I’m not good about moving on, for me, well it’s an ordeal. It took me 3 years to move on from my first boyfriend. He was a liar and a cheat (I would like to point out today, he’s a dever (spokesman) in the police. Makes you wonder about those upholding the law).  In spite of that, his mother has always been like a second mother to me.  Can’t blame the parents for the sins of the children (ok so it’s backwards).  Then there was a line ( kibbutznik included). It wasn’t a very long line, cause I have hang-ups about labels. When I was 22 I met Oren, and we were married by the time I was 24. It was um, it was simple marriage, I worked my ass off (I travelled 4 hours a day to and from Tel Aviv), and he well, did what worked for him. When the boys were 6 weeks old he left me alone in the Jordan Valley without a car (it was the 2nd Intifada) and no family. I told him to look for an apartment in Beer Sheva, I would pay the rent and the maskanata, just find an apartment I said to him. He didn’t. I took a cab to Beer Sheva with two 6 week olds and found an apartment. That sums up my marriage. And yet I held out for another 3 years, until the resentment was too much for me to live with. It took me another year and half to get him out of the house. By that time he’d taken everything. Wait, I’d given him everything in hopes he’d be OK and would give me a get. OK I’m a fool.

Then 6 months later there was the coachman. I mean, I don’t have a lot to say about that, except sometimes we love blindly. The Coachman changed my perceptions about love, and sex, and life, and being abused.

What do they have in common, not one of these men ever said I love you first.  The first “wouldn’t comment”,  to Oren it was offered as an ultimatum, the Coachman said, “if I don’t say it, it means I do”. And I am  so silly that I believed all them.

It’s ironic that at 38 I’m ready to move on, cause at 38 it’s a bit late to get the message. I wish that at 22 I’d believed that I was beautiful and worthy. I wish at 35 I’d known how strong I really was.  Now I know, and now I’m ready. If it happens that’s wonderful, if it doesn’t at least I understand why not.

In the midst of all the crap, I finally understand my strength, I understand the power of beauty (both mind and soul), and I understand the need for wisdom.

So finally I’m ready to move on, from all garbage I never understood.  I was born into a family of incredibly beautiful women, really smart women, independent women (and all totally neurotic),  but I never was told that I was that as well.

My point you ask, I have two:

  1. I am thankful that in the last month somebody has taught me that I am worthy of love. Cause I’d been knocked around so much I was no longer sure.
  2. Mothers tell your daughters every day they’re beautiful, smart, gifted and independent. Tell them you love them, everyday,  all day. I promise you they won’t strike out  three times in a row.

If you do this, they’ll never have to worry if they’re ready to move on, cause they’ll never know they were stuck.

And that my lieblings is my soapbox for this evening.

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