While intellectually I know that I have been single for nearly 15 years, if you don't count my three month half marriage a few years ago, emotionally this is still a bit abstract. When my youngest was not even two I was thrust into the world as a newly minted single mom. Still being fairly young there were plenty of dates, having fun and the occasional boyfriend.

Nothing ever lasted. Thinking it over, I think I was pretty cynical about the happy for ever-after thing already. My heart broken a few times I was in no mood to set my needs aside any longer and go all out to satisfy "my man's" whims and wishes 24/7. At the first sign of trouble I either bolted or showed him the door. I had no patience for jealous bullshit, trying to change me or make me over, projected an image of me as the wifey-type and various other methods of keeping my man happy - all while forgetting about my own happiness. I grew pretty resentful after my third divorce about always putting the man first, the kids second and me last. Obviously that method didn't work out so well for me.

Over time, I've still not become a master at keeping myself happy. I poured my energy into keeping my kids happy, well, at least the best I could considering the first three years I really was an emotional wreck. Add to this that my middle son was diagnosed oppositional defiant, depressed and ADHD - my days were so full of them and their problems, you get the picture.

My youngest is 16 now and while we are still close he is growing up. Friends and personal interests are much more important than hanging out with mom; as it should be. Yet, the thought of him leaving, the last one of my boys, scares the crap out of me. Mainly because I truly have not learned to take care of my needs. Most of the time I have no idea what those even are. So much time have I spent on giving to others that the rest was forgotten or ignored.

I struggle to remember what brought me pleasure before I was married, before I had kids. Those past times seem childish now. But are they, really? What would it hurt to pick up a paintbrush and paint a picture? Grab paper and write again? (This blog doesn't count!). Go out and go dancing? Hang out lazily at the public pool all day? None of those have any real draw on me at the moment.

Perhaps it doesn't help that I have this view of myself at times, that runs counter to what comes out of my mouth. I am pretty adept at putting up a strong, cheery front when all I want to do is curl up in a ball. I really struggle to yank myself into 2008 when inside it is often 1980.

Then, some men view having multiple divorces as me being somehow damaged goods. Maybe they're right in one sense. But does that mean I am untouchable, unteachable and unreachable? God, I hope not.