Category Archives: single mom

Apr4

Sometimes I need a break from me.

Posted on by
Standard

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.

Posted on by
Standard

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.

Posted on by
Standard

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.

Posted on by
Standard

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.

Posted on by
Standard

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.

Posted on by
Standard

watch me blog

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.

May12

Still Got It.

Posted on by
Standard

I got stood up again this past weekend. Well, to be accurate, the guy just flaked out on me but I consider the two to be the same thing. And yes, it’s that same guy who stood me up back in February. Apparently, I’ve lost my backbone at some point in the last year. That’s depressing and intolerable.

That same weekend I also got my hair chopped and colored for the first time in my life. Whenever I end it with a guy or need to make a change, it seems I have to change my hair. It’s a statement. It’s an “I’m sorry I can’t talk to you anymore, I had a different hair style then.” Is that acceptable? Yes. Is that childish? Likely. Blame it on the estrogen. Girls need a physical change to represent an attitude or emotional change. Makes the mindset more permanent. A reminder.

And my bullshit meter just maxed out.

Online dating is the norm. There’s no bush to beat. People say they don’t want to meet someone in a bar. What do you think the norm was 20 years ago? The bar. The restaurant. The beach. The coffee shop. A mutual friend. Anything that wasn’t the internet.

Last summer I got asked out by a stranger at Reed’s Lake. The guy was kind of a creep about it; told me I was absolutely stunning and that he couldn’t help but stare, and would I mind if he took me out to dinner right then. I turned him down. I’m a hypocrite—this was the day after I asked a friend, “whatever happened to getting asked out at the bar?” Yes, I would prefer the bar over the internet. Turns out, guys are even creepier online. And more flakey.

Enter last weekend and my attitude adjustment. Or should I say return?

I’ve been known among my girlfriends as the one who doesn’t put up with shit from guys. Who doesn’t tolerate disrespect or guys thinking they’re going to control me. Who doesn’t give second chances. I have this firm belief that by mid-twenties, people are 98% set in their ways, character and habit wise.

I’ve always been someone who knows who I am.

Hell, whenever my boss asks me, “How’d you know to do that?” or “That’s actually pretty smart, where’d that come from?” It’s almost a guarantee I respond with, “Because I’m fucking awesome.”

So where did that badass chick go? Because I haven’t been her in months. I have questioned my worth multiple times, asked myself what is wrong with me? Why I’m not enough. Ugh. Again, so depressing and intolerable.

I’ve given this dude countless chances, let him flake out on me multiple times. I’m to the point where I’m more disappointed in and upset with myself than him.

Whatever happened to the assertive man? The guy who knows what he wants (and it’s more than just sex) and knows how to ask a girl out and make plans. But like I said I’m a hypocrite. I’ve knack of going for the wrong guy. I keep meeting and talking with boys and it’s just pushing me more and more in the direction of wanting to be a career woman who buys sperm and makes it as a single mom. (Yes, I am in fact fully aware of how crazy this makes me sound.) I can live with not finding a guy to have by my side but I can’t give up on wanting more kids. I don’t have it in me.

I hate when people ask me why I’m still single. It’s a choice. And I’ve still got it.

Apr25

Swinging Puppet.

Posted on by
Standard

There are two types of people in this world: those who swing when backed into a corner and those who cower. Every weekend I have a near breakdown. It’s supposed to be the time to unwind but instead it’s the time to get myself ready for the next week and come Sunday evening I want to cry. Why? I seem to think I’m not good enough.

At 27-years-young I’ve become a puppet. Work and living with the parents have my hands tied while my daughter has my feet firmly planted and unwavering. My days are spent pleasing everyone but myself and the idea that I have come to let life pass me by is terrifying. I constantly feel like I can never dedicate enough time to Evelynn while maintaining my work. Social life? You can forget it. One of the most dreaded questions I’m asked is, “So what do you do for fun?” I pause. I stare at my phone, I stare blankly at the person asking me, I stare off into space, I look around me dazed. The question never ceases to make me simply stop. Fun? Fun?? My kid is my fun; or my health (gym, yoga). Both of which I love…which makes it so much more irritating when they come back at me with, “No, like what do you do in your spare time?” Damnit, I don’t have spare time then. (Yes, I have been known to snap.)

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen friends in the last year.

Yes, it gets lonely. And depressing. And so I wonder, what’s wrong with me? I think I’m not good enough. If other people can make it work, why am I struggling so much? Why do I feel like I’m drowning?

I can’t handle whining and that’s exactly what it sounds like, right? Enter breakdown mode.

I have always had this mindset or philosophy that no matter how bad it gets for someone, it’s worse for someone else. And let’s face it, I have a constant reminder having grown up with a brother who can’t talk, walk, eat, or even roll over in his own bed. Whenever I felt backed into a corner or life was knocking me down, I came back swinging and hellbent on taking a stand. I’m not one to cower.

Friday night on the news was this story of a young boy, Jamarion, who had no arms but a dream to play basketball. On his first day in middle school, his coach took a chance on him—couldn’t deny a boy with such passion and drive from being on the team. As expected, the kid was a benchwarmer. He was ok with that. He just wanted to be part of a basketball team. Then he got a chance to play and scored two three-pointers, one of which was at the buzzer.

Fucking ridiculous.

But it gets better.

Interviewer: “If I could wave a magic wand right now and give you your arms back, would you want them?”

Jamarion: “I don’t need them.”

Amazing.

…remember my feet? They’re firmly planted and unwavering, with Evelynn wrapped around them. She’s the only one I worry about pleasing. My hands? The tie can be unbound, the strings snipped and fashioned into new ropes. I’ll wrap my hands in them to protect from bruising—what can I say? I’m a swinger.

Mar28

Love is a Verb.

Posted on by
Standard

Today is my parents’ 30th wedding anniversary and, for yet another year, they won’t be doing anything to celebrate other than a nice home cooked meal….they always eat home cooked meals. Oh, & they’re going to attempt to venture out to walk some park trails with Taylor.

Understatement: I’m open about how I date, if I’m dating, past relationships, and refusing to settle. Now we get to the heart of that.

The best thing that ever happened to me was to have a child out of wedlock. You learn a lot about someone when you’re thrown off course; when obstacles are thrown at you, sometimes you learn just how incompatible you are together. And I got Evelynn out of it. (But she was never an obstacle, more like a hidden path.)

I’m not all that open talking about the details with my ex. Most people don’t know my ex didn’t want my daughter to be born, asked me three times to have an abortion. In his defense, however, I asked for his honest stance and also in his defense he at least informed me it was my body (shocker, didn’t know that) and therefore my ultimate decision (didn’t know that either). But it was always followed up with him not wanting “it” to affect our immediate future. SURPRISE: she did. For me, the better.

Most people also don’t know it was his boss who told him he needed to be there when I was to be induced early—my amniotic fluid was low and the baby wasn’t growing, we were concerned she wasn’t getting nutrients.

I don’t want a guy who bails or fails to notice when he needs to show up. I don’t want a guy who ignores me for days because he’s “busy with work” or other commitments—there’s a difference between neglect and busy. You should always show up for the people you love. Especially when they need you. No excuses.

My parents don’t have an easy marriage. Taylor puts a damper on the ability to do anything. I can only remember one date my parents have gone on in the past decade. The not getting out, the constant sacrifices, has definitely created some tension. It’d be delusional to ever believe it hasn’t or couldn’t. My mother has made a career out of caring for Taylor. Everything my parents do is with him in mind. When they had their first kid (me), they agreed they’d always put us kids first. And Taylor has greatly challenged that. They haven’t taken a vacation together in well over a decade—Taylor can’t handle it. It’s been separate vacations for years—unless you count the odd trip to hospitals: Chicago, St. Louis, Boston, Atlanta. What a vacation. But what a partnership.

Many times, my parents could have hired a caretaker but chances are Taylor wouldn’t still be with us today if they had—his care is that specific and his case is that rare. It’s not textbook and much of his diagnosis has been from my mother’s intuition, and my father telling her to follow her gut. Trust. What a friendship.

I want a guy who doesn’t flinch at struggle or leaves me in the dark when complications arise. I’m not looking for someone to take the world on with me, I’m looking for someone to take on LIFE. I want to know that if devastation strikes, we can survive on our own—we won’t take an easy out simply because it’s easy. I want to know that if our world caved in, WE would still fight to stand together. I want a partner I can trust to stick around.

So here’s to my parents: thank you for setting the bar high—after all, love is a verb.

Mar25

Rummy Queen. 

Posted on by
Standard

Today’s workout was tough. Actually, it seems to have been a rough week for me, and people noticed. I’ve been in an odd funk the first few days this week; though I woke up refreshed today only to find it again this evening. And yes, it does partially have to do with dating….or lack of. 

The past few weeks of not dating were refreshing. Somewhat. I got back into fitness way more than I have been in months, migraines mostly went away, I gained some weight (all muscle), and I did the 4:50am multiple wake ups to get into the office. Basically, I kicked ass. 

But this week I realized I’m letting them win. By giving up, I’m letting it all get to me in the worst way. I might be focusing on better things but if I’m turning all guys down and refusing to date anyone because I was hurt or don’t want to face another rejection, I’m letting myself down. 
I kept thinking, what is wrong with me? 

Am I not pretty enough? (Oh god, I seriously wondered that.) 

Am I boring? (Awkward I got in the bag, I know.) 

Am I crazy? (Highly likely on that last one considering I’m willing to blog about this shit….but you can’t be a writer if you aren’t willing to be vulnerable <– best advice I was given in college.) 

Is it the single mom thing? (Okay, bye now.) 

Why do I keep going for these dudes who stand a girl up without notification–until weeks or months later–or lie about what they want? Am I such a terrible person my karma is that bad? (I thought karma and I were tight.) 

It’s not wonder: I’ve always been one to live in my head. I’m constantly thinking–I blame the writer in me. But I’ve also always had an immense belief in will power: if I was scared of dating a guy because I was scared of them hurting me, I’d tell the fear to go to hell and if I get hurt then I’d pick myself back up. That was my philosophy. It’s one thing to stop seeing someone because you’re not into them or it’s not what you’re looking for; it’s something entirely different to quit seeing someone because you’re scared of falling deeper for them, or falling at all for them, and them not returning those feelings. I’m sick of hearing the latter as the excuse told to me when guys flip a sudden switch to not see me or they stand me up. 

(But like hell I’ll quit being awesome 😉.) 

Do they think it’s believable? Is it ever? It’s like saying “I’m really scared of someone stealing all my money so I’m going to turn down the well paying career job for a less than minimum wage temporary gig.” No. Doesn’t happen. I’m calling bullshit. 

Just like I’m calling bullshit on me refusing to date. I’m dabbing. I’m open to the concept. I refuse to let this all get me, let them tear me down. I don’t lose. 

Life is one big risk, right? It’s like rummy, you don’t have to show your full hand, you don’t even have to go all in to win. But I always do and I always win–that’s why they call me the rummy queen.