Warning Labels

Sometimes when I think about dating, I wonder if I should come with a warning label. Something that sticks out of my seam telling people that they shouldn't remove the label unless they're going to keep me, but maybe they should leave it there since there will be others who need the label since I believe in and practice open relationships and polyamory (now that I write this, the concept of "practicing" a relationship style is its own article about terms and how they make us feel about our decisions).

Warning labels would be a mistake, though. Thinking that I need to warn people away because of past relationship failures means I've again begun to define my past relationships as failures. This is a very logical conclusion on bad days, and on good days, if I start thinking about the concept, the little pessimist that I try not to feed after midnight starts cocooning and popping up terrible thoughts.

My past relationships have ended. They are in the past. There may be one or two that I honestly feel like I was a complete failure in, and that's ok. However, I certainly can't call all my past relationships a failure. I mean, some ended horrifically bad and some ended on a good note and some just petered out. But no matter how bad they were, there are success stories somewhere within them. I wouldn't have been in the relationships if they were suckie.

I broke up with little Johnny (yeah, yeah, not his real name) in first grade. He tore up the flowers I gave him. Who failed there?

I'm not the little red headed girl.

Yeah, yeah, silly example, but I barely knew him when we decided to be a couple. I had no idea what being his girlfriend meant. When I gave him those flowers, I didn't tell him my mom gave me them, and they were the first spring flowers in the first spring in my parent's first house. He had no way of knowing that those little purple weeds were something special. 

My friends all came running to tell me that Jimmy tore the flowers up, and I yelled at him then broke up with him in front of all his friends. He chased after me and tried to explain that he did tear them petals off, but that it was while he played the "She loves me, she loves me not" game and hadn't known it would make me angry. I refused to get back together with him because I didn't believe he wouldn't do something else later to upset me. 

Dude, talk about a pretty standard break-up situation. I've made all those mistakes in various forms at other points in my life.

1. Not getting to know the person before jumping right into a full-blow relationship.

2. Not having any discussion about what exactly being in that relationship means.
3. Not really understanding that we won't think and react to the same actions in the same manner.
4. Not communicating about what's important to us.
5. Gossip. Oh holy hell gossip.
6. Distrust.
7. Fear of being hurt again.

Every damned thing I would put on a warning label goes right back to the break-up with Jimmy. We had a lot of fun before that fatal flower flaw. I mean, I think we did. I have vague memories of playing with him. But it ended, and all I remember is the break-up. He stayed back in school, so I didn't actually spend any time with him for years. My guess is that he doesn't even remember me or being dumped, but what do I know - after all, I remember my first boyfriend. Maybe he remembers his first girlfriend? OOhhhh... maybe I wasn't his first girlfriend. After all, we didn't go to kindergarten together.

My relationship history goes back decades. I haven't had a huge number of formalized relationships because, well, I'm not actually sure why. Still working on that. However, a warning label? During my clear moments, and there are more clear moments then gremlin ones, I realize the idiocy of a warning label. 

So what would be the consequences of this warning label?

a. I'd believe that I really am terrible at relationships and everybody needs to be warned away from me. Yeah, that keeps me in a good head space to share a part of my life with others.

b. Other people will see me as someone who needs to be handled carefully and protected at all costs. Dude, I've been around for decades. The plastic cover was ripped off this sofa years ago. Patches on the upholster and the lumps in the stuffing make me far more comfortable to sit on.

c. Others will see me as someone who thinks of herself as damaged goods. Not a chance. I'm shabby chic not garbage!

No. I don't need a warning label. I just need to stop babbling and start talking and listening. It's been a long road to get here, and I'm in a pretty good place (Hey, I'm 42, it was bound to happen at some point in my life!). It's 12:01 a.m., past midnight, and instead of feeding the gremlin, I posted this. Now I'm going to brush my teeth and fall asleep (or at least try, I ran out of allergy meds two days ago, eep!).

This is the closest thing I have to a warning label