I cheated on myself with my husband.
I neglected me by being so worried that I might neglect him.
In my fear to not come across as selfish and needy, I neglected my needs altogether.
I chose him. I assumed I would always be there.
I assumed my identity was my own, inevitably.
Maybe it’s not fair to say that I cheated on myself. For I never truly made a commitment to myself. I never made a commitment to take care of myself, to be there for myself, to love myself, to respect and be loyal to myself. It’s not that I didn’t think I was worthy of such a commitment, it just never crossed my mind to do so. I made a commitment to him, to place my loyalty to him above my loyalty to any other man, sure. But what about loyalty to me? I suppose I gave him that responsibility. If it’s my responsibility to take care of you, then it’s your responsibility to take care of me. Ya, that’s the deal I thought I was signing up for; thus I assumed that it was unnecessary to state that I would be responsible to myself. That really gets lost in translation through the whole committing to each other process.
If you had asked me at the time, I would probably have said “well, ya, duh, I’m going to take care of myself too.” Sure, when I have time or when the time comes.
Now, on this side of thirty, on this side of a few years of therapy and a few thousand gos at meditation, I recognize just how intentional the process of attending to my wants and needs must be. The intention is to live in an awakened, aware, honest way. I must be honest with myself about what I need and what I truly want. It is my responsibility.
Bored to Death 