Love, Loss, and the Locks!

I have been truly, deeply in romantic love maybe three times in my life. The kind of love that interrupts your sleep, hijacks your focus, and makes you feel invincible — like the universe itself is rooting for you. And yet, with each of those loves, I've learned something profound about myself — from the dizzying beginning right through to the messy, mascara-smeared ending.

The biggest thing I've learned? Be more cautious. Watch for red flags. Listen to your gut — that quiet little voice that always knew, even when you were busy making excuses for someone's terrible behaviour.

I've been burned. Badly. And if I'm being honest, I'm still in recovery.

Many years ago, I was with a man who punched me in the face. A six-foot-tall man decided that hitting me was an appropriate response to his anger. Did I leave? No. Why not? Because he said he loved me. Let me be very clear: that is not love. My most recent partner made cutting remarks about my body and my clothes, criticizing even the simplest things thus chipping away at my confidence until I became increasingly introverted and self-conscious. He also drank excessively and slept with other women. Also not love. Shocking I know!

Anyone who has been in a volatile relationship knows it never starts that way. These people are charming, sweet, and so much fun — until suddenly they're not. And even after it ends, they have an uncanny ability to weasel their way back into your heart with grand promises and a temporary personality transplant. Until, of course, they revert to factory settings.

The emotional walls I had worked so hard to dismantle have gone back up — reinforced with ironclad, titanium-grade fortification. I'm not entirely sure I can get through all the padlocks, especially since I suspect I've also thrown away the keys. Possibly into some body of water that my boat is floating along on.

But here's what else I've learned: falling in love is brave. Opening your heart and soul to another person — fully knowing they have the power to tear it open — takes real courage. And I am brave. I'm opening my life up to new opportunities and doing things that scare the shit out of me on a regular basis. What I need to get better at is knowing when to close that open heart. My openness is not an invitation for abuse. My kindness is not a doormat. And being sensitive is not a flaw — it's actually one of the best things about me.

When I'm in a relationship, I choose every day to be in it. I understand that love and a relationship requires work, and that choosing each other is part of that work. But I also need to get better at letting go — at recognizing when someone has shown me exactly who they are and accepting that it doesn't align with my values. When that moment comes, I give myself full permission to lace up those ruby red slippers and follow that yellow brick road straight to joy. No guilt. No looking back. No letting them keep the key!

I've also learned that the end of a relationship is a process, not an event — and that sometimes relationships simply reach their natural conclusion. My first husband and I were exactly that. We share three amazing kids, and he is not a terrible person — just not the right person for me, nor was I the right person for him. We had sixteen years together raising our children and building a stable life. Was I sad when our marriage ended? Absolutely. Do I still have moments of sadness? Sometimes. But once the dust settled, I realized it was probably the best thing for everyone. We are both genuinely happier apart than we were together for a long time. That's not a failure — that's growth.

I know, without a doubt, that I love with my whole heart. A man I dated on and off for many years told me, decades after we'd gone our separate ways, that he knew how hard I must have worked in my marriages — because he knew what it felt like to be loved by me. I choose to take that as a compliment. Both of my former husbands have, at one point or another, told me I was a wonderful partner and a good person. I've thought about that a lot.

The truth is — I like being part of an "us." I like the warmth of a "we." The difference now is that I am not willing to disappear into it. I did far too much of that before, and I won't do it again.

I've been taking longer and longer breaks between relationships. This one has been the longest — well over a year and a half. I'm likely reflecting on all of this because I'm anxiously waiting for the courts to finalize my divorce papers. Consciously, I know it shouldn't sting — it was over long before it was officially called. He showed me exactly who he was, and I shouldn't have been surprised by the ending. I should have believed him the first time he got drunk and slept with someone else... Or stood up to him when he said "that's what you're wearing?"

But I learned so much from that relationship. How could I be with someone who didn't embrace my children? Who was annoyed by my dog simply being a dog? Who so often chose himself over us without a second thought? It was painful, and I cried for days when it ended. But then — after a few days and many journal entries — I felt something unexpected: relief. Like a colossal weight had been lifted off my chest. I could breathe again. I have a calm mind. A calm space. And I am not less because I am on my own. I am more. So much more.

I have a running list — in my head and possibly also written down somewhere — of the qualities I'd want in a future partner, should there be one. This is huge for me. I've consistently chosen people who were, in some way, unavailable. I've explored this extensively in therapy (and I do mean extensively — my therapist and I are basically co-authors at this point) and have come to understand that if a partner remains unavailable, I never have to fully let them in. It's self-protection disguised as a pattern.

Not anymore.

I will take my time. I will let people show me who they truly are. I'll look not only for green flags but for the red ones too — and I will never, ever again settle for less than I deserve.

The locks have been changed. The bar has been raised. And honestly I'm doing just fine.