You ride the horse. Everything is fine. Then something happens; the horse tosses you off and runs away. You fall in the mud and hurt yourself. Bleeding, bruised, and with some wounded pride you follow the horse for a while, trying to catch it, but you finally give up and head back to the stables.
You hate the horse for a while. As you well should. It's a stupid horse. If it was any kind of decent horse, it would have known how to treat you. You deserve a better horse-- one that knows what you need.
And then the doubt starts creeping in. Maybe you're just not a good enough rider. Maybe you could have held on tighter. Maybe something YOU did spooked the horse. A better rider, one with a talent for riding, would have stayed on.
But after a while, you come to terms with it. I mean, everyone who's ridden regularly has been thrown, right? It's all a part of the learning process. Life. Your scrapes heal, your bruises slowly disappear.
And then one day, you see it. A beautiful chestnut stallion. A majestic creature. One, you think, that would look so much better with you on its back. You're older now, and wiser. You know more about horses now. You can handle it. Certainty creeps in slowly.
You are ready to get back on the horse.
And so you approach it slowly. You let it see you, so you don't get kicked in the face. You caress its nose. You talk to it, make it like you. And once you've convinced it that you are not dangerous, you put your foot in the stirrup, swing your body up, and land square in the saddle.
Doesn't it feel good to be up there again? You and the horse-- it's meant to be! As you sit there stroking its mane, you can't imagine being happier. You're back on the horse again!
But riding a horse entails movement. You can't just sit on it. That's not riding. And this is where the trouble comes. Now you have to prove your bravado. And that might be the hardest part of all. This horse is different. You don't know its quirks or ticks. It might be a psycho horse. Suddenly all your doubts come flying back. What if this horse is nuts? What if it's not well-trained? What if you're just a terrible rider? Doubt turns to fear.
You have to trust the horse to obey you, to do what you tell it to, and not to throw you again.
You can probably draw your own conclusions here. The analogy breaks down here and there, but it's pretty transparent. Learning to trust again after a heartbreak may be the toughest job of all. Many relationships fail because one partner doesn't trust the other.
For me, it's the realm of boundaries. In every relationship I've ever been in, boundaries have been set near the beginning. And subsequently crossed soon thereafter. Guilt and long serious talks ensue. "Sorry, we shouldn't have done that." "I got carried away." "I couldn't help myself." Always the same.
So in order to prevent these long awkward talks, I've sort of made myself the relationship Narc. Subtly changing the mood, looking away, creating space, to protect either party from the feeling of guilt that goes with crossing boundaries.
And now, without realizing it, I find myself playing that role again. In previous relationships, I set the boundaries. And in the latest one, they were set for us by an outside party to which we were accountable. Something's different this time, though. They're not my boundaries. This time, my wonderful K.i.S.A. set them. He has a plan, a philosophy. And I like the way he's thinking.
But I realize now that I'm having trouble trusting him to stick to it. They're his rules, but I am still trying to be the relationship Narc. Still trying to protect us both. And that's not my job.
So as I dive into this new relationship, with two unique, dynamic individuals both sporting our scars from previous heartbreaks, I have to relearn how to trust someone. I have to avoid taking charge, which my personality makes difficult. I wish it was easier, but it's a daily struggle.
When you've been thrown in the mud, it's always tough to get back in that saddle again.
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