The Pool Has Pee(But I'm Swimming Anyway): Rebuilding My Heart in London
I rode the bus home from salsa lessons with a heart gaping for companionship and a man to rub his hand on my back and kiss my forehead as I lay my head on his shoulder. It wasn't an unusual feeling as the lonely bug had been riding me for weeks like a first-place surfer at the Quicksilver Jaws Big Wave Challenge. Unlike Atlanta, London unfolds like a living romance novel—lovers with fingers intertwined like delicate vines, parents guiding wobbling bicycles while children's laughter dances on the wind, and couples stealing kisses that linger in the misty air as you navigate the brisk cement sidewalks. Every trip to my favorite spot where the swans swim from right to left is filled with at least three moments of some expression of affection by two people or one person and their pet, adding a wooden log to my fire of aloneness and making my eyes roll with every sight. Yes, I roll my eyes at the people loving on their dogs. It's an instantaneous reaction to my feelings; don't judge me.
This night, in particular, lonely, had a different message as my red double-decker bus passed next to the Thames River; I heard, Don't worry, your time is here. It's time to explore love. Who??? I replied sharply and out loud. Not me! I said with a stern laugh. I know the woman in front of me probably thought I was crazy. The thought of doing all of this healing work to have someone's unhealed son fumble my heart was not an option. I could hear Trey Songz singing; I fumbled your heart in the background as my heart began to palpitate. I felt the conflict between my desires and God saying, "It's time!" I felt conflicted. Excited to get the call to play, yet unsure that I was ready to leave the bench.
If you talked to me about love last year, I would have smiled with squinted eyes, nodded my head, and laughed in my mind. Yeah, right, my inner voice would say as I listened half-heartedly to your words of wisdom and optimism. Love was not on my agenda. It was too hard, plus I lived by and loved the saying, "The pool has pee in it." It still makes me laugh when I remember Ensa’s face as she said it. LOL! Who wants to get into a pool with pee in it? Not Charlene. Especially when one morning, while in meditation, I watched the relationships of my life flash before my eyes.
Each vision showed me my beliefs about what it meant to like or love each person. I uncovered the heartbreak that sounded the alarm for a Vatican Secret Archives shutdown. In 2015, I met an intelligent, kind man who checked all my boxes. We started as friends. Mostly talking about music, pop culture, and fashion. I'd become comfortable with him, wanting more but understanding that timing was not on our side. Finally, the time arrived, and he asked me out. Of course, I said, Yes. I did not realize that this relationship would teach me a valuable lesson about what love is not. Our dates were fun. His smile was infectious. The sex was bookworthy. He was calm. He was sweet. He was safe. He opened my heart, and like a floodgate, the years of accumulated ice from past relationships melted away, and love, trust, and acceptance flowed out of me unhindered. Then, a tornado entered his life, and I began to see another side of him. My love for him was intense and unrelenting, so I was willing to weather the storm.
On the other hand, he didn't feel the same for me, and my girlfriends kept urging me to see this. I didn't. I just kept hoping that my love for us would weather the storm. It didn't. During my birthday weekend, he sent the text that was the dagger in my chest. He broke up with me. It felt as if he snatched the dagger and my heart out of my chest; watched my heart beat, ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum, Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum, Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum; looked into my eyes with a smile; then crushed my heart with his hands. My heart tissues hanging and blood dripping down his fingers; he threw my heart into a blender and hit the pulverize button while looking into my eyes with relief and remorselessness. Tears burned behind my eyes like acid, dissolving me from the inside out. Grief distilled to its purest form, burning cold in the hollow of my chest. I swallowed and began the burying process. My cascading tears pooled at my jawline before surrendering to gravity. I wiped my chin swiftly and told my best friend the news. She sighed and told me to get dressed; we were going out. As I pressed end on the call, I felt the ice form over my heart, this time in the shape of a box, each side fortified with enough layers to remain heat resistant for the foreseeable future. This relationship hurt so bad. It took years to get over. The emotions were buried so deep in my subconscious that I forgot they existed until I began my heart-healing work, where they made their reappearance. See, the pool does have pee in it, and I've experienced it firsthand!
It wasn't until the top of the year, that I declared to my circle of friends that I would be engaged by the end of 2025—wishful thinking for a woman without a partner, prospects, and a mild desire to open up to anyone, alone a man who would want to spend the rest of his life with me. I do love a challenge. Although I think I may have bitten off more than I could chew with this hefty declaration. Nonetheless, there is a burning desire for me to see this through. Hence, my interaction with the Holy Spirit on the bus that night. Who knew He would be so quick to move me in the direction of love?
Let me be transparent: I am tired of being single. Being single in a state of solitude is one thing. Being single and having a desire for a relationship is another. The desire for a relationship feels unrelenting. It's like someone is calling your name, and you can't find them. You keep saying, Yes, I am here. But no one makes themself known. I would not have known this desire if it wasn't for a schoolgirl crush I formed last year, eight years after my heart pulverization. I willingly fell into this crush head first. It started as an innocent flirtation, but as I explored it in my mind, I was influenced to take bolder action. I started dressing up when he was around just to see if he noticed. He did, and he always complimented me, which I enjoyed. I eventually got rid of the side hug and pressed chest to chest to feel his muscular chest and smell his cologne. Weird? A little. But I was kicked off of my love horse and needed to learn all the areas of relationship from the beginning. Starting with flirting. He was an exceptional flirter. I enjoyed the sweet remarks, smiles, exchanges of glances, and the butterflies that accompanied his every action. I felt alive. After years of emotional numbness, these small interactions were like sparks landing on long-dormant kindling. Though nothing more than flirting transpired between us, the fire he unknowingly helped ignite wouldn't be so easily extinguished. I took an introspective look at the ice that formed around my heart and began defrosting, which led me to this part of the journey.
Let me say this out loud so that I can hear it for myself. I am officially open to love! I want a healthy, full of communication, emotional IQ, type of love. The intentional, let me get to know you, we could refrain from sticking our tongues in one another's mouths or going to each other's houses so that we could see each other for who we truly are: love. The send early morning and good night texts, type of love. The love feels scary at first because you two have found one another, and you can't stop thinking about one another, so you talk about each other all the time, annoying everyone: love. The Sleepless in Seattle, Love Jones, or You Got Mail, type of Love. I know he is out there, and he is waiting for me. Until then, I will keep doing my heart work to ensure my heart remains open. I guess the girl on the red double-decker bus was ready for love and didn't realize it. Now, London's streets—once a torturous runway of hand-holding couples that made me roll my eyes hard enough to see my brain—have become a preview of possibilities. Those intertwined fingers and stolen kisses along the brisk cement sidewalks aren't just reminders of what I lack; they're breadcrumbs leading me toward a love that's finally getting permission to find me.
What 'pool with pee' are you avoiding? Is there an area of your life where past hurts have kept you standing safely at the edge, unwilling to get wet despite your desire to swim?
Love, Charlene