Probably one of the hardest things to confront in new love after a divorce is the fear that despite the fact that it feels like something you can trust, something you can believe in, you're coming off an experience where something you once trusted and believed in blew up in your face, or died a slow death, or whatever metaphor fits. Doesn't really matter -- none of them are pretty.
You want a guarantee that it won't happen again. You want the answers to all the questions the Beatles pose in this classic:
When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine?
If I'd been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door,
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?
But there are no guarantees. It just takes time to get to the point where it feels worth the risk. I'm there now -- but six months ago -- I wasn't. I don't think it is something you can rush, despite the desire to do so since it sucks so much to be in that lack-of-faith space. The surprise for me is that I didn't get there alone. I didn't get there through therapy. I didn't get there by talking to friends. Don't get me wrong -- all those things helped. But what really did it was opening myself to love again...
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