Category Archives: love

Mar11

Loving me and singlehood.

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Loving me, myself, is enough for me right now.

Sometimes I want to scream I CHOOSE TO BE SINGLE.

Our societal views on single vs. relationships is fucked up.

Being single does not mean I have to date. Someone thinking I’m pretty does not mandate me to have to be in a relationship with someone. My single status does not mean I have to say yes to guys when they ask me out. Having a profile on a dating app does not mean that I have to say yes to any date, respond to any message, or even be active on the app. It means I have it there as an option for the very rare slow moments in my life that I might want to see if anyone interests me to engage in some conversation or maybe even give up my favored single crown. Slim chance, though.

I am so sick of defending my time spent to my career and my kid instead of paying attention to and responding to messages from guys.

Speaking of valued time, scheduling a showing or listing appointment with me simply to meet me because I don’t have time to date is not a smart move. It’s the fastest way to turn me off. It’s a complete disrespect of my time, and my freedom as to how I spend my time.

It takes two to make any relationship work. Simply because someone wants me bad enough does not mean that I owe them a chance. Honestly, why would you want to have to talk someone into dating you? They should simply want to be with you. If they’re not, they’re not the person for you. If you have to talk someone into dating you, are you really going to feel good and secure about being in that relationship?

Wanting me does not mean you get to have me. It is not that easy.

And when the hell did being single translate to not being able to get a guy? I love the comments of “how the hell are you single?” people will make to single folks. Well, sir, ma’am, we single folks choose to be single.

How about being single means I am actively choosing, in this moment in my life, being single is the best decision for me. That being single is what I want to be.

How about…

  • I choose to dedicate my time to my career.
  • I choose to dedicate my time to my daughter.
  • I choose to dedicate my time to my commitments.
  • I choose to dedicate my time to rediscovering my friendships.
  • I choose to dedicate my time to ME.

And how about I refuse to enter into another relationship that is anything less than I deserve.

Every time a guy comes after me and solely focuses on my looks or body, I’m sorry but it further pushes me into enjoying being single. I don’t want to settle. I want to be appreciated.

Quite frankly, I really appreciate me single and finally learning to set boundaries.

I don’t want to be tied down to someone right now. I don’t want to deal with their expectations of me making time for them. I don’t want to defend myself when I choose my career over date night. I definitely don’t want to repeat myself when I can’t make time due to having 100% custody of my daughter and choosing to spend my free time with her. I’ve been struggling to make time for friends, I’m not trying to date.

I want my freedom.

I want to be single.

How about I’m good enough for me, just me, more than enough, and that makes me incredibly happy right now.

Feb4

Jake, we love you; a child’s perspective on death.

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Jake, we love you; a child’s perspective on death.

Children astound me. This girl amazes me. Everyday.

This morning before school we FaceTimed Big Jake, my brother Travis’ dog. Jake is only about 6 months older than Evelynn. When we lived with my parents and on the east side, she spent a lot of time with him. Travis is putting Jake down today because of how unwell he’s doing. We’ve known this day would come for a while now and it’s finally hit a point where Travis can’t put it off any longer.

Death is a difficult subject to handle and kids can simultaneously amplify the difficulty & break it down into such simple terms. We always tell Evelynn the dead remain within us if we allow them to; are no longer suffering. Sometimes, she will feel the need to want to visit a gravesite to say hi, needing something tangible. She didn’t quite understand an idea that someone was simply gone, she needed an idea that they still exist around us and so I’ve allowed her to create and expand her own view on death and after. 

She has a picture of her great grandmother Goetz & I’ll catch her in her room having a full-blown conversation with great grandma Goetz. Telling her what’s going in her life or that she misses her but is thankful she’s “still here with us.” She has a toy dog that barks when there’s movement nearby and sometimes, we will hear it randomly bark—she’s convinced it’s because of ghosts, specifically her great grandma Goetz. She calls it her proof.

My views with religion and God are tumultuous. You don’t grow up with a brother like Taylor, watching him suffer and smile and not be confused about a greater power. And yet, over the years, my views have simplified. Took me 25 years to grapple with my religious views, but I finally understood them.

Evelynn is 7 and seems to already know where she stands regarding an afterlife. She calls it a new “city.” So, this morning, she told Jake she loves him, goodbye, she will miss him, and that she hopes (no, she knows) he will enjoy his new city and she will see him again one day. 

Jake is an amazing dog. Always very protective of Evelynn while everyone else could basically handle things themselves. When another dog would run at Evelynn to knock her over when she was only 2 years old, Jake would body slam that dog like NOT TODAY SATAN. When Evelynn wanted to visit the llamas on the edge of my parents’ property, Jake would stand guard, barking and making sure she didn’t get too close; he didn’t like them hissing. Jake always allowed Evelynn to treat him like a jungle gym or her personal chair, his patience with her was mind blowing.

So Jake, we love you, goodbye, we will miss you, we hope you enjoy your next city. 

Feb2

I don’t mind dancing alone.

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I don’t mind dancing alone.

One of the best compliments I’ve ever been given was, “She’s not a woman who needs a man or who is scared to be on her own, that’s a woman who is independent and completely secure on her own.”

They’re not wrong.

I do date. I will relentlessly put myself out there, as my dating history has shown over the years, but I ultimately choose who I want to be with. I have no qualms about turning someone down. I will not force feelings. Sometimes, I’ve gotten it wrong and allowed a man to tear me down but in the end, I always get up. I always leave what’s no longer worth my time (& time is my most valued currency). I always realize my worth. I always choose to walk alone instead of being treated like a last thought.

And I don’t just walk, I freaking dance.

I’m a firm believer that you can simultaneously choose to be with someone and make them a priority if you want to. Hell, I’ve turned guys down simply because my busy lifestyle in certain stages won’t allow me to make a relationship a priority. 

Reality is everyone is an option, they should be. You should not need someone in your life to determine your happiness, worth, or outlook on the world. The best thing is knowing someone doesn’t need you but they want you. They wake up choosing you. Above everyone else, they’re not only choosing you but they’re not even trying to look for someone else. They have to earn to be in your life just as you earn to be in theirs. It’s a partnership—it takes two to tango, one can’t do it all.

My last three relationships I jumped into. I let the man decide the pace of the song & the status of our relationship. When they wanted to be exclusive, we were. When they got distant and didn’t communicate, I allowed them to act like I was hardly a back of mind thought. I allowed them make me question my worth for a period of time.

I’m not proud of any of this.

And yet, I always find my independence again. At the close of each relationship, I’m reminded what I compromised. I find myself again and it’s my favorite thing about a breakup.

I love the freedom of dancing alone, selecting my own song to groove to.

I also love the freedom of whom I choose to dance with; when we create a peaceful symphony of harmonies & melodies.

Key word: freedom.

Sep13

Breaking free.

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There’s something about breakups that make me come out on the other side stronger and more in love with me and everything I still have in life. Even when it feels like things might be falling apart, or that I might be meant for singledom. When things fall apart, I learn just how many people I have in my corner; even when it feels like I’ve grown incredibly distant with everyone because I’m an introvert used to being alone.

They show up for me and it feels good.

This isn’t easy. I’m struggling. I’m hurt. I’m lost. I’m heartbroken. We’re still living together. We still sleep in the same bed at night. It’s incredibly difficult to walk through a house with someone who I firmly believed the best in him only for him to break up with me because he believed the worst in me. He held his ex and all her faults over my head as if I was her and it’s difficult to grapple with his reasonings when at the core of our breakup is not our relationship, it’s his schedule and his inability to communicate and love.

I can’t read minds. And I shouldn’t be faulted for such.

I dated a runner, though. What could I expect? I dated a man who has never been chosen and will only love his dogs. He loves the idea of love but I can’t say if he ever loved me. It sure doesn’t feel like it. You don’t give up on the people you love simply because something got difficult, or someone got busy.

I prosper with breakups. I suck at dating and finding good, mature men, but I prosper with breakups and excel at finding me.

And understanding what I deserve.

I deserve more than someone who will walk two feet ahead of me when going on a date and will let the door slam on me instead of waiting or holding it open.

I deserve someone who is willing to have the patience to win my kid over and work through issues, who understands she’s seven—and that by saying such is not an excuse, it’s cause to teach her and show her acceptance.

I deserve more than someone who will snuggle and love on all three dogs and then only give me a quick quiet shout before walking out the door or ignore me completely.

I deserve more than someone who believes that because I’m not his mother nor the mother of his child, he doesn’t have to recognize or celebrate Mother’s Day for or with me. I should not have to explain to someone that loving me is accepting that I’m a mom and therefor celebrating that with me, especially when Mother’s Day is one of my favorite holidays—highlighting all the accomplishments I’ve done to get where I am, everything I’ve overcome as a full time single mom.

I deserve more than having to pick up and pay for my own birthday dinner for the entire family.

I deserve more than just a “how much money will you make off that?” while still glancing at his phone when I announced I just released and published my first book of poetry, a longstanding childhood dream of mine that finally came through. I also deserve someone who will take enough interest to see what the book looks like and will at the minimum flip through its pages.

I deserve someone who will follow through with wanting to celebrate my first real estate sale rather than just chalking it up to his dad “doing me a favor” (I sold his grandma’s house).

I deserve someone who wants to show up to events and parties with me that we’re invited to and tries to recognize each other’s schedule instead of one reigning priority.

I deserve someone who will communicate with me when he’s going to be three hours late to our plans because he stayed longer with friends than he had initially said he would—and understands the difference between this being respectful of my time and not me being controlling. I should not have to explain this to someone.

I deserve someone who will not neglect my daughter’s birthday.

I deserve someone who will not tell my daughter to lie to me or keep something from me.

I deserve someone who will console me or talk to me when he makes me cry, not ignore me or intentionally hurt me more.

I deserve someone who will not attempt to belittle me in order to feel superior—this is a partnership, after all.

I deserve more than someone whose go to defense mechanism when Evelynn acts up is that he is not his father and she is not his responsibility, especially when I have never said anything remotely similar about his own son. And he should not be telling this to her with anger in his tone.

I deserve someone who wants to show me off and take me out and will speak highly of me.

I deserve someone who will believe in the best of me, be honest with me, love me, and respect me.

We met during covid, when things were relatively easy and we didn’t have jobs to show up to and we could be present for each other so easily. We could skip off to the beach, deliver GrubHub and DoorDash together, talk endlessly about life and philosophies and beliefs and our past. It is so incredibly hard reconciling this man; who I know he can be with who he ended up being. Why do I still believe the best in him? Why did I let all those things I didn’t deserve slide?

He taught Evelynn how to ride a bike. He taught her how to use her fingers and nose to do math. He taught her the alphabet in a manner where she could remember it. He was around when her own father only showed up five times in a year for her. He prioritized showing up for her school conference over coaching cheer. He would help her build a sandcastle and play in the water with her, two things I’m just not great at doing, whenever we went to the beach. He would lay in her dirty pool with her just because she asked and didn’t want to be alone. When she started calling him daddy in public, he took it in stride and just let her do her thing, what she wanted and needed. When she later was insistent that he was NOT her dad whenever she was asked, he accepted it even though it bothered him, her aggressiveness in stating that he wasn’t.

I’m not easy to date me. The whole 100% custody thing is difficult to get around. I’m a packaged deal, there’s no way around it. There is no break from parenting in my world. Andy took it all on. When Evelynn’s dad scolded her for calling Andy “daddy” and spoke negatively of Andy and his family to her, it created a major riff and thus began the spiral of Evelynn acting out against Andy. Her father was jealous and began ruining her relationship with the only man that had stuck around and took on the fatherhood role of showing up for her, asking her about her day, encouraging her with her education, not allowing her fear to get in her way of achievements.

Andy helped her break through so many barriers.

I hate her dad and hate is not a word I allow to be said in this house. It’s not something I allow in Evelynn’s vocabulary. Yet, I have spent too much energy wishing he would just disappear. What father does that to his daughter? Discourages a healthy relationship. I would have hoped that a man willing to step up and be there for her would have been an amazing thing to embrace and be comforted by.

Jealousy really is an ugly green monster.

Not to mention her own dad forgot her birthday. I can’t be shocked, he only saw her five times last year and has a history of cancelling, hence why we’re down to only every other month of supervised visits. He’s lied about being sick so many times I blocked him on social media—I was completely over the blatant truth of him instead being too hungover or wanting to hit the golf course because he didn’t prioritize seeing his daughter.

Andy, despite his conditioning to hold a grudge and not willing to be around to celebrate Evelynn’s birthday, showed up in other ways. He allowed us to move into a house he bought designed for just him and two dogs. Instead, he got three other humans (his son moved in with him about a month before we met) and yet another dog. He hasn’t had the ability to enjoy this home he bought all on his own through hard work and perseverence. We moved in and took over, and that’s another grudge he’s holding over my head.

But I never needed shelter from him. I needed love and support.

And grace and acceptance, as I had shown him.

I needed communication and no judgment.

And I needed a cheerleader. For being a cheer coach, he failed at cheering me on the moment it was inconvenient for him.

I don’t get a clean breakaway. I’m stuck until I find housing and it hurts.

There are so many moments where I would just be enraptured by him. I’d just stare at him and be so in love. I was so sure of him. I felt so unbelievably safe with him. My favorite sound was when him and Evelynn would wrestle and he would make her belly laugh. God, I miss that sound. I miss him being the sole reason for that sound.

It is utterly heartbreaking to find yourself at the end of a relationship where you thought you would and could spend the rest of your life with the person. When he was job searching, I had told him to look wherever he needs to because I could sell real estate anywhere. And we had fully discussed this possibility.

Somehow, instead, only months later, we’re over. That’s really fucking hard to accept.

While attraction draws me to someone, compatibility keeps me around. I was so sure we could make it through anything. It’s depressing to learn you’re the only one in love and willing to fix things, believing in your relationship.

All those things I deserve, I mean it. However, I also knew he could do them if he wanted to.

I remember our first fight. He’s a yeller. He sees red. It consumes him. He yelled so hard he spit on me—accidentally! Don’t get your panties in a bunch (still spit though, I know). I told him to walk away from me.

The next day I made it clear that I am not someone to speak to like such and that we will not have arguments of such nature. It’s not something I will allow. It’s not something I want my daughter to view as an acceptable form of communication. It’s not something I want his son to see and think is okay to replicate.

He never did it again. Not once. He learned to walk away when heated or upset. He learned to calm down first.

And I noticed. It meant something to me, oh dear lord how it meant everything to me, that he understood what I wouldn’t allow and didn’t do it again.

It’s hard moving on when I’m still here in this god damn house, sleeping in the same bed with him, exchanging niceties. It’s all so fake. I thought he was my best friend—he’s not. I still want to fight for us but again, I can’t be the only one wanting to fight for us; and also, again, I do not need someone in my life who doesn’t want me in theirs.

There are moments when I forget we’re broken up, and then it hits.

Those moments floor me. They knock me down. Makes it hard for me to breathe.

I still want his arms wrapped around me at night when we’re on the couch. I still want a kiss goodbye when one of us leaves to go somewhere. I still want to be invested in his day and accomplishments. I still want to be able to touch him in bed at night. Still want to love him and show him love.

How am I, really? I have a way of breaking free with breakups. I realize what I’ve compromised on that I never should have allowed. I will come out on top, I always come out stronger. Despite feeling lost, I have a way of grounding myself. I know I have a hell of a lot to offer someone, someone who will appreciate me and what we have; and I also know that I’m the best he will ever have, in all aspects.

I said what I said.

When he first mentioned going on a break, I wanted to hold on to the idea that he just wanted space and for us to date, traditionally, after I moved out…. but let’s be real, that was just worthless words he said in passing to ease the blow because he didn’t have the respect for me to break if off. I had to force him to make a decision. And let’s be realer, why would I want to hold on when he was letting me go so easily? It felt like he was leaving me to drown as he steered the boat away.

I loved hard and deeply and I lost big for it. I can be okay with this knowledge. I know, leaving, that I gave him everything. I showed up for him. I celebrated his wins. I cooked and meal prepped for him to make his nights after a long day easier. I took care of his dogs, and dealt with their attitudes and the one’s aggressive psychotic episodes, without refusal to do so or claims that they weren’t mine. I made sure his son ate every night. I didn’t push him away or reject him. I changed up my routine and how I do things to fit his style.

He did a lot for me…when it was convenient for him. That is where all the hurt lies.

I showed up for him regardless; behind closed doors where no one else could enter and in the public eye.

I made clear that I still love him and wanted to work on things, be with him. I made clear that I still believed we both could do better and be happy together. I made clear that even though there were things in our life I was unhappy with, at the end of the day having him made me happy overall.

And I made these things clear without hearing them in return. All I got was a “well, we’re definitely on a break, I know that much.”

So I’m working on breaking free because wild horses run in me.

Sep6

Just walk on.

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I thought I had hit rock bottom almost 13 years ago. This past week proved me wrong if you went at all by the liters of tears shed. I was broken and lost. I got everything so wrong.

Thirteen years ago I had to pick myself up off the kitchen floor. I was broken down by the nightmares, the replays, every time I closed my eyes, every time I got close to a guy. I couldn’t see through the madness. I was living in denial until the darkness suffocated me. I thought the only way to get through was getting out; drinking myself into a state where I couldn’t think nor remember wasn’t working.

I grabbed the sharpest knife I could find in the kitchen; and I kept wondering how much cutting I’d have to do to get the job done, how much blood would there have to be, how red all these damn fucking white cabinets and tile would be, and if they could even get the stains out. I really wanted to know how long the pain would last. How deep I’d have to cut—if I’d be able to cut deep enough—for it to be quick.

Knife in one hand, phone in the other, I don’t remember getting up. I don’t remember hanging up the phone. I don’t remember dropping the knife—did I put it down on the counter?

I only remember flipping the switch and turning off the lights.

I am beyond stubborn. It’s one of the reasons why I’m likely hard to date—at least I know it, though, right?

The stubbornness got me through. Helped me see to the other side. I couldn’t let him win.

I don’t like my birthday. It’s a shitty reminder of the first guy I really dated—he shares my birthday—and what he took from me.

Why don’t people of sexual assault and rape speak up? We have to fight with ourselves to get through it, and then we have to fight others for our stories to be heard, and then there’s the nonbelievers picking us apart. It’s the one crime guaranteed to rip us apart twice. It’s never just the incident, it’s the after effects.

I was a virgin.

And then I wasn’t.

The first time I openly spoke about it was in a college nonfiction writing course. The paper was assigned around the time of my birthday, and it consumed me—the nightmares, the fear, never really leaves. It had been over three years but I was back in that bedroom, under him, like not a minute had passed. By the time the paper was due it was too late for me to change the topic and write something new.

I have since wrote and deleted the story countless times. Every anniversary, every birthday. How do you talk about an event that cripples your tongue, that you don’t want to answer questions to, but that you physically need to release from your shoulders? That you need to let out into the world. That you need to let go of. A weight you can’t and shouldn’t have to carry.

Sometimes I’ve wondered if it weren’t for Evelynn how much strength would I have?

The first time it happened was long before she came along in my life.

The second time? Almost seven years ago, only weeks after her birth and on my birthday.

That fucking birthday of mine.

No, that second time wasn’t the same guy. Yes, both were guys I dated.

I have intimacy issues. I don’t need a therapist to outline or draw up a map to find the root problem. I’ve faced it in the bedroom multiple times—the difference is all the other guys stop when I say. They don’t force me as soon as I say “No” or turn away.

My stubbornness pushed me forward. Forced me to focus on tomorrow. Stop living in the past. I swam my damn self to shore. I breathed for air when I thought I would drown. I walked on.

The road was unpaved with no mile markers or street signs, but I walked it headstrong and alone.

I have high standards—I won’t date less than my worth again. And I’m too damn old to teach a guy how to treat me…again. My standards are my shield. I’m real quick to leave any relationship that no longer fulfills me, that no longer gives me happiness.

I create my own happiness, but I’ll be damned if another relationship brings me down.

There was nothing normal about our relationship. We didn’t get to date—we met during quarantine. He met my daughter on the first “date”, which was going on a walk. I quickly gave him allowance to co-parent. We fully moved in together within only a few months. We’ve had to navigate each of us starting new jobs within the first year together during a pandemic.

I thought this time was it. For the first time, I felt safe. I thought I was loved. I forgot about the past. I was so certain. Everything felt so incredibly natural. Even when it was hard and we were navigating something new together, I felt assured. For the first time in my life I fell full on in love, and I did so without fear. It felt beautiful.

I had never really loved before, never allowed myself to. When I spoke it, it was a lie due to the guy’s expectations.

This one was different. It was refreshing.

I have a knack for getting it wrong, though.

Here’s the thing. I don’t need someone to pull me out of the deep end, out of my worst self, out of my nightmares. I don’t need someone to take care of me.

I pulled myself out twice before. I’ll do it again. I do it every single time.

If I can survive the conviction that suicide could have been the answer, I can survive anything. I have two lungs that breathe, legs that not only walk but can run. I have a daughter—albeit as stubborn as I—who grounds me. I have people in my corner. I have everything I need.

I don’t need someone in my life who doesn’t even know if they want me in theirs.

Read that again.

I

do not

need

someone

in my life

who doesn’t even know

if they want me

in theirs.

One week ago, Andy said he wanted a break. Scratch that, “we are definitely on a break.”

First, what the fuck is even a break in a relationship besides a Friends show fantasy?

Second, if you haven’t learned, I don’t do breaks. I’m absolutely terrible at hitting pause. My brain goes static and my body convulses at the idea. I like movement. And I’m not sure what good it does waiting around for someone who claims to be unhappy about so many things in their life but is solely blaming me and our relationship for it all. He’s not hitting pause on anything else, just us. (Thanks Bill, for my sign.)

I’m not okay with that. I’ve spent more time in the last week crying than not crying—I’m not someone who cries.

It hasn’t been a perfect relationship—I don’t think any relationship is perfect. However, I do fully believe they are a reflection of how two people work through problems and respect each other.

I can’t be the only one wanting to fix things or wanting to try. It’s that simple.

Some people believe distance can make the heart grow fonder—apparently, he thinks space will provide the answer if he misses me or not, misses what he had or not—but we’re still living in the same house. There is no room for “space” in this house.

And there is the root of all my pain this past week.

I don’t even get a clean break up. I’m just getting a break, a maybe, an “I’m not kicking you and Evelynn out.” Seriously, bless his heart for that kindness, not many men would be so willing. But limbo is purgatory for me. I walk through this house struggling—failing—to keep it together while he hums and goes about his day as if nothing has changed. How could I mean so little to someone who meant so God damn much to me?

When I made the decision to move out—not easy in this housing market, by the way, and as a real estate agent, I know—it broke me even more. Especially because it’s not immediate. I’m still here—this fucking holiday weekend. And it means I’ll be throwing money away at rent, not even an investment—cue another bullet hole.

But I’m not the girl who sits around and waits for a man to decide if he even wants me. I’m not second best. I’m not a second thought. You don’t get to give me up like I’m a light switch to be flicked on and off.

Saturday, I spent the entire day searching for rentals and housing options. It took a toll on me. By nightfall I packed up a suitcase and drove across the state to my parents for the night. I needed out. It’s hard watching someone so easily throw away something that was so good without hesitation. You doubt yourself and everything you thought you knew in the relationship.

I gave this man everything, easily. I would have given him more if he’d asked. Right now, he also took my ability to trust. I’m not sure he realizes that even if he chose me again, that I could choose him without fear that he would do this again. He cleanly chipped off a piece of my heart. It’s not about how much I love him or want him, it’s about a relationship where two people want each other and will work through things together. Not with a wall up between them. It’s about a partnership not two ships sailing in the night.

Sometimes, the very thing that hurts the most—my god does it hurt—is the very thing we need to do, to respect and protect ourselves. I don’t want to walk away but am I even really the one walking away if he already has a foot out the door?

Yesterday I was told, “Well, if there’s one thing I know it’s that you’ll get through this. You always do. You’re stubborn enough to make anything work once you’ve made the decision. You’ve done it with every new job and Evelynn. You always make it work.”

My dad ain’t wrong. I do and I will.

Every time.

I might be broken and the future feels very unknown but this still stands: I’ve picked up those broken pieces before and put myself back together; and I sure as hell am no stranger to traveling the unknown road. I may have taken the wrong turn somewhere, but I’ll end up where I need to be.

Mar3

I’m still here.

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I’ll stare the devil down, let the fire take me.

I spent most of the last year fighting—to keep going, to push through, to stay positive, to persevere, to not give up.

When 2020 began, I was dating my boss and less than a month into the year he ended the relationship. And when he broke it off during lunch at work, my exact words to him when he told me to “say something”, were something like, “well I can’t be too surprised since it feels more like I’m a workplace sex toy.” And I wasn’t wrong.

Less than 2 months later I’d lose my job along with the rest of the staff, only for him to pursue hiring high schoolers and college students on the cheap. Or so I heard.

It takes something from you when you lose a job where you had also had a physical and romantic relationship with the owner. It wasn’t something I had entered into lightly—there were four girls all under the age of 11 involved, both of us being single parents. And the last time I’d dated a boss, I was pregnant & he fired me (by telling his superiors I had put in my two weeks when I hadn’t) in fear of not getting a promotion when management asked about our relationship. It wasn’t something I ever wanted to repeat.

And yet there I was again.

Like I never learn.

I questioned all of my worth. I questioned my mind. I questioned my decision making skills. I questioned my body—not if it was good enough or if I was pretty enough, but if that was all I’d be seen as by a man. An ornament, an instrument. Something only meant to please them and to covet.

Not for me to be loved.

I was once told at a job to wear heels to a meeting because we were meeting potential partners. I had been asked on more than one occasion if I’d gotten where I was at because I slept with someone, if it was because of my body.

I don’t mind using what I have when it’s appropriate (aka not career) but I do mind that being seen as all I have to contribute.

I more than doubled my salary in 3.5 years of my marketing career and suddenly I was jobless. When I changed jobs and moved across state over two years ago, I had been kept on at the first as a consultant for a term. I went from working 60-80 hour weeks to being labeled “unemployed.” I went from 430am workouts before work and working until 11pm at night to not having to do anything. Except parent.

And then I couldn’t find a job. I started applying at 530am the morning after I lost my job. I was devastated. I filled out hundreds of applications and 95% of them I never heard back from. The rest? I didn’t have childcare during a pandemic and they wanted me at work during the shutdowns. With virtual school on the horizon and everything unknown, they didn’t want a single mom who couldn’t come in 8-5. I was too experienced for the job and they couldn’t afford me—I literally told them I am not above anything, I had lost my job. But for most of that 5%, they changed their minds and were no longer hiring for the position due to an uncertainty with the economy and shutdowns.

So I wore that godawful unemployment crown.

And I took my background in marketing mortgages and decided to pursue real estate instead.

Only for me to receive a letter last month claiming I owe the state almost $30K (with monthly interest) because I was never eligible for unemployment due to not having childcare during a global pandemic that shut down the state.

I was so mad. At the government. At my old boss. At hiring companies. At fucking politics. At this fucking virus.

I’m still waiting to see if my protest will be approved or if I have to go to court.

My health and fitness have often felt like the only thing I could control. It has helped keep me sane. Helped my sanity and mental health, helped me check those self doubts.

I have questioned my worth—in career, in love, in parenting—more days than I would ever be willing to admit. But I’m still here.

I’m. Still. Here.

Because in the last year, I have made a career jump to real estate, met an amazing guy and fell in love, I have learned I can love my body—I should—and relish it and not accept that it is all someone sees of me, and have never once heard my daughter tell me she hates me. She has never once physically fought me or threw a temper tantrum upset at me like I’ve heard many parents go through with their young ones during the shutdowns and pandemonium. Instead, I still hear everyday how much she loves me.

So I’m still here pushing for more because even on the worst mental health days, there’s still a light, still a desire, still a flame in me, no matter how small. It’s still there. No matter how worthless I might feel, I know—I KNOW—I am in fact more than enough. I am more than just a body. And sometimes, life is simply hard. I simply have to overcome. If it was easy, there’d be little to appreciate.

Feb23

When.

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When the hell did it become so damn easy to let me go?

That’s the plaguing thought I’ve had over the last few weeks. Have you ever been there? It’s not the same as not feeling enough and it’s not asking what is wrong with me because I believe I’m whole on my own and I know who I am and more importantly, I love who I am. I have flaws and I have issues I’m working on but at my core, I’m not insecure with who I am. I don’t question my worth. Despite the number times I have been stood up in the past or the guys who have cheated on me or verbally abused me, I don’t question my worth. So let’s be clear that this isn’t me tearing myself down or throwing myself a pity party. Fuck that.

But damnit.

When did it become so damn fucking easy to let go of me?

It’s more of a burden thing. When someone breaks up with you as if you’re this huge weight to carry. Yet, you were hardly even ever together so how could you have been a burden? And when you were together, it was easy—or so you thought.

I’ve never been one for surprises. They freak me out. I’m always scared my reaction is going to hurt someone—or rather, my reaction isn’t going to meet someone’s expectation. This last breakup, though, that was a freaking surprise. Every relationship I’ve had, there was no abrupt end. I could easily trace the dots and when it ended, it didn’t come so completely unaware. How it ended may have been a different story, but I was always aware of the distance created or the games the guy would begin to play, the lies told, doubts communicated, etc. Even the times when I got stood up, there was nothing there to ever lose. It was just a disrespect of my time and the treatment of being a game to someone.

This time, though, I thought we were climbing the mountain together. And then one day I looked beside me and found I was completely alone on the path.

I have always excelled at being alone without ever feeling lonely. It’s amazing the shift that happens after a breakup I didn’t see coming—suddenly, I feel very much alone and isolated.

I lost a lot of friendships over the years, either through the breakup with the baby daddy, moving around, or simply through growth. When you’re focused on goals and bettering yourself, people will naturally turn away from you in fear of judgment. And then there’s the whole single mom thing—I don’t get much time without the kiddo and I don’t go out of my way to seek out time away from my daughter. Many people have a hard time comprehending this. Every time she goes to my parents for a weekend once or twice a month, I feel like I’ve lost a limb. I have this moment after dropping her off with my parents when I walk back into my apartment without her and lock the door behind me where I look around and I’m just like, “omg, how do I do this? I need her back here.” I need her energy and tiny feet and loud voice filling up this small space. And then that moment of panic evaporates because distance is good and I’m a single mom who needs to get shit done or get caught up on sleep.

This happens to be the first weekend of being kid-free since the breakup—the last two weekends we had spent at funerals or visitations or memorial services. The loneliness has crept in more than ever. I thought I was over it—I used to be so good at flipping the switch on feelings. Where I’d just get disappointed or upset but then be done with the dude. I’m used to being alone (other than the kiddo), I’m used to being single, I’ve become quite accustomed to being happy alone. I’d rather be happy alone than force any relationship, that’s always been my niche. It’s what’s always made moving on so easy for me.

Then again, this time I just had to go and date my boss. A constant reminder. And suddenly that switch isn’t so easy to flip.

And this time, I’ve lost trust in myself. That’s the hardest pill to swallow. When you decide to put complete trust in someone and they simply change their mind, you lose your sense of trust in yourself—you question how you could have gotten it so wrong.

And I put my kid in the mix.

I used to have a rule of not making future plans until months into a relationship. No planning vacations, no hearing promises, no mentioning of living situations or anything that could impact plans long-term. When my kid asked if we could do something with whomever I’m dating, my go to response was always, “We will see,” or “Maybe.” This time, I let myself open up and allowed the conversations and I am bruising my ass from kicking myself for breaking this simple rule. When Evelynn asked if we could take them (the guy I was dating was a father) to the zoo or to the beach come summer, my reflexive response became, “Yes, Evelynn, once it’s warm out we can go to the beach with them.”

Don’t get me wrong, I like to live in the now and hope for a future, but I will not bank on it until we’re past that new relationship honeymoon jazz phase. You know, when the other person starts to drop any façade or false impression and you realize who they really are.

And I broke my fucking rule.

The guy I dated over the summer? His façade dropped 2 months in when my daughter suddenly became such a chore for him to play with or be around. You can imagine how easily that was for me to end and flip the switch.

How can I trust myself when this recent relationship ended exactly how I vocalized my fear of it ending before we began dating? How can I accept someone’s words to have value? I’ve always thought trust and honesty were the cornerstones to any solid relationship. While I can trust myself to be honest, I’m having a very hard time accepting the idea of trusting someone else. I always want to believe the best in people, so when they tell me something the first time, I trust them and I continue to trust them…but if they break it, that is when it falls for me and I have difficulty trusting in the person again. Each new relationship or dating experience I’ve had, I get up and I trust again in the next guy. I give that guy a clean slate. But now, that concept is fading me.

 

Because when

did I become

so damn easy

to let go of?

Feb16

Reality Check.

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On his 90th birthday last Sunday, my (step) grandpa attended a memorial service for his daughter; and on Valentine’s Day, my paternal grandpa attended a visitation for his wife of almost 63 years. The following day was her funeral mass and burial. It’s been a week of reality checks and right after a breakup I didn’t see coming nor did I want.

Death is a reality check.

My step aunt passed away from cancer and while I didn’t know her well, let me just say cancer is only for the strong. Even when it feels like a losing battle or like giving up, it is only for the strong. Whether you are the one battling the disease or watching someone battle. You cannot be weak and have cancer. Nobody is weak and has cancer, whether they beat it or not. I firmly believe cancer is only for the strong. The mental and physical hits one takes, their capacity to process—only the strong get cancer.

We grew up rotating between visiting three sets of grandparents every week. We lived with my maternal grandmother until I was ten and then every Sunday we would visit either my maternal grandfather (now deceased), my maternal great grandparents (now deceased), and my paternal grandparents.

After returning home Sunday evening from my step aunt’s memorial service, I got the call that my grandma wasn’t doing well. I hadn’t seen her since last summer and I had made plans for Evelynn and I to go see her Tuesday. She never made it through Monday.

My grandparents didn’t have the best health. I’ve only known my grandmother to be extremely overweight and to make little effort in achieving better health. But oh man could she complain. And with my growing up with a severely disabled brother who is confined to his hospital bed and wheelchair, you can imagine how much her lack of interest in selfcare was difficult for me to process and accept. Not to mention my dedication to my own fitness and healthy eating, and struggles with health and celiac disease. And they knew. My mom guilted my paternal grandparents into eating better when I was pregnant—I wanted them to meet their first great grandchild. I’m sad to say by the time my grandmother passed, she was seeing my daughter more than she was able to see me.

Despite this difference, she was damn proud of me and she was a ferocious woman. She was stubborn as all get out and was all about that girl power. Of nine grandkids, I was one of only two girls. Sometimes, I think she loved the fact that I was a full-time single mom. I think it made her prouder.

My grandmother was the only person who whenever I was dating someone would ask me, “Well, does he make you happy? Are you happy Tiffany?” That’s all she cared about. She might ask other questions about his job or how we met—the gossipy bits of general info everyone always asks—but she always without fail would ask me if I was happy. That was the most important thing to her. And if I was, then it was a, “Well then I’m happy for you and Evelynn.” And if I was single, it was a “Well, I’m proud of you. One day there will be a man good enough for you but never settle.” And then there was my favorite, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Men aren’t worth the trouble of settling.”

Actually, she’s one of two people who would ever consistently ask me this—my step grandpa also asks me this whenever him and my maternal grandma find out I’m seeing someone new or when they meet a new man in my life. My paternal grandmother, though, she would ask me this every time I saw or spoke with her. Every time. Whether I was seeing someone new or not or if it was the same person. All she asked was, “Well are you happy now that you’re living in Grand Rapids?” “Well, are you liking your new job? Are you happy at your job?” “Is Evelynn happy?” All she ever cared about was if Evelynn and I was happy. It was the underlying theme to every question every time I saw her.

And yes, I’ll admit, thinking about all of this immediately after a breakup I didn’t see coming and in a relationship where I felt valued and naturally happy, it’s painful. With death, you realize how little time matters and when lack of time was the key reason I had been given for why he wanted a breakup, it stung and was confusing.

Death is a reality check if nothing else. It makes you think of where you are at in life, where you want to go, what you haven’t done that you thought you would have. Above all, it makes you realize how short life really is. Time is fickle.

I never thought life was a given. In fact, we speak of life not being a given but a gift, yet we act like we have a lifetime ahead of us and we are owed that lifetime. Maybe it’s watching Taylor live a very confined life all these years, but I feel lucky for anything I get to achieve or experience. It’s why I’m so passionate about working out and eating healthy—I’m showing appreciation to my body. I feel lucky to be able to work out daily and breathe in fresh air and wake up in the morning to a new day. I never could be the girl to sit around and binge watch Netflix. I could never be the girl who felt good being winded by stairs. I was the girl who if stairs were making me winded, it meant I was going to up my cardio game in my workouts. If I couldn’t play a full half game of soccer without needing my inhaler, oh man was I on a mission. Asthma might be a diagnosis but it was not about to control me.

I think it’s why I never settle in dating. I think it’s also why I never quite give up. Life is too short to be in a relationship I don’t want, respect, or value; where I don’t feel valued or where I simply know I’m not happy. But life is also too short to not want to experience life with someone else by your side and make memories with and build a life with in the hopes that when we reach 90 years old (fingers crossed), we can look back together and reminisce and be like, damn did we live. The only three questions I ever ask myself when dating: Am I happy? Do they treat me well? Do I like who I am when I’m with them? That’s my criteria.

I find it extremely captivating and beautiful to be able to grow with someone. To have someone who calls you out on your bullshit, expects the best of you and pushes you to grow but also accepts you for you and knows you’re not perfect. It’s an ideal I continue to hold out for.

And it is completely acceptable—encouraged, even—to be selfish in love.

The other day my recent ex made a comment, “I know you want to be in a long-term relationship with someone.” Here’s the thing, I want to be in a long-term relationship with the right person for me. (And yes, I did correct him, too.) I might have a fear of going through life without ever really knowing love and it might hurt like hell when someone doesn’t choose me back but I’m not willing to force it. I’m not willing to force finding it or feeling it. I’m 30 years old and I won’t lie, I thought I’d be married by now—don’t most of us?—but I’m also 30 years old and know who I am, know my worth, and know what makes me happy. I’d say, I’m pretty ahead of the crowd because all that is worth more.

And I have to thank my late grandma for consistently asking me about my happiness over the years (and reminding me not to settle) because it’s a question I’m not only not afraid to ask myself, but I’m also not afraid to answer honestly and make moves to change if needed.

Sep30

Just you & me, kid.

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I don’t give my daughter nearly enough credit.

Last Saturday morning I had to have the hard conversation with Evelynn regarding what breaking up with a guy means. I was expecting tears, I was expecting some No’s, I was expecting a little resistance to the idea of him no longer being around. The last time I dated someone for a few months, she was still asking about him 10 months later and didn’t take the breakup well.

Instead, the conversation surprised me.

“Evelynn, E. isn’t going to be coming around anymore.”

“Why not? I want him to.”

“Well, remember when we talked about how first I date someone to find out if I can love them and want to be with them forever?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, honey, I just can’t love E. I can’t marry him so I had to break it off.”

“But I want you to marry him.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But he’s not the one for me.”

“But who you going to marry then?”

“I don’t know kid, that’s why I date. To find someone.”

“Well, you can marry my boyfriend.”

And that was that. We were back to her imaginary boyfriend Dugon. No tears. No asking for E. When he came to get his stuff less than an hour later, she asked to give him a hug and a kiss goodbye, told him she hoped to see him again, and it was over.

Like I said, I don’t give her nearly enough credit. Kids are resilient.

That was 36 hours after I had done the deed and broke it off with the guy. I was terrified to have the conversation, but she fell asleep early both nights and I wasn’t able to do it sooner. She had been crazy over him, accidentally calling him daddy, asking him to always stay over or if he’s going to move in. It was too fast for her. I hadn’t expected it. Breaking her heart was the one thing I feared most.

But I’ll never settle. I refuse to settle in love or a lifetime partnership. I don’t want her to think it’s okay to compromise because in the long run, I know I wouldn’t be happy. And I know my happiness (or lack of) can affect her. She is such an empathetic kid. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone I don’t love.

And here’s the one thing during the breakup that got to me: when he said, “I wasn’t expecting you to fall in love at all with me.”

Say what now?

It’s so unfair to let someone love you and not love them back, I can’t do it. I won’t do it. And it saddens me to know that he was okay with letting that be.

But I have wondered if I’m capable of loving someone. I know I’m picky, and I know I don’t let people in easy. I can count on one hand the number of really close friends I have, and I don’t even think I can use all five fingers. I’ve never needed someone to know who I am. I’ve never needed someone to care for me. I’ve never needed to rely on others to be happy or get through hard times.

Yes, you could say I’m introvert to the very end.

I can socialize and love a good night’s out. And when 90’s night comes, I’m the girl dancing and singing along to every song without a single care of who might be looking on—I know people notice, I just don’t care.

I’m the introvert with strong self-esteem.

And I don’t want to fix a guy. I don’t believe in “fixing” someone. It’s about accepting them.

In the process of breaking up, turns out he was paranoid I was cheating on him. Despite the fact that I had never given him a reason to doubt me. Soon after the breakup, I was also asked out by someone and I turned the guy down…again. I simply wasn’t interested, in dating or in him at the moment. His response: “I’m never the one for anyone.” It’s not the first time I’ve heard someone say it in response—from him or from another guy when I turn them down. It’s a response that will guarantee a no when asked again in the future, though.

You have to learn you’re good enough for yourself before you can believe you’re good enough for others; before you can chase love. Otherwise there will come a time when you distrust others & how they view you, or you will become so reliant on their view of you. Or, you may just falsely accuse them of cheating or being disloyal. How others see you should not impact how you see yourself. As long as you’re doing good in the world, you’re golden. You have to learn to love yourself first, though.

I hate saying it but I won’t date a man with low self-esteem. I just won’t. I don’t want to be the girl to fix them. I don’t want to fix anyone. I don’t mind helping someone realize their value, but I won’t be the reason for them to see it. And I don’t want to deal with the constant thought of them thinking they’re not good enough for me, that I won’t stick around, or that I’ll cheat on them. At that point, they are placing their fears on me instead of respecting who I am. At that point, they allow their negative self-talk and low self-esteem blind them. At that point, intentional or not, their view of me isn’t healthy or kind.

I won’t be brought down by someone else’s insecurities. I won’t allow it into a relationship. I won’t allow it into a relationship my daughter will inevitably witness. I’ve witnessed friends live in toxic relationships because of low self-esteem. I don’t mind helping someone see their true value, I don’t mind providing someone with the tools and teach them how to have a positive mindset when talking about or viewing themselves, but I won’t date them through it.

Through the process of breaking up with the latest guy, I found out how paranoid he was believing I was cheating on him or talking to other guys. He even had the audacity to ask my daughter if I was bringing other boyfriends home. He played it like he was joking—that’s not a joke I take lightly.

I’ve never understood how one can think so highly of someone & yet be so occupied with the belief or fear that the person is cheating on or leaving them. If I thought someone was cheating on me, I’m confronting them and then very likely kicking their ass to the curb. There are no second chances. There are no games. There are no second guessing. Because at that point, I’ve lost trust. Either in the relationship or with them. And I won’t date someone if I can’t trust them or if I can’t believe in what we have. I won’t date them if I can’t feel secure in our relationship or what we have.

Currently, I’m not sure if I’m open to dating. I’m picky. And the dating pool simply hasn’t been enticing with the games…and did I mention I’m picky? I’m not sure how soon I want to bring my kid into another relationship. Simply put, I’m not sure if I have it in me.

So Evelynn, I guess it’s just you and me, kid. And honestly, I can’t complain about that.

May1

The Double C’s of Dating—You’re Failing.

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I haven’t been dating. I’ve been on the apps and engaging in conversation but that is where it ends. The other day I was asked to participate in a survey and one of the questions was, “What are your hesitations with dating?” It made me pause for a hot second. Took the weekend for me to respond because I knew already knew the answer. I had been thinking about the concept for a couple months. I’m open to dating, I’m hesitant in taking any action.

Dating today is no longer consistent. People come and go. It’s all about attention in the moment. I get stood up a lot because these guys don’t seem to care about dating, they just want you to say yes.

And I want nothing to do with that type of dating scenario.

When guys ask me out, I don’t take them seriously anymore. I don’t get excited. I don’t get stressed. I hardly even plan for it. I’m just like, “Okay, yes,” it’s not like you’re actually going to make it happen anyway. Seriously. That’s literally my vocal and internal response and dialogue. Here’s the thing: the date never happens.

Whatever happened to someone asking you out with a date and time and place in mind. Now, it’s all “Hey want to go out sometime?” “Yeah, I’d love to.” ………silence……….

It’s so very annoying. That lack of preparation highly suggests a lack of enthusiasm. I want to date a guy who wants to fucking date me. Not just go through the motion because it’s expected and we’re both single. No, I want a date where the dude is genuinely interested.

That is, if they ever actually plan on showing up.

I no longer accept dates from guys who are inconsistent in talking. Guys who talk one week every day and then silent for a few weeks and then back again a couple days. Like, no. you’re either interested or you’re not. I don’t care about a busy schedule, it’s “Hello good morning, hope you have a great day!” and a “Hey how was your day?” It doesn’t need to be constant chatting 24/7, but I’m not trying to date a man who can’t be bothered. I also won’t date a guy who asks me out right out of the gates because those have a 100% success rate of standing me up.

Here’s the hypocritical thing: I can’t be bothered. I used to be on my phone so much at my previous gig that I would read a text and not respond because I didn’t have time to engage in conversation; only to forget about the text for 24 hours or until they texted me again. This wasn’t just for dating, this was for anything. Email I was golden on. Email I could own with prompt replies all day. Texting and calling, however, I was on my phone enough for my job that I didn’t want to be on there anymore as is. So when a guy asked me out and I realized I hadn’t been the best communicator or conversationalist, the thought was often followed with the sudden awareness that I simply wasn’t that interested. When I connected with a guy who I was interested with, I made the time to chat. I was busy as hell with a kid on my hip, one hand on the computer, standing at the stove cooking, and still texting with my friend hand. I could have a full schedule and still make the time if I wanted to. Sometimes, there were exceptions but rule no. 1 of controlling your life: embrace the chaos. Rule no. 2: make what you want happen.

When you want to talk with someone and get to know someone, you make the time. There’s no if, ands, butts about it.

Here’s the other thing I often notice: who engages the conversation.

Seriously, if I’m talking with someone and I realize that if I don’t text him first every day then we don’t talk, well, we stop talking. It’s hilarious to me when guys assume this means I’m upset with them after a few hours or a couple days go by when sometimes I’m just too busy and running behind on my day. However, I make my own assumptions too, especially when I let it go—you realize something: disinterest. No matter how great the conversation flowed, it’s hard to remain interested in someone who doesn’t text you unless you text them first.

And don’t get me started on this “Well, I texted you last” bullshit. Honey, this is not high school anymore. I don’t care if you send me 7 texts in a row because some days I was swamped with meetings or some days I’m juggling errands and I do not text and drive so it’s a few hours before I ever respond. And let’s not forget the aforementioned part where I will read a text and promptly forget for hours when I’m busy. No, you don’t sound crazy. You sound like you had something to say and damnit, why not fucking say it? Life’s short to worry later about, know what was that thing I wanted to tell them?? I hate wasting my time on those. I’ll blow a friend up all in one day because I had a million things flying through my mind and before I forgot them I decided to just text what I had to say and we can talk about them later when they’re free. Why is this so complicated?

Maybe I am the crazy one.

Consistency in dating. Consistency is key in anything you want to get results from—fitness, health, career. Why are people so inconsistent in showing interest in someone? I don’t do well with talk. I want the proof.

If a guy asks me out with no plan in mind and without taking time to talk to me, I lose interest. I literally stare at my phone like, is this mofo serious? He wants me to agree to a date without knowing when and where? DUDE. BRO. BRAHHHHHH.

I’m out.

Even if I might not be able to go to the restaurant offered for lack of a celiac friendly menu or can’t do the day initially suggested because I’m mommying it up, at least there’s effort involved. If the guy is going to halfass asking me out, he’s likely going to halfass any relationship. Suddenly, I’m no longer interested. That’s not a relationship I want. Besides, here’s the reality, the things in the beginning are going to be there at the end. Those signs and red flags are in fact smoke signals, foreshadows of the end and how little any dating will last. Those nuances in the beginning, though little, might be something one can’t overlook later once the “honeymoon” phase—or whatever people are calling it these days—is over.

I know me well enough that while I’m quiet and an introvert and not one to talk on the phone ever, communication and effort are key. Without them, I’ll be bored in a week.

And then there’s the guys who ask for my snapshot and not my number. Like seriously, WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO HIDE ME FROM? Oh the sweet joys of dating. And then, since the evolution of dating apps, I don’t think I’ve ever been asked out by a guy calling. Never. Not even guys who ask me for my number at the bar. It’s always via text message. And while I’m not usually a nitpicking person but this is something that I notice. I’m expected to meet up with a guy for a date without ever hearing his voice. I’d like to at least know if he’s one of the weirdos who pronounces “milk” funny.

Tip: If you’re going to ask a girl out, at least show you care. Don’t act like she’s only an option right now that you’re already planning on dismissing. Ladies, same thing goes to you. This ain’t no one-way street bullshit. Consistency and communication: it’s the double C’s. You can’t open the door to a relationship or dating happily without them.