Dear Mr. Unavailable …

I have to break up with you. I’m sorry, I know this comes as shock, but I just can’t do it anymore. I love you, and I have loved you since I first started dating in my teen years. Actually, I think I’ve loved you since I was about seven and I chased you around on the playground.

I always thought I could fix you, Mr. Unavailable. That if I were patient enough, loving enough, kind enough, smart enough, enough enough, you would suddenly and magically transform into someone that wanted to go all in with me.

You have misled me too many times and frankly, I’m tired of your crap.

I finally, finally got it — I can’t fix you. God knows I’ve tried. But I’m not the real fixer, He is, and for some reason it’s a lesson I have to live over and over.

It doesn’t matter why you’re unavailable, Mr. Unavailable, because the end result is the same for me. I slip into the comfortable relationship with you because it’s so familiar. I know this dance. Or should I say I know what it’s like to be a wallflower in love, waiting for you to finally pick me.

I say I want a nice guy, but instead I’ve been picking the challenging ones. The ones that don’t love Jesus, or the ones that say they do but don’t mean it. The workaholics, the underachievers, the closeted gays, the ones that aren’t over their exes, or the ones that only text at midnight after a few drinks — I’m not making excuses for you anymore.

Why am I waiting for you to love me, Mr. Unavailable, when I’ve had a perfect love in front of me this whole time? Jesus loves me, and if I’m good enough for Him, then I’m good enough for me too.

I don’t know what your problem is, but I have finally recognized my part in it. I trusted in myself and my own abilities too much while simultaneously doubting my own value. Isn’t that insane? No wonder I keep pursuing crazy men.

Needless to say, it’s not you, it’s me. I didn’t get divorced just so I could make the same mistakes over and over again. After three months of first dates and an unrequited crush or two, I’m going to stop obsessing.

If you don’t like me, you don’t like me. I can’t make you like me. Jesus likes me, and you know what? That’s enough for me.

Goodbye Forever,
Jenny