I’ve noticed a pattern with myself lately. It’s not a good one, either. A couple weeks ago, I wrote about the Valentines Day Teacher and how “perfect” he had been. I gave examples of how incredible he made me feel at times and that I never for a second doubted that he loved me.
I haven’t written about the Dairy Farmer, but in the short six months that we dated, I absolutely had a blast. I loved going out late at night for calf checks. I loved bottle feeding early in the morning. I loved riding out with him to get cows up to the barn and I loved helping milk. I loved planting a garden with him. And I really liked him a lot.
Both of these relationships have something in common and it’s not that the two men were anything alike at all. In fact, you couldn’t find two men that were more different. But one thing that they did have in common was that they really, really liked me. In fact, by the end of both relationships, both of them had told me they loved me. So what’s the problem you might ask? Well, let me just tell it how it is: I’ve noticed recently that when I am made aware of the fact that someone “likes” me, I run the other direction. I run for the hills! I was talking to a friend about this over lunch today and I told her that I think it’s because I’m afraid of getting hurt. I’m afraid that the more these people get to know about me, they will realize that they, in fact, don’t like me and they’ll decide to leave me. So, I’d rather just leave on the note that they liked me, maybe even loved me, and leave it at that. I would feel worse if they said they loved me and then after getting to know me more decided they were wrong in feeling that way.
If you looked at my dating track record, you wouldn’t find much. The longest relationship I was ever in was with the doctor and that was almost five years. So, you might wonder why I never turned and ran for the hills when I was dating him. Because I never really felt like he liked me, let alone loved me. So for me, I found a challenge. I found someone that never said he loved me, spoke hateful words to me, and made me feel like less than human. And I stayed. I stayed for a long, long time.
I’m not saying that there have been men just knocking down my door to get to me, but I will say that any time I start to think that someone likes me, I run. And I hurt people who probably genuinely do have interest.
I’m not sure what to do about this problem. I suppose I’ll think about it while I’m burning some major cals on the treadmill tonight. Or not.