When Love Is Not Enough


In my collection of days, I have seldom written about something as personal and intimate as love. But I find myself contemplating this subject in the dark hours of many nights when I am unable to sleep, so I am going to attempt to write something about it.

I have been married twice, each time thinking this was the love of my life. I have also had a couple of relationships in which I believed I may have found the love I was looking for. Evidently, something was amiss, because here I am, alone in my bed in the middle of the night, contemplating this topic and wondering where I went wrong.

I have been told that I don’t know how to love, that I am incapable of loving enough, that I am self-centered and think only of myself, that I am a disappointment in love, and that I am a taker and not a giver. I was also told at one time that I was a weight around my other’s neck. All these things cut to the quick as I ponder the truth, if these things are true, while hoping to find what true love really is. I don’t understand these statements, because my heart has been so filled with love I thought it would burst, and it has also been torn to smithereens with all the pain of the universe cutting me deep within my being. It seems that my love was not enough. Even with all this thrust upon me, I have an unerring belief that I have a capacity for great love, and that somewhere out there true and lasting love really does exist.

I know this is a fairy tale fantasy. Prince Charming really doesn’t reside in the real world. But I am not looking for Prince Charming. I have no experience with gallant steeds, and am not sure about being carried away on a horse. Nor am I looking for someone to complete me or make me whole. I am already a whole person, thank you very much. I’m not sure what, or who, I am seeking, or if there is such a person. And I am not a spring chicken anymore. While I’ve never been the type of woman to turn a man’s head when walking down the street, I certainly don’t do this now that I am in the decade of my 60s. I wonder what I have to offer in a relationship at this stage of my life. I have heard the saying that men of my age are looking for either “a nurse or a purse”, and I certainly am neither! I wish I knew what I have to offer, besides the capacity for great love, and what a man would see, or want, in me.

And so here I sit, in the middle of the night, writing about love, thoroughly confused about what it is and why so many of my friends and family members have been highly successful in this area, while I scratch my head, completely bewildered. It’s not that I am afraid of being alone; I’m not. I am a very independent person, and I am doing very well on my own. But I can’t shake this mantra of having the capacity for great love. I guess I just wonder if there is something I’ve missed, or let pass me by.  And I wonder if there really is someone out there who will open the door of great love and walk through it beside me.

I wonder what is enough love.  I wonder what is love.


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