The Strength of Giants

If you want better men, you cannot expect them to exceed the status of women and not include a healthy sense of self-importance.

Around 8 am on July 20^th, 1996, I had an epiphany. It was the morning of my wedding day, and I had a lot on my mind. Although I had a house I shared with my fianceé, I respected her wishes and spent the night at my mother’s place so as not to see her until we met to exchange vows at the wedding. One of my long-time friends and groomsman, Kevin, had also crashed there for the night. The night before, we talked about our friendship and how far I’d come since we met in high school. 

We also talked about how I’d ‘shed my skin,’  so to speak, after I’d endured a living Hell with an ex-girlfriend for almost four years. This was the girl I refer to in my podcasts and an essay or two who had Borderline Personality Disorder. I was 28 years old at this time and would have no idea what BPD even was until I reentered college in my early 30s. I just knew she was crazy, but more, I had allowed myself to become someone I could never conceive of being capable of becoming. I willingly became what my ex-girlfriend’s neurosis expected me to be. Even looking back on that experience today, man, I hated that guy. And you know shit’s bad when you refer to who you were in the third person.

By July 20^th, 1996, it had been roughly two years since I’d pulled myself out of that pit of misery. In two years, I’d fundamentally changed myself back into someone I respected, and this day, I was about to marry a wonderful, healthy woman who had an intense, genuine desire for me. Twenty-eight years later, she’s still the love of my life. But I had to make a change. I know a lot of touchy-feely self-help books filled with fluff about “Healing” will offer sounds-good advice about loving yourself. Blah, blah, blah… but the change was much simpler than that. I had to give myself permission to change my mind about myself.