Not So Blinded By Love #WickedWednesday

I am not completely blinded by my love for John Brownstone. Not in the way you might imagine.

 

Love has not blinded me to his flaws. I see them. I laugh at them. Some make me cringe. But they make him who he is. Loving him means accepting him. Flaws and all. Yes, even when I fuss about some of them.

Why would I give him no less than I expect him to give me?

Love has not blinded me to my own flaws. But it has forced me to look at them in a new light. The things I hate about myself – my obnoxious laugh, my soft and flabby tummy, my ability to worry every problem down to a nub. He, crazy man that he is, finds those endearing (most of the time). Some of my “flaws” he even loves.

Being content, happy, and loved does mean that I miss details that, at one point, I thought were very important.

Do I look cute in this?

Is my lipstick the right shade?

Did I remember to pluck my eyebrows? Oh god, my chin?! 

If I just keep my stomach sucked in, can I hide the tummy?

Leaving home was stressful. I couldn’t fix what I hated and I couldn’t stop checking myself to make sure the flaws I could cover were “managed” or “subdued.” I know now that I was focused on all the wrong things.

There is a comfort in being loved for who you are that, at least for me, allows me to overlook some details that used to seem so very important. I checked myself for imperfections every day. I railed against genetics that gave me overly big pores, blotchy skin, and hair that grew in any direction on any location. Over the years, those things didn’t go away. I stopped noticing.

If he doesn’t care, why should I?

I’m also blinded to other (some) people. There was a time, in a not so distant past, when what I wanted most of all was to be seen. Seen as desirable. Seen as sexy. Seen as a potential fuck. You could almost say I was on the prowl, except what I desperately wanted was to be prey.

What would I have done if someone had “prowled” on me? I have no fucking clue. For eyes that were constantly searching, even then I was blind. Not too far from 40, and I still don’t know if/when another person finds me desirable if they don’t come right out and say it. I guess I’ve always been blind to that kind of nuance.

But now I freely “see” other people when we’re together.

She’s pretty. He’s cute. I love her ass. He’s got great eyes. Look at those forearms.

Instead of pretending to be blind, we both revel in the ability to look at and openly (and politely) admire people who catch our attention. We punch each other’s arms and say, “You’d fuck them, wouldn’t you?” We both know we’re only half joking. He’s got the quiet confidence to approach a person or to let them approach him. Me? I’d be under the table, hiding behind his legs, and pretending I didn’t exist.

There’s freedom in not pretending to be blind to other people, to the pull of animalistic attraction, even if you’d never act on it. It’s not for everyone (what is?) but for us, for me, it’s a way of seeing and being seen, another way that love has given me new vision, new freedom.

For all that love can blind us to, and for each of us, it’s probably a long list, it can also open our eyes – to new possibilities, new beauty, and new ways of being.

I’ve been blinded by love, but not in the way you probably think. Mostly, I’ve been set free by it.

Welcome to Wicked Wednesday! The prompt for the week was “blinded” and nothing terribly sexy came to mind. This will have to do, but I have no doubt others have shared some damn good smut. Go see for yourself.