“You’ve got to learn to leave the table when love’s no longer being served”.”
I do not know when it happened, or when it became fashionable to be someone’s second choice. When it became a war cry of many females to be proud of not being chosen completely. When did it become the pinnacle of female power–to battle with fangs and nails against each other for a man who is not committed to either one, or any for that matter.
You know, I used to be angry at the other woman. A full-blown, all in my feelings, wild kind of angry. And of course, that fire came from a place deep down that was emotionally destroyed along with my trust. But one day, I decided to ask myself why I was so angry at the other woman–the sidepiece. Was it the act of secrecy? Was it the blatant disregard? Did she even KNOW that he was taken? If he was TAKEN, and he knew where his home and heart was, what excuse would even be acceptable? I had to really take a look inside myself and find a new perspective–if only to find some kind of balance. Once again, it took the wisdom of my grandmother to set me on a path toward healing.
” A person is where they want to be, or they would be with you.”
I wanted to say,
“Damn! Nannie, isn’t that harsh?”
But since I didn’t swear in her presence out of respect, that wasn’t where the conversation went. But she was someone who could drop serious grandma knowledge with the best of them, so instead of wallowing in a knee-jerk reaction as if she wasn’t on my side, I gave it some deep thought.
The hidden meaning was for me to make an intelligent decision based on the facts of the situation. It wasn’t about placing blame or climbing on some moral high horse–it was to understand the moment for what it was and make a decision.
The most unique thing that happened, was that I stepped out of my own shoes and stood in the other woman’s shoes–she did know of me which made it even harder to wrap my mind around it–and something very unexpected happened.
I found that my once stormy skies, turned into a gray rain of disappointment.
That at some point she settled for scraps that fall from the table instead of valuing herself enough to sit at the head of the table and eat alone, if she was not being offered every course including dessert from a soul worthy of being her equal and ruling the world with her. And newsflash, I would be just as guilty if I didn’t draw one hell of a boundary.
We as women birth nations, so why do we continue to sit and beg beneath the table for scraps? As if the best days and years of our lives are to be spent being someone’s somebody special. Forget about your own goals, dreams and everything else, and hold onto a significant other no matter what–and that includes being the one he doesn’t come home to. The side dish only bullshit is not an empowering position–being relegated to being just corn or just potatoes or even worse, just a garnish.
And it goes both ways, because some women are just as guilty all day and night, for riding dirty and breaking the heart of someone who does this ride or die for you like a real partner should. The type of solid cats who have your back rain or shine are where your devotion should be going. The kind you can be yourself with, be vulnerable with, and who will stand with you in all seasons.
In conclusion, if they do it with you being the little something on the side, they’ll have no loyalty left for you when it comes to snack time being over, paying the check, and going ghost until whenever. This divide and conquer stuff empowers not one of the players involved and only serves to highlight the crass buffoonery of this weak ass, dinner theatre.
Oh, and for the men and women out there who are straightforward about what it is that you want–no matter if it is dating around, marriage, or being on your own completely–thank you for your authenticity in an increasingly inauthentic world.
In love, be the entire meal.
Stop settling for being parsley–nice to look at but left on the plate when a “better” meal comes along.
You deserve it.
Simone_ph, ErikaWhittlieb, and TerriC / Pixabay