Category Archives: confession

Feb13

Put down the scissors, girl.

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image1 When I first saw this photo, I was physically pained. I’m talking gut clenching, throat constricting, breath catching, eyes burning because I might cry type pain. And every time I look at this photo I have that same reaction. The harsh reality is there are girls who want to do this. There are women who are so into health and fitness because of body image that it impacts their daughters and women around them negatively. There are women who are so depressed with how they look that they let it define their happiness. They base how they feel on how they look instead of how they look on how they feel. Even when they’re doing something about it, they let that inner mean girl just bash every tiny roll or skin imperfection.

It’s difficult to witness.

I’m terrified for my daughter.

I struggle with self-acceptance. As much as I preach about it, I struggle sometimes, too. I have a difficult time taking compliments from people and I hate to admit it’s because of relationships. Our relationships largely define our mindset. They define how we speak to ourselves. The number of times I’ve been cheated on and played, it’s taken a hit on how open I am to dating. I don’t see how the next guy can see something attractive in me that previous guys couldn’t find good enough to stick around.

And it’s created an intense pickiness where I find very few men interest me enough to date.

How we let others treat us mimics how we treat ourselves. I no longer will let a man make me feel insignificant, small, unworthy, boring, incapable, or invisible. I no longer will allow a man to define his interest in me based solely on my body.

This goes beyond just dating, though. Family, friendships, and work place relationships all define how we see and speak to ourselves.

I still can’t get over how a guy I dated long-term never once complimented my worth (without someone telling him to) until I dropped from a size 5 to a size 0, and over 20lbs. Y’all, a size 5, 140lbs. at 5’5” isn’t that big when it’s mostly muscle and ass. I became bone thin. Was the guy waiting for me to cut off my fat?

I was now skinny fat and couldn’t take a compliment to save my life. The term “skinny” had such a rotten taste in my mouth—still does, some days. And his compliment: “You’re the hottest chick here. Don’t break up with me because every girl who does gets fat.” This is why when the only compliment a guy can give me is on my looks, I don’t stick around.

Health is rolls and health is bone. More importantly, health is how you fuel your body with food and activity. Health is how you speak to yourself.

I like people who want to bring me up because I like bringing others up. I want my daughter to be surrounded by people who bring her up. I want people who are in our corner cheering for us.

Behind this girl is a voice that says, “you’re not good enough,” that’s drowning out the voice that’s yelling, “Damnit you are MORE than enough.”

But I’ll fucking shout it: YOU ARE MORE THAN ENOUGH.

Nov25

Gaining Pieces.

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I don’t know how to date anymore. I don’t know how to open myself up to someone. More accurately, I don’t know how to let someone in.

I lost pieces of me, each guy taking a small enough piece of me for me to never notice until the other night when I was on a date and I realized I don’t know how to do this.

The reality: I don’t know if I want to date.

Confidence: that was the last piece taken from me. What can this guy possibly see in me to make him choose me.

I don’t easily lack confidence. I know who I am, I like my body, I’m happy with my health, I know I’m good at my job, I know I’m a great mother, I’m comfortable with who I am. I can look at the woman in the mirror and applaud her instead of pick her apart. I am confident with who I am.

I am not confident when it comes to guys wanting me or feeling like I’m enough for someone.

I get asked out a lot and I don’t say yes to many guys. Most guys I turn down will ask me, “Why not just give me one chance? I could turn out to be the one who makes you happy.” They seem to think they can like me enough to make me like them, they can persuade me into liking them. I don’t want someone to have to talk me into liking them, it doesn’t feel genuine and I highly suspect it will lead to doubt and insecurity on their end later on in the relationship. Many guys accuse me of being shallow, that it’s all about looks as to why I’m turning them down. It has nothing to do with body or status.

It’s this magnetism. I hate admitting it’s the knowledge that I’d feel no different if they had never come around. I don’t get excited to tell them big news, I don’t wonder how their day went, I don’t ask them if they want to hang out. That lack of enthusiasm is why I say no.

I remember before Evelynn came along being asked why I could simply forget guys so easily after they betrayed or lied to me; and to me, it was because it was that simple: if they didn’t want me, I didn’t want them. If they couldn’t respect me, I didn’t want them. If I wasn’t enough to be the only girl they saw, I didn’t want them. There was no room for “buts” in there. The philosophy still applied even after Evelynn.

Then I met a guy when I didn’t care, when my guard was down, and I let him just walk right into my life with no reservations. I didn’t plan for him to stick around. He wasn’t meant to be anyone other than just a one-night stand. The rules were simple. I didn’t care what I told him or what he thought of me. I didn’t care if he saw the real me and rejected me because I wasn’t planning on him staying around.

He had other ideas.

& I let him talk me into more than just one-night expectations. I let him talk me into seeing him again.

We didn’t see each other again. He met someone else soon after and it turned out him getting me to want him was just a game to him. All the talking and texting and planning after was just to feed his ego. At the time he had told me he met someone randomly, immediately after me, and they just clicked like nothing else. It wasn’t until recently that I found out it was also all just a game to him. That’s what he said at least.

I know what you’re thinking: stupid, stupid girl. He was kryptonite, though. Where everything you find attractive is in one person and you’re just like damn. Which is why it was to be just one night, I knew I could fall hard and fast…and we’ve already discussed in previous blogs, I’m not one to fall, especially not fast. I never have. And I wasn’t ready to let someone invade my life just yet after I was still dealing with a toddler hung up on the last guy I had seen. I already had hang-ups about dating.

And before you go getting all high and mighty on me for having a one night as a single mom. Well, I’m a single mom. I’m pretty sure I somehow made the first move on him (apparently my “tinder eyes” do work). And this isn’t a common occurrence. However, sometimes, just sometimes, you need to do things for you and that day I decided to live in the moment and fuck the future—no pun intended.

I had no intention of having anything with him but he pursued and I gave in. I can’t get over that. How I could get it so wrong—fucking kryptonite. It’s a mindfuck when people purposefully fuck with your emotions like that, though. That’s where the pain and second-guessing came in. & this wasn’t the first time I had it wrong. This was just months after I had it wrong and that first time, Evelynn was caught in the crossfire.

In early September, Evelynn and I did a weekend road trip out to Lake Michigan—we hadn’t been to the beach yet over the summer—and we saw a couple friends on our way back through Grand Rapids…and we ran into the guy she still sometimes asks about. He didn’t acknowledge her, and what little respect I had left for him disappeared. Her demeanor fell. She was tired, hungry, but her shoulders and face fell. It was like a cloud completely washed over her. She looked down and got busy with a napkin and never looked up. He never said hi to her; this little girl who would beg to go to his house or didn’t want to leave after weekends spent there just less than a year before.

I didn’t think my heart could break more watching her.

Until we left to drive home.

I heard crying in the back seat, then, “Augie no like me. Augie no say hi to me.” She cried herself to sleep. Luckily, in less than five minutes but I couldn’t believe it. All hope of that cloud in the restaurant just being her overtired from the long weekend: shot. All hope that she didn’t really remember him because she was only 3 at the time: gone. All hope that whenever she had asked to go to “Augie’s house” or to see him again that she didn’t know who she was really talking about and just throwing a random name out there because she was only 3 at the time: dead. She remembered exactly who he was.

I came home lost to the dating scene. I had no interest in bringing a guy around Evelynn. I had no interest in bringing a single father and his daughter around Evelynn.

I had no interest.

I stopped trying. I stayed off dating sites. I ignored guys when they asked or it was always a no. Until a few weeks ago when I said yes to a guy, a really great guy with attractive qualities, and I couldn’t stop thinking about just how fucked up dating is in 2018. Or maybe it’s just me. I couldn’t stop wondering how much was an act, how much was genuine, how much interest did he really have?

Pathetic. I have a hard time jumping on the bandwagon of making guys prove just how much they want or like me before I show them any interest—that’s been the advice I’ve been given over the last couple years. Feels like a game to me then. I hate the whole “hard to get” attitudes. I’m not a fucking mouse for you to chase. You’re either in or you’re out. You either like me or you don’t. Magnetism. Mutual magnetism.

Lucky for me I’m still that bounce back queen. I know exactly who I am. It’s been a month—I’m over the pessimism. I won’t lie, that feeling I had that one day: hell yeah I’m going to chase it. That feeling of just giving into someone and letting go because you’re attracted to them, life is short, and fuck the overthinking mind. That used to be my approach before Evelynn came along, used to be why I was asked how I could so easily move on once being into someone. I knew a better feeling would be out there. I wasn’t going to dwell on the hurt.

The way I see it, take all the pieces—with each piece I gain something within myself: resilience, strength, determination, self-respect. And if you think I gave each piece freely, well, takes two to date. Take all the pieces. I might be someone who can’t get out of her heard but I’ll choose magnetism. What’s dating without raw attraction unforced? An arrangement. No thanks. Take all the pieces.

As for that confidence? She back.

Next.

Nov1

No thanks money bags.

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There is nobody who runs faster from a man with money than me. To most girls, a guy who has a sizeable bank account is a plus…or maybe the reason she chooses him. Most fathers want to know their daughters are secure financially and would love for her to date a man with money, albeit a respectful man. Then there’s me. I don’t do guys with money. Nobody swipes left faster on a guy who dresses, acts, or claims to have money than I do. I bolt faster than Usain. Money doesn’t always mean responsible. To me, a man with money equals manipulation, condescension, and disrespect.

I can’t do money, i don’t do professional athletes (retired or not), I can’t do single fathers, I can’t do bums. But only one of those do I find an acceptable excuse to immediately write off a guy. No, I’m not happy that I immediately have reserves about the other two—I don’t like to make a habit of judging, conscious of it or not.

Sometime in the spring of 2017 I went out with a guy who had money. And he never forgot to remind me. He drove from Flint to Chelsea during rush hour—and he didn’t let me forget that either, that’s strike one—to take me out to dinner. He had me download a song that “just spoke to him”: Kane Brown’s Better Place. Said it’s what he wanted to give a girl. Throughout dinner we discussed goals, where we wanted to live one day. And he flat out said: “I’m number two in the world for sales, I’m not fucking moving. You’re going to have to live with being Betty Crocker because I’m not leaving my work unless someone guarantees to match what I’m making and what I’m making is too good for anyone to match. Grand Rapids is out.” First date. First fucking date and this mofo is already telling me where I’m moving to and that I’ll be quitting my job because there’s no way I can make more than him and he wants the wife home with the kids–oh yes, that was said, too.

I couldn’t leave that date fast enough. I had no idea he had money, though a very large part of me believes he was overexaggerating, and I quickly got petty to make it go downhill and for him to be done.

And do I mean petty.

He had a beer gut. He had commented about how he is on some plan to lose weight, who he used to be in college, how a desk job has just given him a belly. I love fitness and health, I’ll talk about it all day, but he disagreed—according to him I knew very little about fitness and lifting (I had difficulty gaining weight then still and was 5’5” weighing 120lbs. and that alone was his argument). I started asking if he really wanted that dessert. Did he really think it was a good idea for his future wife and future health for him to stay “behind a desk” at a sales role? When he mentioned he could run faster than me: “Oh? You can do 120 yards in less than 10 seconds 10 times in a row with only a 60 second break in between, and a mile in less than six minutes?” and I looked him up and down as I said it. He turned red. Oh yeah, I got petty af.

And I’m not proud of it. I’ve never been one to judge someone so blatantly on looks or weight—I don’t even notice weight with people unless they show a change in weight.

PS I’m fast and competitive, don’t tell me I’m not unless you feel like knocking heads with a bull.

One thing to piss me off more than anything with any guy is to attach a monetary value to goals and success and how decisions in a relationship will be made. I may never make as much as him, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have a say in my lifestyle. And he’s sure as hell not going to tell me how to raise my kid whom he’s never met yet.

Don’t preach how you want to give me a picket white fence or city lights, whichever I want, if your job and ego are really making the decision. I’m out.

And it was the FIRST FUCKING DATE. Did I mention that? Way too soon to be talking. Yikes.

Yet, this wasn’t the first incident or the first guy to turn me away from money.

I’ll never forget when I passed the test. I was dating a guy who was a firm believer in not going dutch—he paid, every time, and I was not to argue about it. I’m fairly neutral about this. I am always willing to pay and I make it known but it doesn’t bother me who pays until it’s something expensive. Like a road trip, sports game, concert, hotel, and bar hopping all within 24 hours. This time I didn’t just offer a couple times, I put my foot down. His response: “Good. You passed the test.” What? He was happy to find out I wasn’t with him for money. Let’s be clear, he had a stable income and made more than me—wasn’t hard, I was a full-time server with a 22-credit college load—but he was by no means wealthy. Our relationship didn’t last long after that weekend.

He may have been able to trust me but I lost trust in him.

Rule of thumb: I don’t want to know you have money until we’re months in, when we both know it’s not about the money.

Money is not a conversation I care to discuss.

I won’t even ever choose to have a first date in a nice restaurant.

I won’t get in a car with a guy who drives a very nice car as a means to show off his finances.

I don’t accept flowers from guys who buy them out of ease and regularity because he was getting them for his mother so why not get them for his girl, too. Stop. Don’t. I’d rather no gift at all.

Let me know you want to know me. Don’t bribe me and treat me like another accessory to your perfect white picket fence life. If I’m so replaceable for you to buy the next girl, I’d rather you not even look my way.

It’s crazy to me how folks are so surprised to learn that I love camping and the outdoors because they’ve somehow pegged me as this luxury gal…until they know me. I don’t need money, I’m more interested in connecting with a guy. Money might bring security but it’s never been my language.  I want to know that if the money were to all disappear, the guy would still stick around and be interested. I want to know he’s not trying to dress me with his money as just another means to impress others. I want to know his money isn’t how he identifies himself. It’s sure as hell not how I identify myself.

Besides, I’m a girl who has a borderline phobia to commitment. Any commitment. The only commitment I’ve ever been able to make is to motherhood. I’m not about to commit myself to green dyed paper.

Aug11

The Ambitious Factor.

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It is so terribly hard to be single in a society that wants you to be with someone, especially as a single mom. Everyone wants me to end up with someone. Everyone wants me to have a guy to “take care” of me and my daughter. Everyone wants me to have someone to share my life with and build a life with. The truth: yes, I would love that too, but not so bad that I’m willing to settle for it.

My boss and I at least once a month seem to catch up on my dating life. He likes to make sure I keep a stable head and not jumping into relationships with guys who aren’t worth my time. These chats typically happen after he’s been gone a week on a golf trip or after I blog and he’s like “What the fuck, Tiffany? What were you thinking talking to that guy?” I know, folks think it’s weird my boss and I can have such conversations openly and candidly but honestly, I need that dose of reality and from someone I respect. It’s a nice change from everyone else trying to set me up with guys that I’m not at all interested in. Which leads me to my latest dating tip from my boss because he actually nailed the one thing that’s holding me back from dating a lot of guys: ambition.

There are a few traits that I often find attractive in guys that are a total weakness to me: trimmed beards, athletic, willingness to help others, outgoing, respectful, great with kids, drives a truck, tattoos, not a scrub, enjoys the country, blah blah blah. But until that conversation, I didn’t even know why I had this feeling in my bones that kept holding me back from giving guys a try the last few months.

Very rarely do I meet men who are as ambitious as me (I know, my ego is unreal). It seems people are so easily okay with just settling in life and I’m not. People so badly want a 9-5 job and leave it at that. I don’t. I’ve never worked just 40 hours a week in my life, I think. And I can never just “leave my work” at the office. I get bored. I get antsy. My mind is always going. I need to work 50 hours at the minimum to even remotely feel like I’m going somewhere with my career…and that’s the kicker, I always want to be going somewhere. I’m not thrilled with the idea of dating a guy who doesn’t have goals outside of fitness and travel. “Travel the world” doesn’t mean a lot to me unless there’s a reason behind it—write a book, learn and embrace new culture, participating in charity. And when it comes to fitness….I can’t really get behind the “I just want to be bigger” mentality.

Give me a guy who wants to do something with his life.

I also can’t get behind the whole Netflix marathon shit and sleeping the weekend away. I dated a guy last fall where Saturdays were spent in bed—get your mind out of the gutter, he slept the day away typically and I either worked or read or left for a few to just get out. Being stagnant isn’t something I’m good at. I don’t have it in me. I don’t mind a Netflix marathon for a night or a day but not every weekend. Most nights I don’t get to bed until after 11pm and I’m up by 5am the next day—that’s being conservative, too—and then I’m go go go all day. Weekends might be a tad slower but I’m always making moves. I have no plans to slow down, I want someone to move with me….and not have to hold their hand.

And here we have the first lie of the bunch: ambitious people who don’t make moves. Talk about an oxymoron. Folks who have these goals and talk about going places and where they want to be but don’t take action. I’m a firm believer in will power and mind over matter. You just get up and do. You can talk all day about your goals and how you’re going to get there but until you work for them, you’re not going anywhere.

How do I find motivation? I force myself. “No” isn’t an option. Not succeeding isn’t an option. Not getting shit done, isn’t an option. I don’t want to hear about how you’re going to be a sales leader or own your own company one day but then constantly complain about working or turning down opportunities left and right to actually go somewhere. Please keep the negativity and laziness outside of my bubble.

Mostly, I’m waiting for the guy who wants to motivate me. Support is one thing, respect is another thing, but motivating goes a long way. It’s empowering. Help me get up at 5am so I can workout before work. I don’t want the guy who wants me to come back to bed or wants me to come out to the bar every night. Push me to be better. Call me out on shit that isn’t benefiting me. Hell, a guy who calls himself out on shit, that’s hot.

Have high standards.

I’ve been called shallow because I won’t date guys who don’t care about their health. High standards, health is important to me. I’m big into fitness and eating healthy and having a positive mind because I want to be around for a while for my kid. I show up.

I show up everyday for myself and for my kid. Everyday. Whether she’s with me or not. No matter how tired I am I get up out of bed. No matter how late it is I will get my workout in before the day is over. I will squeeze in the run to the grocery store so Evelynn has her berries and cheese and peanut butter, even if it means carrying her with one arm throughout the store as she naps. At times, I run myself thin to get shit done but I don’t regret it. I haven’t yet because I know one day it will all pay off.

I told myself I was going to be strong and lead by example. I told myself I was going to be selfish with my life and time because if Evelynn ever grew up and found herself in my situation, a single mom, I want her to do the same. I don’t want her to give up on her goals. I don’t want her to get lost on the couch and give up because life got hard and it can be lonely. Hell no. I would want her to chase her dreams and go after life. I would want her to have goals. I would never want her to settle for a man because society told her she needs to “end up with someone.”

I would want her to show up and be somebody, not coast through life. And I’m not willing to take time away from her or away from my goals to give guys who aren’t ambitious a try.

I think I’ll keep my high standards even if it means I’m “missing out” on love in my twenties and growing old with someone.

Apr4

Sometimes I need a break from me.

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I breathe confidence and my favorite motto is “you are enough.” People closest to me, & even those who don’t know me well but know me enough, will likely tell you I’m the girl who knows who she is & who knows her worth. I’m here to tell you it’s not always like that.

I’ve been called conceited, which is crazy to me because more often than not when I look in the mirror, I see my flaws & all my faults staring back at me. I see rejection. I see the labels & I see the negative stigmas attached to them.

I don’t always feel strong. I don’t think I’m by any means gorgeous. I don’t think I have a killer body.

& that’s okay.

Society might tell me I’m too skinny but I need abs. I need to clear up any acne. I need to smile more. I need bigger boobs. I need round hips & an ass like J.Lo’s. I need long legs but if I want to be a mermaid I can’t have a thigh gap.

Then again, society might also tell me I’m perfect. I’m strong. I can cry whenever. I should eat that pint of ice cream. I need to own this bitch face. I should wear no makeup & love my skin but I need to make sure I moisturize. Yet I rarely (I’ll be optimistic because never say never) see a well-known virtual fitness coach without makeup in workout videos or celebrities on the carpet without perfect skin.

Society wants to tell me a lot of things, whether it’s to cut me down or to build me up.

Society doesn’t know me.

I’m sick of society telling me when & how to love myself. I’m sick of society telling me it’s okay to fall apart.

That’s not okay.

When I was in college I had a really shitty soccer coach. We had over a dozen players quit after my first season. He had a glass eye and a lazy eye. He was an ass & he benched some of the best players consistently. The only language he spoke was kissing ass. It killed me to contemplate quitting soccer but my dad was the one who told me, “Tiffany, it’s clear you don’t love the game anymore & it seems to me he took that from you. I can tell you all day that I think you’re a great player. Your mom can tell you. Your past coaches can tell you. Your teammates can tell you…but at the end of the day it only matters what you think & believe. You are your last defense. You must be the one believing, or you will always question what others tell you.”

So here’s my belief.

  • Yes, I’m confident to almost the point of cocky and if that comes off as conceited because I take selfies, so be it. No, the selfies don’t mean I think I’m beautiful or want to be a model (I actually shy away from most cameras) but I’ll still take them because it’s my way of building myself up sometimes—it’s my way of saying to myself, this is how I look and that’s amazing.
  • Yes, I’m skinny but I’m also fairly fit & I can wear size zeros without listening to jokes about me throwing up—newsflash: I’ve actually never been one of the girls to do that (& stop shaming the ones who have by making jokes, talk about poor taste. Pun intended).
  • I will never have an ass like J.Lo’s, I accepted that feat a while back.
  • Do I want bigger boobs? Hell yeah! But guess what? I’m okay with having these small ones, too. I’ve lived with them this long.
  • No, I don’t have to go to the gym daily.
  • Yes, I will eat whatever I want & if that’s healthy food because I love eating healthy, that’s okay. If I crave hotdogs, I’ll pig out on some hotdogs.
  • I’m going to smile as I please & I’m going to own this resting bitch because it’s my face.
  • I’m not going to cry when I feel like it because I hate crying & for me, I do believe it’s a sign of weakness & that’s okay. Do I care if others cry? No. Cry all you want. Will I feel uncomfortable & want to run? Quite possibly. (Don’t judge me for it if I do, my apologies in advance.)
  • I don’t always love my skin & that’s okay. I’ll wear makeup when I feel like it & I’ll go makeup free when I feel like it.
  • I’ll continue to hashtag the hell out of single mom status because I’m doing it, I’m making it, & there’s comfort in knowing I’m able to. Doesn’t take away from other moms, it’s just my status & my situation. & no, it doesn’t mean I’m desperate.

There’s power in reality. There’s great vibes in knowing who you are. There’s great vibes in trying to find yourself. There’s comfort in knowing I’m human, I have flaws & I can handle not always liking what I see.

There’s power in doing things & seeing things for me.

So fuck society. I don’t want to be perfect & I don’t always want to be me. It’s called getting better.

Sometimes I need a break from me.

Who will I wake up to be tomorrow? The girl who wants to spend a day reading with a coffee in hand or the girl pulling a 14-hour day & up at 4:34 a.m.? The girl wearing eyeliner & lipstick or the one with a fresh face & not a touch of makeup? The girl craving 3 hotdogs or drooling over a salad?

We underestimate the power of choosing & being who we want to be, not who we were made to be.

Society can tell me to be me & stay me all day. I’d much rather evolve & change as I want.

Mar28

Whiskey Please.

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It’s been three months and Evelynn still asks to see him, the last guy I dated. Last week, we had to drive 74 miles to her cardiology appointment and over half way there she starts asking if we’re going to see him. I was dumbfounded. Speechless. It had been a couple weeks since she had last asked—I thought it was over.

People always want to know what it’s like dating as a single mom. You don’t realize how heartbreaking it can be until your kid gets attached to the guy. Doesn’t matter how easy or how quickly you get over him, it’s all about the kid.

She’s never even once asked to see her father. I think that’s what makes it so much more difficult. I’ve never seen this side of her.

I’m the type who when betrayed or lied to, I very easily move on—no need pining over a guy who never respected or wanted me, and I’m not one for crying. But something happened, repeatedly dealing with Evelynn asking about seeing him, that has cut me down. It’s like the dating side of me has shut down. I can’t figure out if I’m up for it or not. I can’t figure out how to tell if a guy is being honest—I used to have pretty good judgement of character. I can’t tell if a guy wants me for my body and for me to be a placeholder until they meet someone else who doesn’t have a kid and who can make all the time in the world for them—sorry I’ve got goals to meet and am ambitious—or if they genuinely want me, “baggage”—god I hate that term—and all.

I can’t tell if it’s worth it.

When Evelynn was a baby, it was much easier to date—she didn’t ask about the guy. Now, at three years old, she takes interest and remembers the guy. And let’s be honest, I’m the type who introduces the guy fairly early—judge all you want. Why? I’d rather know how they get along early and it’s good to see how the guy handles a kid being around. She’s my world. I don’t want to date a guy for two or four months only to introduce them and suddenly he realizes that “it’s too real.” She’s my reality—I love my reality.

I finally said yes to a date last week and I couldn’t open up. I was stiff. Boring. Disconnected. I suddenly didn’t know how to date. Crazy considering this is me we’re talking about and I have a tendency to date fast and break up even quicker. I never liked my time wasted with guys I couldn’t see another date or anything past tomorrow with. I half expected the guy to cancel—wouldn’t be the first time.

I’d take getting stood up any day over Evelynn getting attached to a guy who never even wants a future. Who already has an expiration date in mind—and doesn’t share it.

Why can’t dating be like a fine wine? Where it gets better with age?

Likely because I prefer whiskey—bartender, I’ll take a double.

I’d love to double down on the dating, too, while I’m at it and shed this thick armor but let’s be real, I like my high standards. And I hate the dating apps. When did it not become normal for a girl to meet a guy in a bar or the coffee shop? And I’d much rather play it by ear, continue with the house shopping and goal digging while I sip on this whiskey.

Dec30

Bring on the Backbone.

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backbone blog2017 has been one hell of a rollercoaster year. For growth, personally and professionally, mentally and physically.

When I began the year, I was coasting primarily at about 120lbs., unable to keep my weight consistently up to a comfortable number, annoyed when people I hadn’t seen in years told me I looked great when I felt weak most days. Skinny, I can assure you, is not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m a size zero damn near a double 0. It’s a pain in the ass to find jeans or leggings that fit me, most shirts fit awkwardly, and I only buy from the junior department at Kohl’s. I can’t shop women sections anywhere—seriously, most don’t make them small enough for me. That all being said, I’m self-conscious of the slightest weight change, loss or gain. It’s one topic I despise: weight. Doesn’t matter if they’re talking about themselves, me, or someone else. I don’t mind giving healthy eating habits or exercising tips but anything beyond that I’m quickly annoyed by.

Skinny isn’t everything, it’s hardly anything. Fit not skinny is my goal and motto.

Yet, I’m constantly asking folks around me at work to lift shit or open shit for me. Let’s not talk about my stamina on the soccer field—pretty sure the asthma is back and here I thought I had outgrown it. The year started off well on working out regularly and at some point life happened and I couldn’t fit it in as well anymore.

My overall health is on the up, however. I found out I can’t have dairy, a symptom of being “diagnosed” with Celiac Disease so late in life and not going gluten free until I was 25 that lead so such an allergy. I’m sick less, fatigued less, and awake more. Not being able to work out, I focused more on my eating habits. As if my diet couldn’t become more high maintenance. I might be slightly neurotic when it comes to eating some days…or most days, whatever.

And I have to be crazy because when it comes to dating, my radar for finding great guys is impeccable…and I continue to blog about my dating life that has turned into a horror sitcom. The male species have taken everything out of me. I have let them run me down. Played for a fool a number of times. Gave a guy a second chance only to find out the reason he didn’t know what he wanted to do for New Years was because he was hoping for someone else to come along for him to spend it with. Seriously, his dating profile says, “be my new years kiss that sticks around.” Yeah, it came across my attention while I was visiting him. I was only a place holder for him—that’s a really great feeling to have. And if any of my blogs from this past year have proven anything, it’s that I’ve completely lost my backbone and self-respect.

At least when it comes to dating.

Professionally, I have a lot going for me. My boss is like the older brother I never wanted, and I work in an environment where I’m pushed to get better every day. I’ve grown a lot in my capabilities, expanded HFG on a new scale socially. All because of the support I’m provided at work, and that is a really great feeling, knowing I’m surrounded by team members who do care about the success of each other in addition to the company’s. While I’ve watched the company more than triple its size, I’ve also seen my baby (our social media) grow and expand. And yes, it’s seriously like my baby.

I have written enough poetry 2018 can be the year I seek publication. I’m not talking about in competitions or in magazines, I mean as an author of a compiled body of work. Wow. Blowing my own mind there—and you should blow your own damn mind once in a while.

My kid blows my mind every day, though. Being a mother has been the highlight that never fades, making the hard days easy. Knowing I’m a good mom is another great feeling, the fact that I can tune out any noise from anyone who thinks otherwise is assuring—I haven’t lost my self-respect there. In the last year, Evelynn has turned three, played in the ocean for the first time on her first vacation to Florida (yes, we actually took a vacation), started pre-preschool, and has come a long way in her speech. She’s advanced for fine motor and solving problems, doing puzzles. She’s also advanced in the act of being stubborn, fairly certain she might be the boss in this household.

Which brings me to 2018, the year we might move out and into our own place. Oh, you can definitely say I’m excited for next year. Bring it on.

Maybe I’ll even find that backbone.

Nov28

Raise You 74 Miles.

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When did being a single mom become a cry of desperation? It’s not.

“Single mom” has always been a label I wear with pride. Partly because some look poorly on an unwed mother, some have no hesitation to tell me my daughter should have both gender roles in her life (2017: Gay marriage: Get with the times: Argument null you close-minded bastard). Partly because it is difficult to do it on one’s own–I burn with that challenge. Call it the rebel in me flipping the bird to all the haters. #sorrynotsorry I got a fire in me that thrives on misperception.

But it has never been an invite for dick pics and sugar daddy applicants. It never ceases to amaze me the gull some boys–I use this term intentionally–have. 2017 and women are still objects, just a plaything.

And I’m so tired of being seen as just a body, a means for pleasure, a shiny trophy, a nice accessory, a pretty face to stare at. When did I become any of those?? I’ve been told I should lower my standards or expectations but I can’t.

Not when I’ve had a taste of what I want in someone.

Not when I’ve had a guy fully accept my daughter and be the kid with her to make her happy.

But maybe I should not be so willing to make an effort.

The last guy hurt me when he uttered, “I want you but I also want to see what else is out there.” He wanted me to stick around as he had the freedom to be with other girls. Newsflash: you don’t get to be part of my daughter’s life and not make me the only woman you’re with–we’re a packaged deal. Exclusivity. He also found that switch I had been looking for when he said, “If you lived out here or closer, maybe I’d have tried harder and given you what you wanted.” It took that one sentence for me to be done and move on. He also mentioned how if I ever moved out there and asked him out, of course he would say yes. I had 74 miles of drive-time left after that phone call ended to think how if a guy doesn’t want me when it’s hard, then I sure as hell don’t want him when it’s easy.

Seventy-four miles to drill that rejection into my head.

Seventy-four miles to completely let go & flip that switch to turn the feelings off.

It always seems I’m too willing but I’ve always thought life was short so why not make the change and take the risk if I’m able to. I don’t regret being the one to do so but I do regret being the only one to do so. To drive the distance, to rearrange my schedule, to change plans. I’m so tired of guys who are so unwilling to give me the same respect.

People think I’m tight-knit and private, and in some ways I am. I’m an open book if you take the time to read me–hell this blog is proof of my willingness to broadcast my insanity, it seems. I’ll answer any question–I’ve been known for being the “realist bitch around”–and I’ll lay my feelings out there one last time, a take it or leave it ordeal.

I refuse to let them win, let them change that part of me.

I never intended to wear the “single mom” label long term but I’ll be damned if I lower my standards simply to meet a man.

Maybe I’ll simply raise them, instead.

“Darling, you are much too whole to be loved in halves.” — Pavana

Oct10

Portland Here I Come.

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I don’t know how to halfass anything. I’m known for being laid back & nonchalant but I’m also an all-in or forget it kinda girl.

Work. School. Dating. Parenting. Health.

I’m either jumping head first & drowning in the commitment or it’s not registering on my radar. I hold on for the long haul. On the rare occasion I decide to quit, I’m a bit dramatic: going all in with the sudden cold turkey, no looking back method.

Why? It works.

All three times I dropped out of college were snap decisions. (Don’t worry, I do have my degree.) It was like waking up to a blinking neon sign & that was all the clarity I needed. Forget the $20K in extra student loans I may have racked up in the process—regrets aren’t in my nature.

Quit gluten to test Celiac disease? No problem. Absolutely did not think that one through. I could have used a week to pig out on cheap greasy pizza & cinnamon twist donuts (not the rolls, come on). Okay, so I might regret that gung-ho approach some days.

Broke up with the baby daddy on a New Year’s Eve because I had to start the new year off right and I couldn’t be bothered to be with someone another second when I wasn’t into him. Not the most sensitive or considerate way I could have done it, maybe.

Wasn’t kidding about the dramatics.

Found out I was pregnant & “other options” didn’t mean jack to me. EJ may have been a complete shock & unplanned but an abortion never entered my mind. That second line appeared and I balled the Grand Rapids Grand River into flood zone—I was going to be a mom. A 180 would take place with my life & that excited me—committing wholeheartedly to the unknown.

Dating is the hardball of the group, though. I’ve never understood the dating multiple people at once unless it’s just in fun. I’ve always believed that if you meet someone worth your time, you don’t fuck it up. You don’t chase other guys. You don’t look for attention elsewhere. You don’t waste time & dates with guys you’re not really interested in. But maybe that’s because I value my time & hate wasting it. At the same time, I’ve always thought that if you aren’t willing to give up “the others” for someone, that person isn’t enough for you. It won’t last. If you have to think about your feelings—convince yourself—there’s a 99.8% chance he’s not going to last and keep your attention after another few months.

It’s your subconscious telling you you’re already bored.

I’ve always thought hesitation speaks volumes. You can find more truth in the silence.

& there’s a lot of hesitation when dating a single mom. You can imagine how I handle that.

Yet I committed wholeheartedly to accepting dating as a single mom would be no paradise and would rain hesitation. I should move to Portland.

Aug7

Watch Me: A Rant.

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Dating is one big game of hypocrisy and don’t let anyone tell you different. I’d love to say the games are done but I’m notoriously played and I’m a hypocrite to whine about anything if I also turn down guys—I do. Knowing this hasn’t stopped me from wondering why I’m hard to love, if I’m legitimately crazy (these blogs prove I am), and knocked down my self-esteem.

I’ve always been the one who didn’t care about my body, didn’t give guys more than one chance—I’m not a fan of apologies to the point where I don’t believe in “I’m sorrys”—and never questioned my worth. Somehow that’s changed. And that’s hard to admit.

In the last year or so, I’ve questioned everything: career, dating, self-worth, independence, strength, body, health, happiness, location.

The only thing I haven’t questioned: motherhood. And it’s so devastating to me to know the one thing that brings me the most happiness, the one thing that grounds me, is also the one thing that turns many guys away. In the last two weeks, I have been asked multiple times, “How hard is it do date with a kid?”

It’s not easy.

There’s three turnouts:

  • Guy stands me up right before the first date because he can’t handle the idea of a kid involved.
  • Guy bails because he met a girl “who doesn’t have a kid.”
  • Guy bails because he’s scared of losing both me and my daughter in the breakup—remind me again why you’re thinking of a breakup already? Talk about Doomsville.

Oh wait, but there’s a fourth: I have high standards (aka shallow as all hell) and don’t waste time “playing the field” to get to know guys I’m not attracted to. As in, I cut the cord.

Dating with a kid is something of an entirely different ballpark. I’m a hypocrite because single dads turn me off—I question how honest they are about the relationship with the mom. Often times, it eventually comes out the guy complains about not having their kid enough but then turnaround and complain about not doing anything when he has their kid. No thanks.

This weekend I went to a wedding out in Grand Rapids, the city I need to call home again one day. Every time I hit the city limits, my heart clenches—it’s where Evelynn and I belong—but that’s a story for another time. Two things happened: I got hit on because I have the absolute cutest/beautiful/adorable kid—yes, I was shocked too—and the guy wanted me to know that—yes, I’m aware I make cute babies—and I felt really good about myself for the first time in a long time. I’m not a fan of getting dressed up—I like knowing I feel comfortable and good in my own, natural skin when I’m dressed down but that hasn’t been reality lately. But there was something about being in Grand Rapids, my kid having an absolute blast and soaking up the attention, and being with my two best friends and great people that had all the bullshit melting away. It’s amazing what a simple change of location did to me. And I want more of it.

I’m often told I’m too tiny, I’ve heard the cracks about having eating disorders or how I’m like a twig. It’s amazing to me how people think it’s entirely okay to make these comments but turn around and tell me I’m not allowed to talk about how I want to hit the gym more or how I need to work more on my health. I’m not complaining about being fat—I don’t think I am—and I’m not allowed to admit that or comment on it—that would be conceited—but others are allowed to comment on my body. I’m not allowed to feel self-conscious in a bathing suit even if it’s not a weight issue. It’s one of my biggest pet peeves: I can’t comment on how I want to be stronger and fitter without being told to stop talking. I can’t even say that I like my body which I would consider a triumph after questioning my body over the last few years. I’m skinny (derogatory term!) and I’ve let people chip away at my armor, making me wonder about my body image and not liking how I look. Well fuck that.

I’ve also had numerous guys want me only for my body. And that is where the real self-worth and body perception issues lie. No girl wants to be treated or thought of as a toy. It amazes me how guys can call a girl a prude or a tease simply because we won’t send them nudes or sexual photos. Or we won’t bang them on cue. WHAT?! News flash: no girl owes you anything.

But I owe it to myself to wake the fuck up. I owe it to Evelynn to set a better example. Evelynn might be what grounds me but I lay the platform for how she sees the world, how she views herself. So goodbye chips. Goodbye low self-esteem. Goodbye judgments. Goodbye assholes. Hello Grand Rapids? A girl can dream but I’d rather make it happen. Watch me.