Category Archives: you are enough

Apr7

I validate me.

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There’s something very validating when you finally come to a point where you don’t need validation from others or from a guy. When you know you’re doing well. When you appreciate being single. When you love yourself and would prefer to wait than give in to something less than.

Less than exhilarating.

Less than thrilling.

Less than emotional.

Less than respectful.

Less than life altering.

Less than worth shouting from rooftops.

Less than everything.

Less than love.

Yesterday was a day. A day of epiphanies, chaos, productivity, and fun. Yet, somehow, it was relaxing, welcoming, peaceful. It began with wiping my kid’s ass, three cups of coffee, reading 70 pages of Girl, Stop Apologizing, reading three books to Evelynn, and showering before 11am. Then came the biweekly gluten free cupcakes and donuts run and not-so-quick stop at Target before paying bills, doing my taxes (I file them myself, go me, thank you dad), working out (leg day), making tacos (Evelynn demanded, again), cleaning the bathrooms (1.5 to be exact), doing 6 loads of laundry (including folding), cleaning the kitchen, and showering (again).

And finally this: writing until 1am. Where I’ve been putting most of my “free time” lately.

This is how most of my days go. My weekends are as busy as my weekdays, sometimes more so. I’m an adult. I have responsibilities. I have goals. I choose not to ignore them, deny them, or pause them.

I run with them.

Somehow, that means I’m not dateable, because I don’t have time for fun (wrong) or because I’m a mom (many assume they’re immediately playing daddy, wrong again).

The last month has been rough when it comes to random guys popping up out of nowhere. And I don’t mean guys I had previously turned down; I mean guys who only wanted me for my body. Why? Because they’re bored with their girlfriend or because I’m apparently the rebound. It’s fantastic. Seriously.

(Honestly, I really hope you caught that sarcasm.)

More than once I’ve wondered, how do I not feel like I want to curl up in bed? How am I not crying right now? I feel like I should be crying.It’s degrading and demoralizing.

The worst: they seem to think it’s flattering, being the girl who gets their dick hard but not good enough to date or be with. It’s not flattering. One dude actually wanted to tell me goodbye before he deleted me from social media because the temptation was too overwhelming—for him, not me. I refused to be the girl he cheated on his girlfriend with or send him nudes. Then there was the guy who wasn’t sure if he made the right decision—as if I was still an option. I’m one of those girls where when you don’t choose me, you have to walk through hell to prove you deserve a chance because I want to know you’re not going to walk away at the drop of a hat…..again. Or as soon as someone who isn’t a parent and who doesn’t have responsibilities of a child comes along that offers him a different lifestyle. And then there were the three guys who broke up with their girlfriends and needed a rebounded—I am not a second choice (again, see where you’d be walking through fire and we both know you don’t have that willpower or level of interest).

For the record, I don’t mind if someone initially wants me for my body. It’s how you notice someone: something on the exterior is found attractive, whether it’s looks or a laugh or something they say. And in a world of online dating or noticing one from a far, I don’t care if someone wants to get to know me because of how I look but I’ll be damned if they don’t come to love me or appreciate me for my mind, too.

My favorite, though, are the ones who come around to tell me I’m too good for them. That they don’t deserve me. That they’re not enough for me.

I hate that.

As soon as the words are out of their mouth, I’m telling them how right they are. I’m confirming their belief: I am too good for them. But not for why they say it.

I like to believe that when you find someone you’re interested in or love, you’re naturally going to think they’re too good for you, that you don’t deserve them because you’re amazed someone like them could like someone like you. And you spend time trying to prove to them why they chose you out of the 7.7 billion people in the world, they chose you.

And that’s mutual.

But you know you’re worth it. That you are worth them and what the two of you share.

That’s the end goal, right?

I’m a goal digger. I chase my dreams. I go to bed with a clean kitchen every night. I work out, I eat healthy, I fuel my body. I read to exercise my mind. I can’t shut my mind off when it comes to possible writing material or project initiatives for work. I put my kid before everything. I continuously work to grow. I make things happen for me.

That doesn’t automatically mean I’m serious one hundred percent of the time. It means my life is a rollercoaster. Highs and lows. A balance of fun and adulting. Why are we so hellbent on believing we can’t have fun as an adult? Because I can’t run off at the drop of a hat because I have a kid? That’s insane.

I think I have a habit of going for assholes because they remind me of being a kid. They easily make me feel like a kid again. They never grow up, though. And I don’t want a Peter Pan. I want that balance.

I like a guy who can just as easily be a kid and then chase his dreams full heartedly and not slack on his responsibilities, all in the same day.

I want someone I admire, and who admires me. I don’t want to rely on their validation, though, to feel secure.

I’ve hunkered down on my nutrition and fitness. I’m a firm believer that endorphins, fueling our body well, and regular activity are three tools that mentally make us strong. And they promote selflove. When we take care of our bodies, we feel good about our bodies. We see what we’re capable of. When we say no to foods and to the negatives in our life, we enhance that strength.

For everyone who says saying “No” isn’t simple, they’re right; it’s a simple concept. I’d love to eat pizza four nights a week and drink beer and not care that one skipped workout turns into another. But I absolutely love feeling amazing and worthy long-term. That pizza and beer and skipping the workout might be great in the moment but later? I’ll be hating my life, feeling miserable, and driving circles in the parking lot just so I don’t have to wear myself out walking into the store or unable to walk up stairs without losing my breadth. I’ll have regrets.

I’ve never known anyone to regret taking care of themselves and making themselves a priority.

I want someone who admires me and isn’t afraid to hold me accountable because they know me, who I want to be and where I want to go.

There are those guys too, and they might be the most common: the guys who realize I’m not afraid to call them out. They talk about what they want and who they want to be but lack the drive and don’t show initiative. I’ll tell them, I’ll push them to chase their dreams and ask the hard questions. I don’t want this type.

I’m nearly thirty years old and I’ve spent the majority of the last four years single. At this point, I’m holding out. It’s disheartening to see folks who gave into someone out of the fear of being lonely, and now they don’t know what to do. They complain about the mundane and miss the exhilaration. They traded chasing dreams for a life on the couch and being their partner’s biggest cheerleader without him or her returning the favor. I don’t want that. In fact, that’s my fear: to end up in a loveless relationship or to feel stuck.

I’m looking for the guy unafraid to push me, who knows I don’t need him but that I choose him every day.

There’s validation in that: choosing someone because you love them not because you need them to make you feel happy or good about yourself. I think we forget about this too often: how to love ourselves and validate ourselves without someone else’s affirmations.

I hope you see value in that—surrounding yourself with those who push you and bring you up, and have your partner be your biggest supporter and you theirs. Your dreams don’t have to align or be the same, but you do have to respect yourself and love yourself or you’ll always wonder why they chose you.

I’m not going to lie, insecurity in relationships annoys me. When fears overpower the moment or the future. When you spend more time defending or explaining yourself because someone needs you to feel good about themselves or because they can’t accept you chose them. Suddenly, it’s like living under a dark cloud instead of dancing in the sunshine.

So right now, I choose me. I choose to wait. I choose to love me. After all, I’ve got a daughter who I need to set an example for. And right, damn do I feel good about me, who I am and where I’m going. I’m not settling for less than love.

Mar18

Give me bossy, I’ll give you a voice.

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I have a problem calling my daughter bossy. I also find it difficult to reprimand her for the times she is bossy. She’s young and impressionable. I’d rather she grow up bossy and strong, with a slight attitude towards authority, than lose her voice. She’s young and knowing the difference at this age is challenging.

Attitude is everything. It’s what defines growth and success. It’s what decides if goals are achieved. It’s what can define our character and how we think of ourselves, how we talk to ourselves.

It’s also what separates state of content from true pure happiness.

We have a habit as empathetic humans of getting roped into things that aren’t good for us because it’s what someone else wants or because we’re told it’s what’s best for us. We’re never given a well-rounded why but we take it, hoping maybe they know something we don’t or because we host this fear of the unknown.

It’s why we go back to toxic or negative relationships. Instead of burning the house down we shut the door and hang a rope out the window.

It’s why we stick around for undervalued or underpaid jobs instead of chasing a career and holding out for the positions or pay we deserve.

It’s why we don’t speak up when we disagree with a popular opinion.

It’s why when we’re sad, we smother it and self-medicate in damaging ways or ignore it until it becomes a ticking time bomb and too much to bear.

It’s why we overuse words like depression and anxiety, when what we really feel is sad or fear.

It’s why we often times forget people cannot simply demand our respect given their job title or status in life—it’s something that must be continuously earned.

It’s why we lose curiosity and imagination with age.

It’s why when we’re told “No” or that we’re not good enough, we often take it.

We’re told “No” too many times. “Sit down.” “Be quiet.” “Listen up.” Yet, we never give someone at a young age the platform to speak and cultivate their own thought process.

I make Evelynn play alone. Sometimes, I’ve wondered if I’m a bad mom for fostering independence—I know some people find this “selfish” behavior on my part but never ask me why I do it. I want her to rely on herself and feel confident alone. So many people are so scared of being alone or find too much comfort in it as a way to escape reality. I want her to grow up balancing social and alone time.

When Evelynn was first put into preschool (a pre pre-preschool at age 2) for 2 hours, it was required the parents stick around in the room. What happened? Every child only wanted to play with their parent. I refused. I encouraged her to play with other kids while I drank my coffee and watched, stepping in as needed if there was a problem. Overtime, other parents tried to do the same and we’d chat, often interrupted by their kid wanting their attention in a roomful of child peers. Evelynn ended up being the only child social enough to play with other kids and parents the entire time, every day. Despite her speech issue.

When she went into pre-preschool at age 3, she became the child who sought out the lonely kid and made sure they had a buddy. While other kids often sought her out, and she would play with them, too, she was comfortable enough to play with the quiet kid, the disabled kid, the lonely kid.

For our 90-minute trips to the east side or back, she plays with her hands. Her fingers are puppets. She entertains herself. Whereas me and my brother would have berated our parents with “Are we there yet?” Evelynn keeps herself occupied or tells me a story. Or naps. I’m lucky there.

What do I mean when I make her play alone? Saturday and Sunday mornings are my “coffee time” when I drink my coffee and read. Evelynn can cuddle with me if she’s in a mood or, mostly, I encourage her to play with her barbies or dolls or animals or kitchen set. I encourage her to color or do her puzzle. She’s still on this 400-piece puzzle that I refuse to help her with. The only thing I’m willing to do is sit at the table with her or separate the pieces by theme (sky, snow, edges, etc.). I want her to be able to say she did it. I want her to be comfortable on her own.

I don’t want her to equate playing alone with nobody wants to play with her or be around her. I don’t want her to equate being alone with nobody wants her or likes her.

I take the bossy.

I welcome the bossy.

When she tells me to do something, I give her a look and she uses her manners. I ask her why she can’t do it herself and if it’s a sufficient reply, I’ll do it. If she thinks something is “too hard” I make her try first before I help. We often do a, “Evelynn, stop. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Okay? Try it again,” when she’s frustrated and she is the only obstacle standing in her own way.

And then she nails it.

The child has a speech issue. Still. It’s better but most folks can’t understand everything she says. Hell, I often struggle. It’s a work in progress. However, this hasn’t stopped her from engaging with peers or talking with a stranger at Target. She’s always telling the checkout lady or sir a story. She hasn’t let it deter her.

We have a habit in growing up of losing our curiosity and voice. We’re so scared to tell someone how we feel, that we love them, that we’re happy, that we love ourselves, that we’re sad. We filter everything; in fear they won’t love us back, we don’t want to be seen as conceited, we don’t want to be seen as broken, we don’t want to be labeled. I love that kids have no filter (except when they’re saying something hurtful or doing something harmful, of course).

Evelynn isn’t afraid to tell me how she feels or what she wants. I want that to grow and continue. I want her to know she matters. I want her to foster that imagination. I want her to foster that curiosity. I want her to foster that empathy for others. I want her to keep randomly coming up to me and announcing with pride, “Mom I’m strong,” while pumping her arm muscles on display; or, “Mom, I did it! I’m smart,” when she completes a new 100-piece puzzle; or even, “Mom, I’m beautiful” when she puts on a new dress she likes or wears “flower hair” (braids) she loves.

I want her to know she CAN validate herself. I want her to foster that voice. I want her to know she has the power.

Feb28

Looks Be Damned, More Coffee Please.

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IMG_6465I always seem to be the girl at the center of every coffee joke, meme, or purchase item; constantly tagged by friends, family, and even strangers. Yet, I’ve never dated a guy who drank coffee.

You read that right: not one of my exes drank coffee. I’ve been racking my brain trying to remember one who did. Instead, every single one of them refused to touch the beverage and would quote, “It just means there’s more for you and I’ll never be the cause of why you might run out of coffee. So I can never piss you off.” Translation: “I’m never responsible for buying it and I don’t support your Starbucks runs.” Which sadly aligned well with most of the nonequal relationships by the end.

Lesson: pay attention to the little things; their voices will be shouting by the end.

Last weekend I got stood up again and I’m starting to actually wonder if this is the trait at the core of my dating issues. Sad part: I can’t even tell if I’m joking. (Insert slap face emoji.)

We’re only two months in the year and I have been stood up 4 times. I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t hurt or doesn’t break me just a little every time it happens. It comes to the point where I never get hopes up with dating and always expect the guy not to show. That’s become my norm.

That is sad. That’s crazy.

It’s so early in the stages of getting to know someone, it makes you question your looks. The person has yet to know you on any deep level. Their attraction at the beginning is almost entirely based on looks. Basic attraction. That’s why first dates happen, to see if there’s a human interaction connection.

It makes me question if I’m pretty enough and I hate that.

Anyone who knows me well, or well enough, will tell you I hate promoting the “look good feel good.” I despise promoting the fitness for looks goals and Tuesday Transformation posts. I’m the girl wishing everyone felt confident in their own skin because they feel good, because the endorphins from working out has a positive impact on happiness. I hate when people associate looks with size—don’t worry, I won’t go into the skinny beautiful rant again, I’ve done that enough.

Yet, I’m the girl questioning my looks. There’s my confession. I am allowing my subconscious to pick apart my body.

Every voice that pops up in my head to tell me I’m not good enough because I’m not pretty enough, I have to tell take a hike. The voices that pick apart my skin, size, hair, shape….we fight constantly. Here’s the thing though: I refuse to let her win.

There’s a kicker, though.

Lately I’ve been asking myself this one question: How can I feel confident in my own skin and love my body when I’m constantly allowing this voice to pop up in my head, telling me, you’re not pretty enough, what’s wrong with you? It’s a crazy paradigm. It’s irony. I’m at the best I’ve felt in my own skin and yet, this voice is just nagging and there. It doesn’t matter if I tell her she’s wrong or that I do love my body. It doesn’t matter that when she tells me, “your back is scared” or “you’ve got rolls instead of a flat tubby” I turn around and say, “Well, so the fuck what? That’s life. Doesn’t matter. She’s still there and I still get stood up.

Reality: It’s a continuous journey. Sometimes, I like to call it an ego check; it’s what keeps us humble.

 

PERCEPTION.

per·cep·tion

A way of regarding, understanding, or interpreting something; a mental impression.

Here’s today’s thought: How often has your perception of yourself been influenced by the negative actions of other people?

You can’t control how people perceive you but you can control your actions and your mindset. Despite common belief, you can choose to be happy with yourself. You can choose to accept yourself but why only accept yourself? Why stop there?

So, here’s to the one who is having trouble loving yourself:

  • You are smart. If you don’t feel smart, read more and always be curious.
  • You are strong. If you don’t feel strong, lift more and be more active.
  • You are kind. If you don’t feel kind, do 3 things every day to bring kindness to someone and make at least one of those acts of kindness to a stranger.
  • You are loved. If you don’t feel loved, love more—those around you and yourself.
  • You are exquisitely beautiful. If you don’t feel exquisitely beautiful, start every day by telling yourself one thing you love about your body and why.
  • You are ALIVE. Nothing else matters. Be happy that you can enjoy what it’s like to fill your lungs with air, to feel the ground beneath your feet when you walk, and to taste your favorite food.
  • You are YOU. Nobody gets that superpower. Fall in love with yourself for that alone.

Don’t be on the wrong side of loving yourself. The world—you—has enough critics. And anyone who doesn’t love you, fuck them. Seriously, life is too short. Too short for stupid boys and questioning your looks or your worth.

Besides, I’d rather have a good cup of coffee with a guy who brings me up and doesn’t make second guess myself.

 

Feb13

Put down the scissors, girl.

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

It’s difficult to witness.

I’m terrified for my daughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May12

Still Got It.

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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.

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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.

Mar25

Rummy Queen. 

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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.

Dec31

Hike Mountains With Me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least, I know I will.

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted me to be your better half,
for you to complete me
when I wanted a better man
& to be whole on my own.
Dec2

Notch On Confidence

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

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

It’s downright laughable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dec1

Light Up YOU.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I want the same for you.