Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
She gives a quick shrug and goes on.
“Part of my recovery process is engaging in what’s called self-partnering. I’m learning that to love and be loved is a perfectly healthy desire, unless we believe that relationship is somehow supposed to make us feel worthy or fulfilled. There’s so much pressure not to be alone that sometimes it makes you feel like as a single person you don’t have as much identity. It compels us to search for that person who will make us feel whole.”
She lines her lips and looks right into the camera, her dark eyes sober and set.
“Well, I’m searching for myself. That’s not to say I won’t ever date again or have a relationship, but when I do, it will be in addition to the love I have for myself, not replacing it.”
She stands and grabs two dresses on hangers from nearby hooks on the wall.
“I have a lot of love to give. I know I do because I’ve given it to everyone else in abundance my whole life. In this phase, I’m asking myself this question.”
She tucks her chin into the collar of one of the dresses pressed to her chest and looks directly into the camera.
“What would happen if I turned all that love on myself? Not in a narcissistic way, but in terms of unconditional acceptance? Of truly attending to my hurts instead of expecting someone else to heal them?”
She holds up the two dresses again, one black and slinky and the other red and equally slinky. Both would look fantastic on her, but I want to see her in the black.
“So,” she continues. “Instead of denying myself an experience I’ve wanted for a long time because there won’t be anyone to meet me there, I’m meeting myself, which reminds me. I’ve been thinking of doing an online book club. Nothing too formal. Just me reading a book and anybody who wants to, reading with me. I want to read things that reinforce what I’m trying to accomplish. Let me know in the comments if that’s something you might be interested in.”
She grins and holds both dresses out.
“Which should I choose?” she asks. “Let me know in the comments, red or black.”
“The black,” I mutter, still mentally turning over everything she said. I never comment on her posts, of course, but I’m pulling for the black.
“Self-partnering, huh?”
No wonder she ran like I was some kind of threat. Maybe I am to what she’s trying to accomplish right now. As much as I want to get to know Soledad Charles (yes, I know she reassumed her maiden name. I approve), right now it seems she’s getting to know herself.
Who am I to stand in the way of that?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SOLEDAD
Right this way, ma’am,” the host says, walking ahead of me as we cross Spiros’s discreetly luxurious dining room.
“Thank you,” I murmur, taking the seat he pulls out for me, because you don’t just say things in a place like this. You have to murmur them.
“It’s just you?” he asks with a quick frown. “The reservation was for two?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. My husband is… well, not my husband anymore. It’s just me.”
He considers me with what looks like sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, believe me. I’m not.”
“Good for you,” he says, a grin cracking the careful veneer of professionalism. “I’ll take this, then.”
He clears the other place setting, removing the plate and silverware for my missing companion. There’s a finality to it, him creating that empty space across the table from me. If he’d left it, those around us would assume I was waiting for someone, but that empty space is a declaration that no one is on the way. That could be the theme of my life this last year.
No one is on the way to rescue you. No one is on the way to save you and your girls. At the end of the day, it’s up to you.
And so it is.
I catch the eye of a man dining with his wife, if the ring on his finger is any indication. He semi-leers at me when she isn’t looking. Does he assume that since I’m alone I’m desperate? I’ve never felt less desperate in my life. I feel powerful, like I no longer need to squeeze myself into smaller spaces to clear room for others. Maybe I was afraid I wasn’t big enough to occupy all this space alone.
Before the server comes and we start adding bottles and dishes, I want to capture a shot of the table with just me. I’ve become one of those people who take pictures of everything instead of just enjoying it, but documenting my life is work now. I’ll grab a few shots here and there so I have content, but then I’m going to fully engage in this process tonight. Check my heart for any loneliness or regret, deal with it, and make room for contentment.