Pretty wheelchair girl

It feels just as weird to say ”I’m single” as saying “I have a boyfriend” felt 6 years ago. I was so ready for a relationship. I was so ready to share my life and my kids and my friends and my house and myself. And I fucking did.

So what is the fear here? Why am I hating all of this so much, and what makes break ups so difficult? In this particular scenario I guess I’m thinking: Will anyone else love me? Did he ever really love me? Am I worthy of love? If I had hung in longer, would things have changed? Did I make a mistake? Will he be OK? Will he be OK? Will he be OK? I hope he’s OK…

I’m so exhausted, and I am so ready to focus on my feelings.

Untangling our lives is going to be the most difficult part. We were together for 6 1/2 years, lived together for four years, which was plenty of time to build a pretty solid foundation of codependence. Plus there was no lying, cheating or abuse… which would’ve made this a lot easier. But of course, it has to be complicated.

I recently read the book ”The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck” by Mark Manson (absolutely incredible read, very highly recommend), and it constantly reiterates that your problems are not special. You’re not special, your problems aren’t special, everybody suffers, fucking get over it, basically. And not for the benefit of anybody else except for you. Let me say, I fucking LOVE this concept. I constantly surprise myself with my ability to forgive and move the fuck on. However… my problems are a little special, especially when it comes to dating and romantic partners.

I have a significant disability. I have no functional use of my arms or legs. I cannot feed myself, take myself to the bathroom, dress myself… all the things, I need someone else’s hands to do. I think this qualifies as a bit of a special problem. However, I think I have a decent advantage when it comes to this particular special problem because right alongside with all my insecurities about being paralyzed, I also have an enormous amount of confidence. I love and appreciate my disabled identity, and even my disabled body. I know that I’m gorgeous and smart and headstrong and that all of those characteristics are actually enhanced by my disability, instead of diminished like some might think.

Although I’m sad… so fucking sad… I’m also feeling angry. This isn’t what I wanted. And I know what I fucking want. So when all the hurt and anger goes away, and the liberation takes over… I’m excited to see what can happen. I get to test my boundaries as an almost 40-year-old. I get to rediscover and create parts of Maggie that I have put away. I can’t believe that I lost myself to a man, yet again… I often underestimate my ability to be a total fucking idiot, so…

Cheers to many more years of being a total fucking idiot, then learning and growing, and doing it all over again.