The trickiest thing about new relationships, I believe, is not the “learning” of each other or finding out where each party fits in the scope of each other’s lives. I’m thinking now, the trickiest part about a new relationship is being the woman in it.
It was brought to my attention by my new friend that no matter how “cool” I may be or how “down” I come off and no matter how many perceived “male people tendencies” I may have– at the end of the really long day, I’m still soft and pink. Drats!?
Let’s ponder for a second what soft and pink might mean to the idea of being a woman in a relationship.
1. We’re the first to get all sentimental and gooey. Oh yes, it’s we woman who decide when the “like” happens and if all of our subtext tests happen to be passed with flying colors, we’re the first to make an attachment. Despite our best “hard core” efforts, it’s our innate nature to flake to the pressure of our innate sentimental-ness. We remember birthdays. The first day we kissed. The 3rd anniversary of the first time he said that cute thing about the what not that was so touching we almost couldn’t breathe. He smiles, we melt. It’s all so gay and yet, we remember just about every compliment he’s ever given and we dig so deeply into stuff that is so face value. It’s like looking at a snow fort and seeing a gold plated castle. Meanwhile, whatever is going on in our heads really has nothing to do with what the guy is doing at the time. We like you and so in our heads–it’s all there–even if it’s not.
2. We’re the givers in most any male-female scenario. We women will give a man we’re digging the last crust of bread in our pantry if he comes over hungry. We’ll slave over several hot stoves, ovens and microwaves in our chef’s kitchen to make sure tummies are full and hands lay on said tummies in “itis”-ecstasy. It’s proof of our domestic (or semi-domesticated) prowess. It’s been ingrained in us since infants that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and so we burrow to the buried male heart treasure one meal at a time. Even if it’s catered. There’s just not enough time to go into the shopping phase of things, but ladies, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Eek.
3. Oh yes, the sex. If we find a male person compatible to our freak, we’ll freak the life out of him. If only to show our innate flexibility, creativity, and how our early years as a tree climbing tomboy has evolved with our learning to wear five inch stilettos while climbing the walls of our apartment.
4. And probably the most important of all, 9 1/2 times out of 10, we women are the first to fall in love. A woman’s love is unmatched. It’s pure and deep and poetic and cumbersome to hold up. So we share it in all of the above ways and in so many more we can’t easily explain. Because we take a man in with our bodies, it’s ever more easy to hold him there and keep him–despite if he wants to be there in the first place.
Oh yes. Relationships are complicated. They get that way because women, by way of our truest nature, are soft and pink. Shit.
The reason this comes up is because I’m at a crossroads. A threshold, if you will. I have a history of falling hard and fast and when I fall, God only knows where and when I’ll be found and/or if I’ll be able to walk.
I thought I had intellectualized and evolved and pondered the ways of my ways in such a way that it was simply impossible to find my way back to said old patterns. I’m smarter than that shit. I can’t possibly put myself in the same psychological position I’ve put myself in time and time again. Read: being soft and pink. Oh no! I’m a hard ass. I’m a terminal bachelorette. No man wins my heart because she’s locked tight, key on the bottom of the ocean somewhere and I have no intention of taking that dive. Humph.
Turns out, locks don’t actually need keys. Particularly if folk know how to pick a lock (and don’t even need to try that hard). I’m shaking my head because for some reason, when I put myself in vulnerable positions with male people, when I allow myself to be open to “whatever”– from past experience, my heart is the one that gets crushed into a zillion pieces.
Being soft and pink has never worked well for me. I mean, sure, most of them times was because I picked a selfish *bleep* head to be vulnerable with, but still. But still…
I find myself pondering the ease and grace that was a part of my life prior to having these swishy feelings. My focus was easy. Aubrei and me. So then, add to that the swishy feelings and Aubrei and me turns into: well, how does he fit into this scenario? Does he want to fit in? Can I have this discussion with him? Is it too soon? How do I even bring it up? Am I making nothing out of something or something out of nothing? Am I just being a girl right now??? And how do I stop if I am????
See. It’s so much easier being a guy, I’m supposing. We women turn the simplest things into rocket science and guys seem to just want dry socks and a home cooked meal.
The thing is, I’m not sure if I want to be the one providing the dryer and the stove. Convention says that’s what I should aspire to be. The soft and pink in me takes care of needs instinctively. But my alter ego–The Diva–is…well…she’s making everything so flipping complicated right now. She knows her worth. She follows her bliss. She’s logical, sexy, hardcore. She eats male people for breakfast, lunch and dinner and spits them out like a sink disposal. She doesn’t have time to be soft and pink. Being soft and pink is far too messy. Plus, messy is far too complicated.
I’m positive I’m not the only woman in the world who has these battles with alter egos. Look at Beyonce. On the one hand she screams “All My Single Ladies” and “Imma a Diva” and “If you like it you can *blah blah* on my Video Phone”. And then on the other she’s crooning “Flaws and All” and “Halo”. How’s that for confusing.
I suppose the truth in being a complete woman is in honoring both. To allow ourselves our innate womanness–that soft and pink in us. As well as to honor our need for independence and bliss-following-ness. To be a giver and a receiver. To know our worth and to make sure whomever we’re dealing with not only knows it, appreciates it, but also gives it back to us in kind.
Just like women do everything according to their divine time–which most likely has nothing to do with any male clock I’ve ever heard of. Guys do things in their own time too. Guys aren’t soft and pink though. I suppose that’s why God created patience? At the end of the day though, I’m going to guess, knowing one’s worth is the way to reel in the “soft and pink” a bit before making dastly mistakes of the vulnerable woman heart. I told you, I’m just guessing. The actual trick is actually doing it. Hahahahahaaaaaa! (There goes that God laugh again.)
The moral of this story? Yeah right. Just some food for thought. Thank you for reading this though. Peace and abundant “know your worth” blessings. Love, -e-