I can’t remember the last time I have been touched by a man. Strong, firm hands touching my lower back. Holding my hand. Loving my body. I can’t remember the last time someone kissed me with only the intent of giving me pleasure. Soft kisses turning long and deep. I can’t remember the last time I looked into the eyes of a man and saw that he sees me as beautiful. His eyes drinking in my curves, my softness, my laughter. I can’t remember the last time I felt like a woman. Sexy. Confident. Beautiful. 

I lost so much in my divorce. My husband. My family. My future. My whole world. During these past two years, I have been working on healing myself. I have dug deep to rediscover myself as a person, a friend, and a mother. I have shed layer upon layer of hurt and failure, becoming a whole new me. One I didn’t know I could be. It has been thrilling. Exciting. Inspiring. 

Now, I am at a point where I am ready to start dating. Meeting men. Connecting with them. Maybe that means emotionally and physically. But I realized I haven’t done anything to heal myself as a woman. I didn’t know I was so damaged as a woman, either. 

My former husband had an affair with a much younger woman. They are still together. His affair made me question my ability to be a woman. I believed I was not pretty enough. Sexy enough. Worthy enough. I couldn’t satisfy him in bed–therefore, he had to seek it somewhere else. Already, I was self-conscious of my 30-something mom body married to him. My husband didn’t want me. My husband didn’t desire me. Why would any other man? 

I never thought I would be here. A single woman in her 30s. Rediscovering herself. I never imagined I would have to expose my whole self again. Becoming vulnerable. Facing my fears. Learning to love.

I am scared. Not only do I have to be emotionally open and honest, but I have to do it physically. I have bared my soul to the world. Over and over again with my words. Yet, I am more scared to be physically vulnerable right now. 

Yes that means sex. No, I am not taking this lightly. I am not a person who can have casual sex. I never have been. But I also never thought I would be in this situation. I thought my husband was the man I would give my body to for the rest of my life. I liked having sex with him. And now, just for a moment, I want to feel like a woman again. A woman who isn’t damaged. A woman who hasn’t been to hell and is climbing her way back out. A woman. Not a mom. Not a friend. Not a daughter. Not a sister. A sexy, beautiful, loving, fun, flirty, gorgeous woman. 

I don’t have a husband to make me feel this way. I don’t have a husband to help heal me. I don’t have a husband to reassure me that I am enough. For my husband did the complete opposite.

There is no guide book on divorce. There is no 12-step program to heal from an affair. Most of my family and friends are married. Even though we all have been married and have children, we never talk about our sex lives. It is private between us and our spouses. So I don’t know where to turn when I have lost every identity I once had. 

I met a man who would have done a wonderful job of making me feel beautiful again. In just the few short weeks I knew him, I felt attractive and sensual. He made me feel things I haven’t experienced in so long.

I ruined it before it could even begin. Because I was scared. Because it is easier to run away then expose myself. Because for so long, I have pushed that part of me aside and only focused on the mom and person. I am scared that if I allow myself to feel again, to be touched again, to be loved again, I will shatter. I am scared I will see how lonely I really am. 

You may be reading this and disagreeing with me. Thinking I need to turn to the Lord and pray He guides me. I am. I am doing this every day. Just as I have with everything else this divorce has thrown at me.

You may be thinking wait. Wait until I find someone I connect with and love. Let that man heal me. I am. I am waiting. But I am not waiting by doing nothing. I have to meet the wrong one to find the right one. I have to discover what and who I want and need in my life. I am not throwing myself into the nearest bed. I have standards and limitations. 

I can’t remember the last time I was held. In the way a man holds a woman close to his side. Tightly. Securely. Protecting us both from the outside world. I can’t remember the last time someone couldn’t keep his hands off of me. The hands that push all troubles away even if for only a short moment. I can’t remember the last time I wanted to feel again. Feel the brush of a hand. Feel the soft whisper of a kiss.

I can’t remember the last time I felt like a woman.

I can’t remember the last time I didn’t feel broken.