Long post about love and why feminism is on my list of stuff that can kiss my ass

I’m not done talking about Julie over at 47 and Starting Over. She is one ballsy chick, which is why I love her. Julie’s fearless about sharing her opinion; she tells it as she sees it, even when it comes to her own emotional landscape. She lays it out there for all the world to see.

In a recent post she wrote

I am so lonely it's palpable.

I miss dating. I miss intimacy. I miss flirting. I miss hand holding, and making out like teenagers. I miss sweet text messages and phone calls and surprise flowers. I miss...well, you know what I miss the most. *That* goes without saying!

The bottom line is, I miss being in love.

You know, it takes guts to say that. It takes guts for a woman to admit that she’s lonely; it takes guts for a woman to admit to the world that she misses being in love.

Ever since the 1970s, beginning with that stupid fucking “I am strong, I am invincible” song, women have been conditioned to believe that they shouldn’t have to “need” a man.

You must be independent.
No one else can make you happy; happiness comes from within.
A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.

That’s such bullshit!

I know a little something about living the life of the strong, independent woman. I also know what it’s like to be in love, and I’ll take love any day. Not that they have to be mutually exclusive.

Let me give you a timeline. My first husband, Chris, and I split up in May 1994. I met Bastard Husband, infamous star of my book, in May 2000; we got divorced three years later, almost to the day. I’ve been with my beloved boyfriend, Mike, for a little over six months. If you do the math, you’ll see that I’ve been unattached for 11½ of the past 15 years. Yeah, I’ve had boyfriends—all truly lovely men—but none were what I’d consider to be relationships with long-term possibilities.

I spent 5½ of those “alone” years here in Las Vegas. If you read my book, you’ll see I do pretty well as a soloist. I make friends in no time and I’ll go anywhere by myself… to the movies, to check out live music… hell, I’ll even go to biker bars alone. But I’ll tell you, it does get old.

Bastard Husband: A Love Story chronicles only my first year in Las Vegas. What you won’t read about in that book is my post-divorce relationship with B.H. Believe me, we did not split up due to lack of love. We had a wonderful life together (until his thirteenth beer) and were crazy about each other (probably literally), but as I say in my book, it was clear that his path was wide enough only for one and it became increasingly unhealthy for me to stay married to him. He’s been living in New Zealand for the past several years now, but he’s come back to Las Vegas several times. To see me.

The last time was in January 2008, when he stayed for two weeks. He was on his best behavior and I loved every minute he was here. He even came to my writer’s group meeting. We walked in separately and B.H. stayed under the radar since, of course, everyone there had heard me read about him week after week and he would have been a bit of a celebrity. We laughed about how we felt like we’d really pulled something over on everyone. We had a great time together—we went to the movies and checked out bands and I realized how much I missed having somebody to do things with. I missed the companionship, and I missed being in love.

I almost left Las Vegas last October to join B.H. in New Zealand when my lease was up. If you look at this post from back then, you’ll see I meant business—I hated my job and felt there was nothing for me here. But I didn’t go. One night we were instant messaging about the logistics of my trip, and I heard something in the tone of his IM that told me, don’t do it. Even though I was getting just plain fucking tired of living alone and that whole independent woman persona, which, by the way, I pulled off quite well, I heard something that told me that I’d be making a big mistake. So I renewed my lease and stayed put. And I decided to back away from that relationship for good. Finally.

Within a couple of months, Mike and I got together. Our relationship is healthy and I love him with all my heart. I intend to be with him for the next 50 years—I’ll shout that from the rooftops and I’ll put that in writing with my own blood.(Wouldn't it be funny if, after I say that, he breaks up with me?) (Ironic funny, not ha-ha.)

My point is, for years I held onto B.H. I held onto the fantasy that he could overcome his demons and we could live together again and enjoy each other’s companionship and live the life we were meant to have. But it really was a fantasy.

There’s a lesson here: you have to get rid of the old to make way for the new. You have to release what no longer serves you in order to allow fresh, new energy into your life. I believe that with all my heart. If you’re holding on to a relationship that no longer serves you, release that person with love. Yes, you may go through a period of alone-ness and the period of transition will absolutely suck, but I believe the universe hates a vacuum and that someone else, someone more suited to your authentic self, will soon come into your life.

But getting back to the feminists who say we shouldn’t have to need men… yeah, they can kiss my ass. I’ll take being in love anytime.