I Complete Me

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same ~ Emily Bronte

When I was a little girl, Cinderella was my favourite cartoon.  I believed in the Disney-created fairytale of “The One”, of “My Knight in Shining Armour” or even better, my soul mate.  I worked at a movie theatre and saw all the movies, all the rom-coms that were so popular in the late-90s and early 2000s.  I was exactly the right age to be swayed by Jerry Maguire and his “You complete me.” I was set up to fail.

Not that I don’t believe in love, or even in great romance.  I believe wholeheartedly in love. I believe, and believed, so much in the concept of love and romance, that I made it my sole, and soul, mission to find the “perfect” partner, and be transported to a utopia of pure romantic bliss. This proved to be elusive.  And not without effort and determination. I tried, tirelessly, to make relationship after relationship work. Believing with each one, that this was “it”. Or rather, convincing myself. Because it was all I really wanted. At least I thought I did.

I grew up with parents who were married until my dad passed away, far too young, from cancer.  A rarity. With over 40 years of marriage the bar was set high. My older brother met his wife in college, college sweethearts and have been married for over 26 years.  They have been together since I was 10 years old and I remember his new girlfriend giving me stickers and a Garfield book for my birthday. I was sold. These were my role models.  This was the bar that I needed to meet and in a hurry. If I met and married, that would mean happiness, security and comfort. At least I thought it would.

There is a liberation that comes with age, with experience, with self-exploration, and with a deep-down belief and love of myself.  It hit me one day when the predominant thought in my mind was “this is my life, I just need to accept it, I will never have my great love.” Bullshit.  Unacceptable. What the fuck? Who would settle for that? I rolled up my sleeves and got dirty. I got uncomfortable. I got real.

The relationship that I had always wanted, had to begin with me.  There was no one who could, would or should complete me. That was my job. And I took that job seriously. What I wanted in a partner, in a relationship, in love, I needed to invite into my life.  I needed to figure out what it was that I wanted to invite in, what was important, what were deal breakers and enforce that. Saying yes to Mr. Good Enough meant saying no to Mr. Hell Yes.  To do this, I needed to be clear on who I am, what my core values are, what sets my soul on fire.

And then I met him.

He was and is like a Breath Of Fresh Air (BOFA).  Although somewhat skeptical initially, never jaded, but hesitant, our values aligned, our beliefs aligned and our sense of fun and excitement matched in all possible ways. We laughed.

The ease of our synchronicity and the depth of our understanding of each other is beyond what I could ever have hoped for. He always tells me, “I got you” and nothing could be more true. He has me. In all the ways.

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4 thoughts on “I Complete Me

  1. I’m very happy for you

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I’m glad you found that. It still eludes me

    Liked by 1 person

  3. When I was maybe 6 or 8 years old I was the ring-bearer at my oldest sister’s wedding (I am the youngest of seven siblings). It was this big, extravagant affair; the most extravagant thing I’d ever seen in my young life. As I grew older I became a mainstay at their house, on weekends, because (a) they were so cool, and (b) the Quik-Stop by their house had a comic book rack. I became their overnight babysitter when they had kids. They were the story of love.

    When I was 18, confused, and living in San Diego partying all the time and trying to find Tom, I found out they were divorcing. He had a cocaine problem. She asked him to choose it or her and he chose it. Within a few years of that he got multiple DWI’s and lost his long-time job and spiraled into an abyss. My sister eventually remarried a really cool new guy.

    Before I was twenty the story of love was shattered, or at least the model of it I grew up knowing. There is no perfect story; no perfect love, I came to tell myself.

    I’ve been with my wife for over 25 years and our story of love is a story of compromise, work, and even separation and reconciliation. I don’t think I would have made it had I kept assuming what I thought I knew or learned at 6 or 8.

    Your story made me think of all of that and I hadn’t thought of any of it in years. That’s what good writing does to a soul. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much for sharing Tom! We all have our stories and we are all shaped by those, more than we realize. What I have realized is great romance and love looks different for everyone and comes in all forms. For me, when I’m in a good place with me, I notice those forms more and realize it’s not a Hollywood Movie. I love your story and really appreciate you sharing it with me 💚

      Liked by 1 person

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