PRAYING AWAY THE HEARTACHE

As some of my best posts have started out: I have no idea if this will ever see the light of day.

I do, however, know that I need to write it. I need to. For me.

Writing has become one of my best forms of therapy, besides running and drowning myself in ice cream. There's something about putting my worries on paper that gives me some much-needed perspective. That teaches me. That helps me to see things clearly.

And this time around, I'm hoping it will also allow me to let go. To release the hurt I've been bottling up for far too long, and move on with the glorious life that has been set before me.

I've tried to pen this post in the past, tried to capture my feelings and not just whine and mope and cry. But that's what it was. Sadness, heartache, and a whole lot of bitterness.

Finally, now, I feel ready to leave those feelings in the past and charge headfirst into the next phase.

So, here's hoping for a fresh start!

I've been keeping a secret, or, I guess hinting at a secret for the last little bit. It was quite embarrassing, if I'm being honest, which is why I chose not to share it with the world at large. I glossed over it, doing my best to pretend that it never happened, that it wasn't the scar on my life that it was.

But living in denial didn't help. It didn't speed up the healing process. In all honesty, I think it might have slowed it down, and attributes to the fact that even today, I am still reeling. Burying it before I'd fully accepted what had happened allowed the issues to continually rear their ugly heads, over and over and over again.

I am done with that.

In the last year, (I'm not giving a hard and fast timeline, because of the small shed of pride I still own.) I experienced my first-ever, real heartbreak.

I know. Twenty-seven is really old for that, but here we are.

My dating history, as we all know, has been spotty at best. A handful of first dates was the extent of my love life, due in part to timing and mutual agreement that a second date was not necessary, but also because I never put myself out there. As someone in church told me a couple of weeks ago, "You don't put in any effort."

That is my favorite thing anyone has ever said to me, ever. And it is extremely accurate. I don't put in any effort, ever. I don't know if I'm guarded, I don't know if I am perpetually waiting for Edward Cullen, I don't know if there is just never a spark between me and all of my first dates. I don't know, I just never saw things going farther.

Until him.

There was something about him that turned my whole wide world upside down.

Had I listed the qualities I'd thought I'd want in a significant other, this person could not have been more different than the man I'd dreamt up since childhood. (Just crack open that Engagement Box I made in Young Womens all those years ago, and you'll see.)

In looks, in personality, in age, the only thing that matched up was his blue, blue eyes. I've never seen a prettier shade.

And yet, I've never met someone I clicked with so easily. Someone I looked forward to being around. Someone who could make me laugh, someone who took my sarcasm and threw it right back in my face. Someone who knew his Savior, and was working hard every day to draw closer to Him. Someone who was kind to all, and wanted to make sure all were included. He was friends with everyone.

And that is where I misread things. Misread that his friendliness was something more than just that. It was not interest, it was not mutual desire, it was just him being himself, a quality I hope he keeps for the rest of his life, because it is incredible.

Maybe it's the age catching up with me. Maybe it's my love of honesty and hatred of games. Maybe it's because I'd never found someone I could actually see pursuing past a first date, but I did what I'd never done before. What I'd always been too scared to do. What I fear I will never have the courage to do again.

I told him how I felt.

And he gently told me he did not feel the same.

Which is fine. It really is. Even though it hurts, a lot, still to this day, it really is ok. I know my loved ones feel he is an idiot for not feeling the same, for not seeing the "Catch of Southeastern New Mexico" for what she is, but that's not true. He's allowed to have his own feelings. He's allowed to not be attracted to me. That's called being human, and having preferences, not being a jerk.

There was nothing wrong with his reaction. There was something wrong with mine, however. This is where the sweeping it under the rug comes in.

If you'll recall, I'd never put myself out there before. I'd never told someone how I felt, because I'd never felt that way before. And after being burned doing so, I didn't want anyone to know that I had. Didn't want anyone to know how painful it was. Didn't want anyone to know how much I was suffering.

Because it's sad, right? It's sad to be this heartbroken, months and months and months later, when you didn't really date. When nothing ever really happened.

And yet, again, here we are. Devastated.

In the past I've said that I don't really have a desire to be married, and most of the time, that's true. Having a brother in college and hearing the horror stories of dishes piling up in the sink for days and bathrooms you need a hazmat suit to enter will really scare one off of pursuing a relationship with a boy. (I feel the need to point out that my brother is not the creator of such messes. He is as much of a neat freak as I am. It must be a family trait.)

However, lately, that has been a cover-up. A band-aid. A façade so others couldn't see how much I was really hurting.

Because of course I want to get married. Of course, I want to be loved. Of course, the little girl inside of me is still hoping for her prince on his white horse to come riding up and save her from her life of dog poop and publishers' rejection letters.

And, I think that's why this rejection hurt so, so bad. Because after years of waiting, after years of being faithful and hoping that all the time that had passed had been for a purpose, it appeared that there was a chance I was at the beginning of that journey. That I was at the beginning of something great.

But I wasn't, this time. And that hurt. Crushed hopes suck, and they take a while to mourn. They take even longer to mourn if you don't face them.

Because, I couldn't be the girl who had been crushed by unrequited feelings. I was the independent woman. I was the woman who was charting her own course. I was the woman who didn't have time for a man.

I couldn't let my weakness show. I had to continue putting on my brave face, putting the whole scenario in my rearview mirror, leaving that failure behind for no one to see.

Because that's what it felt like. Another failure to add to my ever-growing list.

And what do we do with failure? We learn from it. We guard ourselves from it. We ensure that it never happens again by building up a wall and locking out the pain.

Unfortunately, my heart didn't get that memo. I was devastated, and no one wanted to leave me in my devastation. In their defense, they didn't know that I'd just been wounded by my own hand. They didn't know that I never wanted to go out with another boy ever again, ever.

So, they kept setting me up on dates. Dates that never worked out, because I was still so rooted in the past. So lost. So confused. So hurt by what could have been, but wasn't. Drowning in the questions of why it all had to happened in the first place.

An apology must be made to all of the sweet, young men who have tried to pull me out of my sorrows from across dinner tables over the past few months, and probably in the months to come as well. I know it's cliché, but it really is me, and not you.

I'm still trying to find my footing. I know it'll come back to me, especially now that I am facing my problems head on.

I tried praying them away. I tried running them away. I tried eating them away. I've tried stuffing them down, distracting myself, and throwing myself into the arms of perfect, fictional men. None of it worked. So, I'm betting on honesty instead.

2022 was the year of my first heartbreak, and I haven't quite recovered yet. Sad but true. I'm guessing the first one is the hardest, but I could be wrong. I'm also not getting any younger, so hopefully the tally of heartaches will be lower to make up for it.

Either way, I'm owning it now. That was hard. It sucked. It wrecked me. It had me questioning lots of things, including my faith in my Savior and Heavenly Father's love for me. Because, if They loved me, why this? Why the pain? Why the hurt?

I don't know. I'm not far enough from it yet to understand the why. And maybe there isn't a why, which would also really stink. But, I'd make it through.

I'm starting to, right now. The healing process has begun. In all of the confusion and all of the suffering, I know They have a plan. I know They will see it through, and I know someday, I'll be grateful it all worked out the way it did.

Things are going to be ok. Eventually, my pleas to pray the heartache away will be fulfilled. Time will heal those wounds. Until then, I'm so grateful for the many blessings I do have. I'm grateful for dogs and reading and sunshine and Primary children and my family. They are making it all a whole lot easier.

You know what would make it even easier for me?

STOP SETTING ME UP. I AM NOT READY YET, AND IT WILL NOT GO ANYWHERE.

End of the public service announcement. Love you guys.