Too many cooks

     I recently announced to a friend that I am the queen of analogies (pictures coming soon). With that in mind, I'd like to talk a bit about relationships. Yes, I know that was terrible, but I am not the segue queen, so bear with. I didn't date in high school, which I thought was a fabulous idea at the time, I suspect, however, that combining that with my first relationship being eight years long and rather negative, I missed out on some rather formative experiences in life. 

     One of the things I am horrifically bad at is knowing when to end things. I am horrible about giving people not just second and third chances, but even 156th and 398th chances, all the while quietly sinking into the quagmire of my self-contempt and their abuse. Terrible, I know, but it stems from wanting to believe the best
in everyone. Sadly, most people seem to try to actively disprove this, but I keep blindly adhering to it anyhow. So my (short) history of dating has been riddled with guilt, self-doubt, negativity and confusion- not the best breeding grounds for confidence or emotional stability. 

     That first relationship I mentioned ended, as below, with me basically asking permission to break up. I would stiffen my resolve, announce the end, and then cave when he would try to wheedle his way out of accepting responsibility: "It's not my fault I painted the walls with peanut butter! I'm a victim of society!" (Yes, that's a made-up reason, but very close to what was going on). And I would quietly go "Oh, ok, poor guy, I have to stay with him to ease his pain." Not the brightest thing to do, but I did eventually get pushed too far and leave, wracked with guilt and doubt. 

     Over the years, I had a few other relationships- mostly short-term, long-distance, or otherwise not very important. Those, I quietly let slip away into the ether, or had a firm conversation with the person over the phone, and then promptly kicked myself for being so mean as to tell someone they're not what I wanted. The fact that I seemed to attract guys who willingly dove headlong into love and closed their eyes to reality didn't help, either. Despite this realization, guilt and doubt were still prevalent, and I agonized over whether I had done the right thing each time, especially as the years passed and the dreaded 30 loomed ever larger. 

     The last time I broke up with someone, however, I was bound and determined not to let this happen again. I enlisted friends to help keep me on track, I made sure I had things to do to occupy my time and give me something else to focus on, and I made a list- a lot of lists actually- to remind me of why I wanted to end it. I steeled myself not to fall prey to relationship puppy-dog-eyes, guilt trips, or anything like that. I'd made a decision and dang it, I was gonna stick to it! And for the most part, it worked.

     Here's the recipe that I came up with for a break-up. Now mind you, it's not perfect for all relationships, each one has its own flavor you have to be mindful of, but here's the basic plan:

5 cups self-respect

3 cups honesty

1 cup accurate, unbiased memory

1 cup resolve

3 Tbsp spine

1 Tbsp acceptance

support of friends

Directions: Melt self-respect, honesty and memory in a saucepan. Stir in resolve and allow to thicken. Add spine and acceptance. Pour into a dish and bake in the oven of self-awareness until golden-brown and firm to the touch. Sprinkle thickly with support of friends. Best when served warm. 

     Sadly, despite all my resolve, this still happened:

     I threw it out and started a new batch, but there were still hints of guilt and remorse. Fortunately, they passed through my system fairly easily, but you have to be careful: too many cooks do indeed spoil the... broth. Cheers!