Monthly Archives: December 2016

Dec31

Hike Mountains With Me.

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Confession: My biggest regret since entering the dating world, specifically online dating, is not keeping a journal of notes to turn it all into a bestselling novel. That shit would be a one-way ticket to the New York Times Bestseller list and the downpayment for a writing home on a beach down south or a cabin on a lake up north.

One thing I’ve learned is how strong the human spirit is. We are resilient when we want to be. Our will power is not something to be taken for granted or overlooked. At 27-years-old, I have seriously contemplated giving up, forfeiting the dream of a big family, and entering into a fuck buddy only relationship for the rest of my life to fix those needs. But even those relationships can’t be trusted, and the idea of exchanging vows with a vibrator is even too much for myself to handle. (Pun not intended, surprisingly.) And like any single person, the questions arise of will I ever find someone. I don’t have a fear of ending up alone, I have a fear that I will overthink things or run a love into the ground before we even have a chance to fly.

My last relationship, we lived in the fast lane. It didn’t last long but it seemed we rushed everything in just a few months. So much so that when I broke it off, I had serious doubts of was I running? Would I regret this and not be able to fix it? Or could ending it be the best thing for my future? Turns out, I never regretted it, it was just a fear of not finding someone that made me hesitate. But what if that wasn’t the case?

People generally seem to think I’m a very closed off person because I suffer from severe resting bitch face syndrome. Yeah, it’s a thing. Too often in life I get “you were too intimidating to approach.” I don’t think guys realize what they are saying with this statement: 1) I’m scary (thanks for that by the way), and 2) they aren’t man enough to take the risk (thank you for automatically disqualifying yourself, that was easy). Then, for those who do take the leap, they’re surprised when I turn out to be “real” or “unfiltered” or “candid” or “open”—their words, not mine. I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m the most open book you’ll ever meet but just because I’m so honest doesn’t mean I’m so quick to let you in.

And suddenly, we hit the hardest thing about dating as you grow older. You date more, you get hurt more, your heart bars its windows and locks its doors. You learn to give it everything, take chances, without allowing yourself to freefall. You learn to open up without letting them in.

I live in my head. I’m such a simple, low maintenance gal guys quickly assume I’m very chill. They’re right, I am. That doesn’t mean I don’t have a tendency to overthink things. I’ve just become very good at telling myself to shut the fuck up. I think things through—whether its dating, health, career—from every angle I look at the different paths a choice could lead me down, the repercussions, the negatives, and then I tell myself to get over it and deal. To take the chance. To see where it goes. Why? Because I’ve learned my strength, my independence, my resilience.

That’s why we get back up, put ourselves out there repeatedly—we know we will survive.

At least, I know I will.

This past year, I’ve dated a few guys. And by dated I should more accurately say “done stints” as they never made it pass more than a few dates or hangouts or whatever we’re to call them these days. Unfortunately, I seem to have a knack of getting hooked on the guys who had a number done on them. Guys who were cheated on, have trust issues, are scared to take any leap, or who are already thinking about the repercussions of a breakup before we’re done with the first date. That last one is the biggest pet peeve. I have this theory that if you’re already preparing for a breakup, you’ve already determined how the relationship will go—down the drain. And what does that say about me? Enter insecurities. It’s so easy to doubt yourself when you seem to hit it off with someone and suddenly they’re preparing for the crash without ever having hit the gas pedal.

But I don’t want a guy to take the wheel of the car. I don’t want to fall. I don’t want to be an accessory or a trophy or just the girl the guy comes home to.

My last two relationships were with guys who built dreams and wanted me to ride along. They said it was for our future without asking what I wanted or my goals in life. Or they know my goals but didn’t account for them. (Apparently, wanting to be a writer is “childish” and “not actually a dream for a career.”) Here’s the issue with dating today: we are so focused on meeting our own dreams and want someone beside us for them, we fail to allow their dreams to flourish, too. As we get older, we get more set in our ways. We’ve grown into who we are without allowing someone to grow with us. It’s depressing.

The best thing I ever did was become I mom. I don’t doubt that for even a second. But I won’t lie and say it hasn’t created some insecurities or fears. It’s harder to date. It’s discouraging to hear a guy tell me he likes me but could never love another man’s child as if s/he were his own (okay, goodbye). On the reverse side, it’s disheartening to know a guy is scared to date me because he’s scared of loving my daughter and then losing both us in a breakup (again, pessimistic much?). It’s difficult repeatedly opening myself up to guys who take for granted my time—time spent with them, is time away from daughter, do I really need to explain this?—or who get upset because I can’t drop everything to hangout last minute—again, I really shouldn’t have to explain how I need to plan in advance for my kid to be watched—or who waste my time talking until a better, single nonmom comes along to grab their attention—you, sir, are an asshole of the most definitive sort.

I don’t believe in sitting on fences. If a guy wants to keep me on the sidelines, I’ll join a different game. That hesitance speaks volumes. I want to hike mountains and stand in the clouds.

You wanted me to be your better half,
for you to complete me
when I wanted a better man
& to be whole on my own.
Dec4

Death Never Scared Me.

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Death has never scared me. And anyone who has driven in a car with me will tell you the same. I was brought up believing it was natural; how and when we go is, for the most part, out of our control; some people, who we never think deserve the second chance at life, are given a miracle while others, who touched so many people in so many ways, who were the epitome of greatness, are taken too soon. It’s one of life’s greatest tragedies and mysteries. You will swim your head into the bottom of a bottle of whiskey chasing such answers, letting your mind never move on from the whys and hows.

In one week, I lost a young relative I didn’t know as well as I should have and a professor who I attribute 85 percent of my writing skills to—he pushed his students to be vulnerable in their writing, to ask themselves the hard questions of why they make certain choices in their style, diction, format, tone, etc. He was always so quick to write a recommendation letter for me and it was his comment regarding me dropping out of the Written Communication M.A. program this fall—it happened with his first M.A. program of study, too—that lead me to be entirely okay with my decision.

I try not to ask myself why; why we lose some too early in life and why others spend a lifetime suffering. I have to believe there is an afterlife of peace—I refuse to believe that after Taylor has spent his life suffering, he will suffer after death as well. Life can’t be that cruel.

No, death has never scared me…until Evelynn came along. Then everything changed. Even my driving. I don’t tailgate as bad as I used to—though, that may also be because I’m no longer in a rusty truck (this WILL change next year; I need a truck, yesterday). I have this insurmountable fear that Evelynn could be taken from the only other people she really knows, her grandparents, losing her entire home in the event of my death. It gives me hives, the possibility. My jaw clenches, my throat tightens, my body becomes rigid. The very idea makes me nauseas.

She’s a girl of routine. She likes her morning breakfast in Taylor’s room watching television with him. She likes her movie before bed in my room. When she wakes up in the night, she scurries into grandma and papa’s room. She starts her days off with juice and then it’s water for the remainder of the day (she doesn’t like pop and carbonation, thank god). She has a strict gluten free diet that most people simply don’t understand. She’s bossy when it comes to Taylor’s needs—heart or oxygen monitor going off, his show is over and needs a new one.

Then let’s not forget every parent’s fear: growing up without an advocate. Everything I do is done with my daughter in mind, every decision. Who and when I date, my work ethic and career choice, the car I drive and my choice in purchase, the routes I take, my decision to stay at home despite the blow to my independence.

Then there’s more: will she remember me? Will she know my love for her is unbreakable and everlasting? That simply the sight of her fills me with such pride and light? They say there’s nothing greater than a mother’s love, I can believe it.

Yes, death itself has never scared me. It still doesn’t, for the most part. It’s the impact on Evelynn that I fear.

Dec2

Notch On Confidence

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My father taught me to believe in myself. Told me I am my last line of defense. What other people think of me will never compare to what I think of myself. Most people who know me will tell you I’m a confident borderline cocky gal—they’d be correct. There are two things guys routinely tell me when we first start talking: I curse like a sailor and I’m one hell of a confident woman. Dating is ripe with insecurities and I’ve always been one to bulldoze right through them, ignoring any doubts or voices of “you’re not good enough for him.” But dating as a single parent is a whole different ball game—it highlights those doubts and those voices shout in echo.

Single mom dating: It’s no longer about me and guys are quick to remind me of it. Some, ask for “time” to determine if they can handle it—the prospect of being a dad, the possibility of becoming attached only to break up later (empty glass much?). That’s a cruel letdown. How about we skip to the end and just call it quits? I like my time, I don’t like it wasted. The worst are those, “I wish you weren’t a mom” or “Why do you have to be a mom? You’re so freaking perfect.” Umm….bye. Anyone who wishes or wants my kid gone gets the immediate boot. It’s devastating. How can the girl who is the very light in my life be the one element guys quote as the thing turning them away? It’s painful. It’s heartbreaking.

It’s downright laughable.

It’s going to lead me down the path of singlehood for my remaining days by choice.

And before that, it might knock that ego down a notch because there’s no way that ray of sunshine can turn someone away.

So I list all the other acceptable reasons why the guy is turning me down, and let me tell you, I am one hell of a catch:

  • I live at home with my parents (not my first choice, but it’s the best choice for my daughter and financially—what I tell myself daily to make myself okay with it).
  • I don’t own my own car anymore (sore issue, let’s not talk about it).
  • Just this year I got the “serious” career gig (about damn time).
  • Eating gluten free means I’m high maintenance diet wise (hell, my diet and eating choices are high maintenance).
  • I’m not pretty enough (well, no comment—see last blog post).
  • I’m not fit enough (but I am quite athletic—now there’s a line to skate).
  • I’m boring (false, I’m witty to the point of psychotic).
  • I’m dumb (false, quite smart).

And oh hey there, hello again you cocky bitch, you’re back. (I told you, psychotic—I’m going to end up with cats and I HATE cats.)

Every month there’s a time period when I swear off guys. As the months go by, I should change it to, “there’s a small window of opportunity when I’m willing to give dating a chance.” That’d be a more accurate description. The last three weeks I’ve been living in the Swearing Off Guys time frame. I’m ready for the switch. Again. I just hope it doesn’t place me in an asylum or grant my daughter her wish of a pantry misconceived as a shelter for cats.

Dec1

Light Up YOU.

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I can look in the mirror and pick apart my flaws. I often do. It doesn’t take much. The fucked-up eyebrows I gave myself on purpose back in high school because I hated the emphasis people put on beauty and makeup and how they should be a certain shape or only so bushy. The acne breakouts from stress and my need to pick—I hate this about myself, how I take my stress out on my body. The small boobs that rival a scrawny prepubescent boy’s; so small an ex asked me if I’d consider implants before he became overtly happy with the pregnancy boobs I was later granted and then disappointed again when they disappeared; so small he wasn’t even the first to ask me if I’d consider getting implants. The sternum that points out and highlights my already small boobs, that I was relentlessly teased about when I was young, that I’m still highly self-conscious of every time I take my clothes off for a guy. How I went from a little too much meat on my hips to a boney ass in less than a year.

Oh yes, my body isn’t perfect and I’m the first to notice it.

You’d never guess with a glance at my Instagram account, though, with the selfies that pepper my page and the abundance of #youareenough quotes. When I realized how unhappy I was with my looks, I forced myself to take selfies and accept my looks. I never wanted my daughter to grow up doubting herself—her mind, her strength, her wit, her beauty, everything—and began to change my view of myself, my outlook after she was born. When I’m told I’m beautiful, my immediate thought most times is still, “and you’re so full of shit” or “are you for real?” before I respond with the appropriate “thank you.” It’s a work in progress. Society teaches us that to accept our beauty makes us conceited, to not accept is insecurity, and to question is appropriate—unless we somehow have mastered skinny with curves and flawless skin. I haven’t.

I’ll never forget the Halloween a few years back when my drop-dead gorgeous friend turned to me and said, “T, tonight is the first time I feel pretty. I haven’t felt like this in years.” My jaw hit the floor. I couldn’t believe she would doubt her looks when for years I’d watch guys fight over her and comment on her natural beauty. But how many people question their looks? Stare at themselves in the mirror and pick apart their flaws, put everything they have into diets and fitness and makeup and clothes to change their appearance? I don’t want my daughter to dress for anyone but herself.

I want her to shatter glass ceilings, as either a plain Jane or with purple streaks in her hair and a tattoo sleeve on her arm or in high heels and pearls or as anyone in between. I want her to know there’s more to her than looks. I want her to be able to look at herself and not only accept her but be happy, too.

I want her to shine. She lights up my world, why shouldn’t she light up her own?

And I want the same for you.