“God Made Adam First” or “Revelations in the Mirror While Naked”

In the effort of “research,” I have been reading up on other blogs.  I am researching for both content and style.  I am also looking to see the “other side” of my story.  Ignorance really is bliss.

I have stumbled upon a few blogs about gay married men or gay men that have recently been divorced.  These blogs are insightful, revealing, a few of them well-written and researched.  However, by the fifth or sixth one I read I started crying.  Do not get me wrong, most of these gay men speak highly of their wives.  They speak of their strength, kindness, and mostly of their discretion.  Because they are either still married or divorced quietly, none of these women, according to their own blog’s account, made a big fuss over this whole “gay business.”  I too divorced quietly but then moved several states away because I could no longer bear the weight of a secret that was not my own.  It also hurt me to see him with other men.  Sometimes the men were friends we had in common.   As awkward as it might be at a party when two women exchange glances knowing they have slept with the same man, imagine if that exchange were between a man and a woman.

I cannot tell you how inadequate can make a woman feel when a husband, the man you believed was your soul mate, starts having sex with other men and despite all his promises and declarations, she is never sure when it started.  Even if the “other guy” is nice and gracious about it, how can a woman help but feel inferior and embarrassed?  Despite all my liberal standings and beliefs I am embarrassed and ashamed that my husband chose men over me.  If there is a greater rejection than that, I do not want to know nor would wish it on my worst enemy.

I got up from my desk in tears and went into the bathroom to change.  I was still in my pajamas and it was well past noon.  At first, I was going to just do my regular routine and push all those feelings down, ignore them and maybe have a snack.  Sound familiar?  But instead, I took all my clothes off and stood in front of the mirror naked and had a good look at myself.

I saw long dark auburn hair, green eyes, arched brows, chubby cheeks, and full pink lips that would be the envy of many a collagen fans.  I saw nice strong shoulders and nearly perfect breasts, neither too big nor too small for my frame.  I saw a too big rounded stomach with an arguably cute little navel.  I saw long legs, thick thighs, wide hips and a big round butt.  Still, despite my size and my age, I have few stretch marks and about as much cellulite as any other average woman.  I am being fair here and very honest.  But really, what is wrong with me?  I am looking at myself trying to find flaws.  Really, what is there?  Why did he not love me?  What is so unlovable about me?  Is my body so imperfect that I be rejected so?

Then I started to make a list of my unlovable attributes.  I made a list of reasons why my ex-husband or any other man would reject me.  It is well rehearsed so of little trouble to site even in my troubled mind.  The list goes as follows in no particular order:

–          My weight

–          Too smart

–          Too dumb

–          Not interested in sports

–          Unpopular interests

–          Does not make enough money

–          Too crazy

–          Too bold

–          Talks too much

–          Too repressed

–          Too loud

–          Too shy

–          Too needy

–          Too independent

Yes, some of these items contradict each other but still I hold onto this checklist constantly revising, often adding, so when I am rejected I know exactly why.  I am heaving and sobbing at this point.  I have to sit down on the edge of bathtub to catch my breath.  Such self loathing can be exhausting.  Not only do I have this list in my head, I said them out loud giving the list that much more power over me.

And the truth is… the truth that eats me up inside… the truth that will not let me go is that my ex-husband did not care about the list.  He loved me anyway.  All the reasons why I hate myself did not matter.  He loved me. But the one thing he could not love me for was the one thing I could not change and that is what is between my legs.

To me, the list of rejectables is my to-do list.  I hate those things about me too.  I want to change them and when I have accomplished the list, than I will allow myself to be loved. I can be thinner.  I can act more dumb or get smarter if you want me to.  I can maybe get a better job and be more independent while still making you feel needed at the same time.  I can change, I can do and be whatever you want….. Just stay.

Then I looked up in the mirror again.  Now that I am sitting I can only see my face.  Honestly, it is a rather nice face, unworthy of any kind of hate.  With my new eyes I see my hair lightened by the Florida sun and I still have a band of freckles across my cheeks though it is mid-winter.  Below those professionally arched eyebrows I see through blurred vision even greener eyes set off by the redness of all those tears.

When will I see myself like other men who try to love me?  When will I see a competent, beautiful woman that can make it on her own yet chooses to have a partner by her side?  When will I see the truly brave thing I did by leaving my husband and my hometown of thirty-plus years to start my life all over instead of looking at it like a retreat?

A better question still is when will I see what God sees?  When will I see a greatly loved being made in HIS image perfect and whole just as He created me?

But then I think to myself, “Even God made Adam first.”