Upon realizing I was second choice I first tried to rationalize it. Though I wasn’t what was really wanted, I was still desired… desired deeply. And that was good, wasn’t it? And we could create something all our own, couldn’t we?
So in the beginning, being second choice feels hopeful. Because you’ve still been chosen. And perhaps you weren’t the original dream, the original fantasy, but you were the reality. And living, breathing flesh and blood is better than what might have been. Isn’t it?
I tried. I did. I tried to not let the friendship with his One bother me. But instead, it began to slowly eat away at the foundations.
He tried. He did. But I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t be what he needed. And I wasn’t strong enough to share the stage with another. Especially when it felt like he needed her more than me.
So at the midway point being second choice feels confusing. As one who always believes things can be “fixed” I thought, if I’m just understanding enough… if I can just be what he needs enough it will work. A pattern of less than full disclosure began. He avoided telling me about their communication. And I avoided asking. Because how horrible would it be to ask… And then be told no… that I couldn’t know what was going on between them.
So then being second choice begins to feel scary. Because I didn’t know where I stood anymore. Everything felt out of balance. Uncertain. I felt… less than.
In the end, being second just isn’t enough. Not for me. I admire people who are self assured enough to share the stage, to share their man or their woman, who can balance three-pronged relationships. But that isn’t me.
I need to be someone’s One.