Laden like a pack-horse

I wrote this post a few months back, but kept it to myself. I randomly was thinking about it today, so I decided to share it. Just as a personal update, I'm managing okay right now. But, some of the up-and-down swings I've experienced in moods - as a result of my post-break-up soul-searching - reminded me of these thoughts I penned not so long ago...

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I think intelligent women in their late 20s and 30s who are still unattached have baggage. Big hulking suitcases full of the sorts of things we wish we didn't have to carry around.

Smart women crumble because of a delayed phone call, an absent text message, an omitted "I miss you". We buckle beneath the pressure of giving him space.

We are powerful women. But, powerless to men.

We are damaged goods. The men we date casually simply want us to be the fun, independent chicks they perceive us to be in the opening weeks of a frenzied fling... and, we are those things, really. Strong trail-blazers. Career women. Passionate about interesting things like movies or books or music or traveling or research or our jobs.

We maintain the beautiful enigmatic facade. We love ourselves almost as much as we wish the new men in our lives could love us. We are interesting and fun and free and open and embracing of life. We use all the right phrases.

"I don't need a man to make me happy."

"I'm perfectly fine dating myself."

"Of course, my boyfriend is free to go to a strip club where his sexiest ex-girlfriend is working on the side while finishing her law degree. I definitely believe they should stay good friends." (Okay, this one is a blatant lie - to everyone, the woman and her friends.)

The doubt sets in within weeks. We like this guy too much. It's as though we just cannot sit one more second on the suitcase. It's bursting open, and the years and years of previous concerns and questions and wishes and failures rain down upon us. We're buried by the flood of empty promises from high school and college boyfriends, part-time lovers we believed might become more, and our parents 1950s-style committed relationships (or we're scarred by one too many brushes with their nasty divorces and extramarital affairs). For so long we believed - he was out there for us. We would meet that man, the ONE.

But, our teenage years only gave us bruises from being used and discarded. And, college helped us hone ourselves, polishing the important parts of us. But, that guy never appeared. So, we set out into the working world. Old men in our companies make dirty comments, and young corporate sharks pass their slick moves our way. Mr. Right doesn't show up to the bars or parties or cocktails hours. He's not at the gym or the pool or on-line. We endure date after date with guys we would walk all over - or sucker punch for trying to kiss us too soon. Meanwhile, there are a few easy lays.

And, we bring our sexy selves into a few great relationships, only to melt under the pressure of being the kind of woman he's looking for. Breaking into tears, holding one another together as man after man gives us more for the suitcase. We carry it all.