I’m not exactly sure when I decided it was best to keep my emotions to myself but it was long before I’d even developed any real relationships with men. What I had done was observe enough instances of my friends pouring their hearts out to men who trampled over those words without a second thought that I decided that it would never be me. I’d never let someone else see they had that much power and control over me, and I would hide those emotions as best I could. For the most part that practice suited me well with causal hook ups and men who probably didn’t care how much I was feeling them anyway, but when I look at some of the most meaningful relationships I’ve had, I’m finding my partners never really thought I cared in the first place. And by refusing to open up too much, I closed them out in a lot of ways.
Before the New Year my ex called me out the blue. We hadn’t spoken in nearly a year and a half, and as exes typically do, when they resurrect themselves from the dead he wanted to relay what I had meant to him and take responsibility for the breakdown of the relationship. As I sat there getting my ego stroked I replayed thoughts in my head about all the things I loved about him and wanted to say but couldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing. So I settled on a nonchalant, “Yeah, I really loved you too,” voiced slightly above whisper register. As sorry as that response was, it was pretty big for me and he must have sensed it too, because as I managed to speak a little bit on the traumatization that was our breakup, he hit me with, “I’m shocked. I never really thought you cared.”
Part of me caught a slight attitude, thinking, why do you think I did so much for you and tolerated so much from you if I didn’t care. But if I was being real with myself, it wasn’t the first time I had heard that. Just a couple years before I had gotten into an argument with a guy I was talking to because I found out he wasn’t upfront about seeing other women. In the midst of my angry rant—the one emotion I am comfortable showing—he basically said the same thing: “Why are you mad? You never really cared about me that much anyway.” At the time I dismissed his words as a bogus excuse not to accept responsibility for his dishonesty, but as I continue to see this pattern of reaction when I’m having what I consider a soft moment, I’m starting to realize I might actually be the one who’s on one.
For the longest time I’ve lived my love life by two rules: men don’t have emotions and it’s not necessary.
I usually say the latter when I’m being questioned about why I can’t just say how I feel about someone or something and I typically back it up with, “There’s nothing cute about vulnerability.”
My best friend, who is the total opposite of me, always asks, “Don’t you just want to get it off your chest and be honest about how you’re feeling?”
My response? “No.”
Because it’s not necessary. And by necessary I mean I don’t think me putting everything out on the line would serve any bigger purpose than an ego stroke—and that is simply not the business I’m in. Once I was asked if it would kill me to be the first one to pick up the phone every day and let him know I was thinking about him. I said, no, I wouldn’t die, but a piece of my pride would. But in case you didn’t know, there’s little room for pride in love.