{"id":8392,"date":"2017-02-02T04:33:48","date_gmt":"2017-02-02T12:33:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lauradoyle1.wpengine.com\/?p=8392"},"modified":"2023-12-20T22:34:46","modified_gmt":"2023-12-21T06:34:46","slug":"he-keeps-breaking-up-with-me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lauradoyle.org\/blog\/he-keeps-breaking-up-with-me\/","title":{"rendered":"How I Stopped Breaking Up and Started Making Up"},"content":{"rendered":"

Stefanie, Laura Doyle Certified Relationship Coach<\/em><\/p>\n

Every week, my boyfriend would drive six hours to pick me up. Then turn around and drive six hours back.<\/p>\n

Now that was love.<\/p>\n

Especially since we\u2019d argue most of the way home. Only with the utmost restraint did I manage not to hurl myself out of the car.<\/p>\n

I did, however, hurl myself out of more than one perfectly decent relationship. If my beloved didn\u2019t behave according to my standards, I was gone, girl!<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s how I recovered from my escape artist days and learned to embrace the commitment I craved.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Once we arrived at my true love\u2019s after our mad commute, I would regularly find a reason to pack my bags and leave\u2014for good this time! I\u2019d only make it across the state line before answering the phone and turning around.<\/p>\n

As a result of the repetitive stress injuries my drama inflicted on the relationship, it eventually degenerated. Demanding that things be my way then running away every time they weren\u2019t was not serving me in my quest for commitment.<\/p>\n

Rather than dwelling on having wasted two more of my precious childbearing years, I believed I\u2019d learned something valuable from this experience…<\/p>\n

Never date an artist!<\/p>\n

Our irreconcilable differences were too numerous to list. For starters:<\/p>\n

    \n
  1. I\u2019d make dinner and he\u2019d continue toiling away at his desk, refusing to come when beckoned. I\u2019d sit at the table alone, fuming as the food got cold.<\/li>\n
  2. When he did come to the table, he kept working. Once, he took me on a trip to exotic lands, where he had the nerve to get inspired to write a novel about me and stay in his head throughout dinnertime.<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

    Well, that\u2019s all I can think of right now. Oh yeah, and he was a cat person! I\u2019m allergic.<\/p>\n

    Today I can laugh at my pre-surrendered self who saw these trivialities as deal breakers. I had such a deep fear of being alone that I would find any pretext of running away before someone else could abandon me. Or allow me to feel my aloneness even when we were together. Or actually love me, with all my imperfections.<\/p>\n

    Easier to decide he wasn\u2019t enough than to recognize that the inadequacy lay somewhere within me.<\/p>

    \"\"<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    Plus, my comfort zone required a certain level of drama. He couldn\u2019t be \u201cthe one\u201d or I\u2019d have to take Benadryl or get acupuncture on my cat chakras and start feeling serene. No, that would not do.<\/p>\n

    So I fixated on our differences. And added to my list from previous relationships: Never date someone depressed or insecure. Never date a pothead. And, again, never date an artist.<\/p>\n

    I took comfort in telling myself I was closer than ever to identifying the type of person I could actually get along with.<\/p>\n

    Unfortunately, now that I\u2019d ruled out a large percentage of the male population, I worried that my chances of finding him were dwindling.<\/p>\n

    In my next relationship, well-meaning friends shared what they had learned, like, \u201cIf you want a baby, do not marry a waiter\u201d and, more forebodingly, \u201cStay away from Latin men\u2014they\u2019re so jealous!\u201d<\/p>\n

    By some stroke of fortune and googly eyes\u2014and the suspicion that the problem was not artists or Latinos\u2014I ignored my friends. (Their love lives weren\u2019t going so great either.)<\/p>\n

    I even ignored the voices in my head sounding similar alarms:<\/p>\n