It started off slowly, to be sure. At first, he was the one calling me; he was the one stopping over to see me. I felt wonderful and valued. I didn’t really have to think much about whether or not he liked me because it seemed obvious. Why else would he see me so much, flirt with me, and say such sweet things? It didn’t seem to bother me at the time that no commitment was stated or even mentioned. To me, I was getting attention and that was worth quite a bit.
However, a few months passed and suddenly I was starting to get nervous. He wasn’t coming around as much, wasn’t calling as often, and the sweet words were fewer and farther between. I started to wonder why, thinking maybe it was about me. Maybe I wasn’t pretty enough, or wasn’t flirting enough. I started feeling pathetic because I was talking about it all the time and trying to figure out what was going on.
In my search for truth, a friend of mine said he had some sage advice. He said my situation sounded similar to his. Maybe it sounds familiar to you as well:
I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I kind of enjoyed the ride. I knew I had power over her, knew I could control her, and enjoyed it. If I needed attention that day, I would go over by her and turn on my charm. Sometimes just a smile would do the trick. Especially when she was angry…all I had to do was look at her like I was concerned, and she would melt. She’d say (giggling), “Stop being cute! I can’t be mad at you anymore.” I did have moments where I felt horrible. Like I said, I knew what I was doing. It’s just that she made it so easy for me. She said how much she liked me, and didn’t even care that I didn’t say it back. I loved the way she acted towards me. It made me feel so good about myself. Eventually what I was doing really did hit me; I saw how selfish I was. I guess I cared about her enough to stop hurting her, so I told her we had to end it. It was the best thing for her, but I wish she wouldn’t have wasted two years of her life on a guy that would never have married her.
To tell you the truth, I started bawling when he told me this story. I realized this story was very similar to what had happened to me. He even went on to say that this lady was kind of like a doll to him. When he wanted to play, he would take her out of the box, play with her a while, and then put her back when he was bored or tired. He said he didn’t want anyone else to have her so, if another guy got too close, he would act protective and suave and she would stop herself and come back to him.
I can’t say how horrid I felt when I realized I had been duped the same way. It happened little by little, so I didn’t even notice it. However, looking back, I realize that I ended up initiating all the conversations about where our relationship was and where it was going, I was the one admitting I was falling in love, I was the one pouring out the compliments, and I was the one going out of my way to make him happy. He was the one coming over only when it was convenient, he was the one teasing me and putting himself above me, he was the one avoiding all “uncomfortable” conversations about what was going on between us, and he was the one not answering my phone calls if he didn’t feel like it. Sadly, I was the one who was willing to stay up until the wee hours of the morning, not getting enough sleep before I had to get up for work, and he would leave after thirty minutes with me, if anything “more important” came along.
I wish I could say it wasn’t so, but it took me until I heard the words, “I was leading you on” (more than once) to realize that I indeed had become a slave to the obsession of a relationship. I say obsession because it was never really a relationship, but my idea of what I wish had been one.
And so, I finally had to face the truth—that he owned me. Owned my heart, my actions, my motivations. My life was spent waiting for a call or a smile or, if I was lucky enough, a chance to be around him.
So often we, as women, find ourselves as puppets to a marionette who decides when to move us and when to put us away in a heap of tangled limbs and strings. We place ourselves in his hands, giving him permission to rule our lives only when we feel worthless enough to do so.
Thank God, literally, those things don’t a have to stay that way. We DO have the power to pick ourselves up, cut the strings, and walk away, even if stiffly at first, to place our tangled selves in the hands of our Creator, who can make even the most broken thing be whole once again.
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