I’m 55. I survived a physically abusive marriage in my 20s, followed quickly by two decades of a stable but emotionally empty marriage, where my happiness came from the joy of being a mother to three delightful, irrepressible kids.
Both divorces were excruciating. Unfortunately, my first relationship following my second divorce — hang with me here — was a reunion with a high school boyfriend. This lovely man I’d known for 30 years lied, cheated and nearly destroyed me. I hit pause on romance. Except for my friends and my kids, relationships were bad news to me. “Wife” was a four-letter word.
I wanted and needed men in my life. But I couldn’t learn to trust men again on a diet of yoga, kale smoothies, and b*tching to my girlfriends in Starbucks.
So, I set out on a journey to intentionally deconstruct my complicated attachment to the male species.
I developed a corny but sincere romance mantra (“I respect and cherish myself … I deserve only good in my life”). I made lists of what I needed in a partner. I tried love hypnotherapy. I crafted vision boards to conjure healthier future relationships. I was willing to go to any lengths to fix what was broken in myself when it came to my loving dangerous men.
Along the way, I had uncommitted affairs with fascinating, wildly inappropriate, younger partners who rebuilt my self-esteem. Then I wrote a memoir about it. It may sound unconventional, but those men paradoxically healed what other men had destroyed, getting me to reassess my value as a woman. Those uncomplicated alliances were the first time I approached men with the confidence to look at relationships as a buffet, essentially saying “I want that, I want this, I want him.” The experiment proved how warped and anti-female society’s traditional “let-men-choose-first” dating protocol is for women.
The passive approach we are pressured to follow starting as young girls rarely leads to lasting fulfillment in romance, or indeed, in any aspect of living. What if I applied the lesson from those erotic encounters to life overall?
For a year, I said “yes” to every enticing invitation that came my way. An astrologer friend asked, “Can you meet me at Rancho La Puerta on Monday?” Check. Two-hour sunrise hikes in the Mexican hills instilled hope in me again. The United States Embassy in Madrid invited me to Spain for a women’s conference, where I spent five sunny days wandering that gorgeous city, joyfully alone.