, and showing the world that we are not just “empty voids” for male pleasure.
Sexual organs, of women at least, are still steeped in mystery. Case in point, I live as an expat in Turkey and the first nine years here, I was living in a rather small village where patriarchy was (and still is) the way of the land. It is not uncommon in rural areas to have men and women completely separated in daily life. After being annoyed one day about needing to move my seat on the bus because an older man didn’t want me (a woman not his wife, daughter, or sister) in the aisle seat across from him…yes there was an aisle separating us…one good, a local friend of mine (male, university educated, mid-30s) explained the logic like this, “Women have special powers downstairs. Men are unable to resist these powers and so the woman needs to move otherwise the man cannot be blamed for his actions.” Yeah…some Deuteronomy-style rape logic but it made a lot of sense of how things were arranged as a society. After he said that (and basically agreed with that way of thinking), a good friend of mine (also an expat) and I would make jokes about our special “hooha laser beams” that shoot out as we make “pew, pew” noises with hands shaped like pistols whenever a guy annoyed us. I might just need to send that illustration to a few guys there now, or at least to their wives.
“All bodies are entitled to experience the pleasure that they are capable of. This is a core pillar of cliteracy. In making this work, I had to say that the clitoris, first, as an organ, has a right to being and that this right is not just about not being cut off. Sadly, to this day, over 140 million women have had their external clitorises cut off. This doesn’t make it into the news very often, and this doesn’t come up in foreign policy discussion. So number one, the clitoris has a right to exist, free of harm, like any other organ.”
The poem at the bottom reminds me of the time I was convinced I had a crush on a senior in high school. I was a freshman, we were both in pilot classes. The best of the best.
I was there by brain alone. No prestige no wealth not even looks. He had all of those and more. Naturally, he didn’t want to be associated with me. Avoided me like the plague. I remember enrolling in the woodworking class because I thought he would be there but no, he was in embroidery class. Joined the gardening class hoping to catch him there but what do you know__ he was in the baking class!
He grew up to be the most successful individual I know past and present. Traveling around the world for his job and belongs to crème de la crème in his field. He is never married. To his job by the looks of it. He never stops studying. A Ph.D. here, there and everywhere and still going. I wonder what his motivations are. Anyway whatever it is, he made it.
A couple of years ago, his cousin – who used to be my classmate – and I came across each other online and since she was just across the border from where I live we decided to meet for old time’s sakes. I heard he will be there as well. But at the last moment, he dropped out. I concluded that even after all these years he still doesn’t want to be in the same room with me. I retreated inside my walls and never heard of them since then.
you said you like old stuff
so I bought a vinyl player
and a typewriter.
I thought it’ll make you like me too,
how could I be so futile?you said you’re into painting
so I enrolled in an art class
and practiced drawing.
I heard you wrote him handwritten poems,
oh god, this feels like drowning.you said you’re into bad boys
so I tattooed a dragon across my chest.
I saw you date your nerdy classmate.
guess I’m all too late
see? no matter how many times
I change myself for you,
you still can’t see me.
no matter how fast I chase you
I’m still miles away behind
you said you’re still a virgin
so I stopped watching pornography.
I heard he banged you hard.
God, I deserve a drink.
~from Postcard Promise via Facebook
“And perhaps, you would still cross my mind after two, three, five or sadly, ten years later. Maybe after those times, I’d still wonder how it feels growing old with you. Maybe after those years, I would slowly turn into a blurred image sluggishly subsiding in your memory. Maybe, after all, you will remain as my could-have-been
I will stay as your never-again.”
– Mica Meñez