Please forgive me, Lord Jesus!
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I add meaning to her interests, hobbies, relationships… I compare and contrast these things with my own. This fantastical female is created seamlessly and often subconsciously without me even trying. She has taken many forms throughout the years.
The inevitable outcome is a woman who would not love me just as I am. Simply for who I am and not what I do. But instead this golden haired woman is smarter, more socially competent or connected. She has grand dreams and envious drive... Opinions, passion and an enchanting personality...all of which I could never match or I fear that I lack... in other words, she has life "figured out"... In my interactions with her, I begin with these assumptions -- giving her an advantage and a precedent for me to trust her more than myself. And obviously, knowing what I do about myself -- having a front row to all my mistakes and darkness --, I believe I could never satisfy her and I would always disappoint her...
For some sick reason I am fixated on creating this goddess and figuring out a way to be loved by this perfect being, or at least gain a sense of value by her shallow appreciation of my acts of service, sacrifice, sense of humor or intelligence. All with great struggle.
Somewhere deep in a dark recesses of my heart I need her approval, whatever the cost to my identity, interests, plans or esteem, even to the (very self-imposed) death of my soul. This pattern is a fatal poison to my heart.
When this realization hit me last week, I awoke to the horror that when I see myself through this 'real' but increasingly fictional woman's eyes...I don't like myself. I even detest my name. I am inherently deficient... I can only see the boy who is passive, indecisive, troubled, cowardly and remarkably "less than" ...
My childlike heart inaudibly mumbles...'Why can't I find a way to be 'equal to?'" But in these dark moments that's not even a series of words I want to consider.
It leads to another question: "How could a real man so aware of his faults ever be loved by a perfect fantasy?
It reminds me of the film, Inception, but in reverse. In his dreams, Dom (Leonardo DiCaprio) projects a representation of his dead wife, but the projection is incomplete and flawed. He says "I could never create [her] with all her complexities" and depth that his true wife had. He says this before saying goodbye to her and making peace with his torture of regret.
The kicker for me is the realization that my projection of the woman speaks in the voice of the part of my soul that still doesn't like or accept myself...the part that is my constant companion and saboteur... This insidious inner critic who is always watching, waiting for the tiniest flaw or crack... If I can't even be accepted by a fantasy, how could I ever be accepted by a reality? This critic is a stubborn fellow and he has learned his trade well.
So well, that I believe the real life woman can pick up on this spiritual energy and echo it back in 5.1 surround sound. Creating a self-fulfilling prophecy and lo and behold, my assumptions of the situation are confirmed. "She" will never truly love me.
And the cycle continues...it’s almost as if my worldview could not accept the truth where a real woman loves me for who I am, and not for what I could do or give her. So when 'she' ignores me, or breaks up with me or divorces me, my world makes sense.
I am afraid to think what would happen if "she" actually did love me. It certainly would be a "glitch in [my] Matrix" ... Could I even accept that real love?
Am I willing to find out?
Will I ever awake from this nightmare?
written August 22, 2014
Read "Wild At Heart" by John Eldredge for more on the "golden-haired woman"
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