So apparently, I'm a door slammer. It's not what you think, though. Ironically, it's not me slamming the doors, as one would expect.
A few weeks ago, I turned on the TV because I needed background noise as I primped in preparation to see a few of my friends at a comedy show. I wasn't in the mood to hear any particular artist or song, so I flipped to a random station and returned to staring at myself in the mirror, focusing on this one particular curl in the front that still hasn't recovered from years of heat damage. While my attention was on my hair, my focus shifted as a relationship specialist took the stage and began talking to a young woman who was heartbroken after her boyfriend left her to be with another man.
"There were a few signs that I ignored, and I gave him the benefit of the doubt a lot. I didn't want to think that he just might be...gay. But we fought all the time, and we broke up repeatedly. It was almost like he was pushing me away with his actions and with every argument, but I couldn't leave. I refused to leave. It wasn't until he said he needed to talk to me and I planned a romantic dinner for what I thought would be the night of our engagement that he said, 'I met someone. And I want to continue seeing them. It's a man. I'm sorry, but I'm leaving you.' I was broken hearted, and still am."
The relationship expert told her that she's a door slammer. In spite of the issues in her relationship--the constant fighting, him pushing her away, the repetitive breakups, and his suspect actions--she had an image of what their relationship should be, and she held on to that. She wasn't letting that go. It wasn't until HE slammed that door in her face that she was forced to let go of the perfect relationship she wanted and face the fact that her actual relationship was imperfect and over.
This segment of the show felt almost invasive; it was a mirror of my own life. No, my ex didn't leave me for another man (at least I don't think), but his sexuality was repeatedly the topic of discussion amongst my friends, family, and even within my own mind. I defended him while we were together, but I see it even more now that we aren't an item. Some signs I ignored, and some I couldn't, but I wanted so badly for this particular long-distance relationship to be a successful one. I pretended many of the red flags weren't raised, and I fought to keep my man. But we fought constantly, just like the woman on the show did with her boyfriend. We held discussions about the future of our relationship, and doubted its strength to thrive in these conditions. With every argument, I felt like I was being pushed away, but I'd be damned if I was the one to let go. I had an image of a perfect long-distance relationship embedded in my mind, and regardless of the tears, fights, and sleepless nights, I was gonna make that happen. We took turns hurting each other, but for a moment (I think) we both believed that the pain wasn't enough to demolish what we'd built. It was almost like I was delusional. We were delusional. Soon, the doors began slamming in my face. After another night of coming second to a female friend that held no regard for our relationship, I decided to let go. I couldn't believe that he, an insecure man, disrespected my insecurities and reservations after I'd pacified his.
Door slammed.
At one point in our conversation, he boasted about being dishonest. "Yeah, I've been dishonest about a lot. I can't remember everything, but I don't tell you the truth about a lot of things."
Another door slammed.
After asking him not to go out with this female friend because of her disrespectful nature, he chose to anyway, disregarding the pain I'd feel only a few hours after our breakup.
Yet another door slammed.
I later accepted that yes, he is an insecure man, and the reassurance he gets from superficial friendships and "yes" men keeps him going. That helped me let go. I let go of the image of the perfect relationship I had plastered across my mind. I let go of the image of the perfect man I'd hoped he'd become. I let go of the image of a perfect me that would be the perfect fit for the perfect him. It helped me finally slam a door on my end.
The most important door.
I didn't see this segment until months after all doors were slammed, but the resemblance to my dear friend's situation was so uncanny that I had to share it with her.
"Apparently, I'm a door slammer."
"Whose doors you be slammin'?" she responded.
Naturally, she was confused, but I took a minute to explain. She simply responded, "Wow."
She's never been one of too many words, so I didn't expect a grand response, but she later confessed, "I think I'm a door slammer, too."
She was in a similar situation; the image of what she wanted her relationship to be was her greatest stronghold. It's not a thing of desperation, I believe. People plan things everyday. We have expectations of how our day should pan out, which is why we often say, "I'm having a bad day." We hold so tight to our expectations that when anything goes wrong, we're crushed, aggravated, angry, sad, and so on. So naturally, when it comes to matters of the heart, we're holding on even tighter to those expectations. Just as we wake up each morning with the same expectation of that perfect day, we wake up each morning hoping that this day will be the one that the perfect relationship begins to come to fruition. We remain hopeful.
My friend and I had been hopeful for far too long, and thankfully, our admittance to each other helped us remained strong as we slammed the doors.
They're still closed.
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