Love. We throw the word around and for some, we throw sentiment around calling it love. At times, obsession (in a negative sense) gets called “love”. Then, other times, we are, in fact, in love.
As I listen to John Legend’s Ordinary People play, kind of coincidentally as I write this post, I wonder about the times I’ve been in fake love and real love. In a few of the cases, I embarrassingly admit that obsession was masquerading itself as love. Neither parties thought to “take it slow-oh-oh-oh”. Particularly when I’d gotten engaged, we rushed into it, feeling that we were the most important things in the world in each others life.
The time came, when after our meet-and-then-six-months-later-engaged unreality bubble popped and vomit spilled out. It was ugly and painful. We were horrifically incompatible but because of physical attraction on his part, and desperation to be married on my part, being together and him being my E-V-ERY-THING consumed my life.
There was this real imbalance because while I think that love can be dizzying and extremely pleasant, trouble comes when your life and time is absorbed in this other person. When you eat, breath, and sleep with nothing but your mind on this person, they become like little gods in our lives. Of course, there are plenty that don’t experience imbalance or assigning people the highest importance in their lives. However, by the many suicidal-watch-worthy-breakups I’ve seen (and experienced) I think that much can be healed or even avoided by replacing love interests or former ones in their rightful place.
You may or may not be a spiritual person, but whenever a HUMAN is placed in your life in the position of a demi-god, you are bound to be all the way messed up. Atheist, agnostic, Christian, Buddhist, Jew, a dude or a female can’t be your replacement icon that you’re particularly worshiping. Treat a person well, yes. Love them, yes. Them becoming the reason you get up in the morning, the reason you’re disorganized and late for work, or the reason you’re denying yourself your goals–NO, they are not God. Stop that. They are an enhancement to your life, but they are not to be YOUR entire life.
I’ve learned this the hard way and even after about five reads of Greg Berehnt’s It’s Called a Breakup, my emotional meltdowns as a result of failed relationships, I think the ONLY way I was able to put the pieces back together was taking the little puzzle piece called “him” and fitting him in his teeny little space where he belonged all along. My life needed not be interrupted or in turmoil because of drama and severe mix-matchness (I make up words so get used to it). My life need not either be in such love or infatuation that I sacrifice the normalcy in my life to attain to it. Also, to drive this home, it’s a real indication of deification of another person if you are giving all you can, and you are getting nothing back. It’s much like worshipping a wooden idol.
Healthy love looks much different than that sold in love songs. Half that mess sounds like stalkers singing about more stalking. No substance, just “I wanna give you my all.” Heck naw, I’ll give him my “SOME” but my all is reserved for my real worship, you know of GOD, and then my interest, and then when I’m in my best mind and my best spirit, then I can give a man my best love. The order shouldn’t be twisted.
This is by NO means saying that healthy relationships don’t break up or healthy minded people don’t experience pangs when it’s over. It’s just that in many cases, very short lived, shallow, one-sided or outright imaginary relationships were born from making this other person to be the solution to all problems and the only validating factor in ones life so at the collapse of the “relationship” or the realization that “Oh wait, they’re human, and they’re doing some human things,” the house of cards falling like fiery coals on one’s head comes from actually finally getting that they weren’t the angelic, omnipresent, savior that one thought the other person was or their “potential”.
Long story short. Love, don’t worship, your romantic interest. It doesn’t serve you.