Love Colored Lenses

“If something seems too good to be true, it’s time to expand your capacity to believe and receive.”  -Me 

It was a philosophy I’d lived by for years, one which had helped me manifest more incredible life experiences than I’d even imagined. 

I wondered why so many people were settling for so much less than they deserved in their lives, especially in the realm of relationships.

When I listened to people describe emotional abuse, I wondered how it could possibly take years or even decades to see what was happening and haul ass out of the relationship. I found it downright incomprehensible that one wouldn’t see the warning signs very early on.

The arts of self-respect and honoring others are not taught in school. We are forced to memorize significant battle dates from wars that occurred on other continents, but are given absolutely no tools to promote peace in our own homes. Still, spotting abuse still seemed rather elementary to someone with a very low tolerance for men who don’t respect women.

I’d always possessed a talent for detecting red flags very early. Why was it some big mystery for others?

I didn’t grasp that there were men and women roaming the planet who could present as emotionally and spiritually advanced beings, with little trace of the insecurities, self-loathing and anger that lurked just underneath the surface, lying dormant until triggered.

I didn’t comprehend that these other dimensions of personality could be revealed in such infinitesimal and virtually unrecognizable doses, I could easily overlook them. 

Had my boyfriend revealed sooner that he had recently married in the hopes of getting a green card, or called this or any other woman “crazy,” I’m fairly certain I would have run for the hills. That woman had even left me clues, referring to him as emotionally abusive and disappearing without a way for him to contact her. But I was already in too deep by the time those particular red flags were waved.

Had he started to judge or criticize me a millisecond sooner, or initially done so in a manner that wasn’t disguised as playful teasing, I would have taken my love off the table along with the roses he’d purchased for me. 

End of story.

Instead, the dinner that commenced with a question mark concluded with an exclamation point. Never had I moved through the doubts of my small mind so quickly and effortlessly; never had my higher self responded with such expansiveness.

My trust provided a secret password to a world I can only describe as heaven on earth, a portal to the center of all that is. I connected with a heart opened wide from yoga, a mind that could never bore of our deep and stimulating conversations and a body that was blissed out on pleasure beyond measure.

It was impossible to be near one another without physically connecting. While our PDAs were G-Rated, I had a feeling those who witnessed them improved their own sex lives just from being in our proximity.

We could have opened an exhibit with our collective sexual artistry and funded it with our chemistry. Not bad for two kids in their 40s.

Our physical connection was only part of the magic; we were also in perfect sync mentally, emotionally and spiritually, or so it seemed. It was unprecedented for me to connect with someone so powerfully on every level. 

We read each other’s minds regularly. There was almost no need for verbal communication except that it was just so damn enjoyable. He was one of the greatest storytellers I’d ever encountered and made me laugh. Hard. Loudly. Constantly.

I began to speak in commitment-friendly terms, like they were part of my everyday vocabulary. We discussed getting a bigger place when I moved to Florida. He began referring to me as his future wife. 

“Third time’s a charm!” I joked.

An explanation of the phrase wasn’t necessary. The man communicated better in his third language than most do in their primary one. The only explanation that was warranted was the one that clarified my incorrect usage of the idiom. 

Apparently, the “no more secrets” pledge had been a bit premature. 


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