Moving Forward

I did a thing today. A big thing. I'm admittedly emotional about it.

You see when the new year came, I knew it was time to get into therapy. Therapy gave me the courage to end my relationship and take a long hard look at myself. I read over some of my blog posts from the last couple of years. It was evident that I was carrying some deep anger. All of my blog posts from the last couple of years have had a negative, even vindictive tinge to them. 

Additionally, my behavior in real life had gotten out of control. I purposely hit other cars with my own to "teach them a lesson". I punched a previous boyfriend in the nose. I put holes in walls from throwing things, and have even been charged with "criminal mischief" (undeservedly) from an act of anger. I knew I was out of control and needed help.

My anger was like a plague. Anytime I would think about what I was angry about it would feel like big angry waves crashing all around me. It felt uncontrollable like the violent energy of the sea. I was genuinely scared that the anger would never end, and would eventually consume me. The truth was that I was already consumed.

Therapy taught me that anger is always the secondary emotion. My true primary emotion was deep deep sadness. And I had been carrying this sadness and pain for so so long. I used the anger to keep me safe from any perceived threats. But now, the anger was no longer serving me. It was just creating more and more pain. 

I wasn't operating as an adult woman. I was just a hurt little girl. I had to grow up and move forward. In my mind's eye I turned to that hurt little girl and said "I have to go now, and you can't come with me. I have to go be someone different, and can't carry you and the baggage anymore." It didn't even matter what the pain was about or who that little girl was, they had become dead weight.

I took the time to sit with the sadness, but I also knew I had to say goodbye to my old friend. The relationship I had with that hurt little girl, though it had protected me many times, had turned toxic. There was no way to keep her and move forward too.

It was from that place that I began to take steps forward. Other pieces began to fall easily into place. Never had I understood the notion of respect. I could not wrap my brain around what it meant or what it looked like. That also meant I didn't understand disrespect either. One day, I read a definition of it in a book, and it immediately made perfect sense as though I had heard the concept for the first time. 

I began to look at many relationships and events that were happening in my life and began to say of it all, "That's disrespect. That's disrespect, and that's disrespect too!"

I began to explore the idea of setting boundaries. That meant following through with those boundaries and creating consequences of violating those boundaries. It also meant setting boundaries for myself. I'm still working on that.

Most importantly, I began to listen to my body. It told me everything I needed to know about what emotions I was feeling. Because the only emotion that truly seemed familiar to me was anger. But as I listened to my body, I became less reactive to the anger and more accepting of all the other emotions I never allowed myself to acknowledge previously.

So as I sat with my therapist and recounted the date I had the previous night, and a light turned on for me. The guy was nice enough. He was not an Alpha Male type, and I could tell he did not have many dates. He was laid back, and seemed genuinely interested in me. 

We met at the park initially. He brought pizza, and I brought wine and a blanket. We sat and talked and enjoyed the Caprese salad on our pizza crusts as the sun went down. 

Eventually, sunset turned to night, and we were still talking while I sat there shivering. He asked me if I wanted to go to his apartment to keep talking. 

While at the park he had already begun to make physical advances. He put his arms around me when I was cold. It felt like a sweet gesture and a promise of what was to come.

Once at his apartment, we put on some music and continued to talk. Somewhere along the way I think he had too much to drink. I had only a couple of glasses of wine while he switched to whiskey once we were back at his place. He began slurring his words, but still seemed coherent.

We had been at his place for about 15 minutes and were chattering away. I was sitting on the sofa, and he was standing in the doorway of his bedroom when I heard a familiar noise. I have significant hearing loss and have hearing aids that I did not have on so I wasn't entirely certain what I heard. So I kept talking.

Then I heard it again. The guy apologized under his breath and then went to the bathroom. I could not believe it. He was farting right in front of me! They were long farts. He was not trying to hide it either. He was just letting them rip. Though I said nothing, I was pretty disgusted. This was a cardinal sin I was not so sure I could excuse.

However, I have my manners, and they told me to ignore the whole thing. He came back to the sofa and kissed me. I did not mind and kissed him back. His kisses became more aggressive to indicate that he was looking for more of a makeout scenario. I kept thinking "But this is a first date". I don't even kiss on a first date! As I tried to politely slow him down and re-direct him back to conversing, he would eventually always come back to kissing. I looked at him a couple of times during the exchange, and he had a look of rejection across his face. Maybe it was the picture he painted in my head of his mother with her lack of care and abandonment of him, but I knew the rejection was not about me. The rejection ran deep, and he was visibly wrestling with it. It was painted all across his face. 

Then he managed to roll around on top of me and ask if he could "go down" on me. So I said, "No. It's a first date!" I kept saying it in a light-hearted way so as to convey my lack of judgement for his request but also try to give him some context. He asked again and even tried to pull my pants down. I said no multiple times before he stopped. 

Eventually, I told him that it was late, and I should leave. He kept trying to get me to stay another hour. When I refused, he tried to bargain and ask for half an hour. I had to tell him no multiple times. I felt like I had to pry myself out of his hands. It didn't feel domineering, but more desperate than anything.

The next day I recounted my date to my therapist. Strangely, none of what I told her seemed to bother me. This all seemed pretty normal to me...except the farting. The guy liked me so of course he wanted me to stay, and of course he wanted to be physical with me! He's a guy!

Her response caught me off guard. She mimicked my body language I used when telling her the story. She recited my very words back to me. This was a man who did not respect my requests. This was a man who did not respect my boundaries. This was a man I felt it was my job to tip toe around to make sure he didn't feel rejected. Why were my desires and my boundaries less important than his? They might have been less important to him, but more importantly I saw that they were less important to me. I put his desires ahead of my own because subconsciously I thought they were more important than my own. 

Whoa. How many times have I done that? And what implications did that have in my life? Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. 

I proceeded to defend him to my therapist. He was a nice guy. He didn't seem like an abusive type. He was just drunk. But she asked me why all of that even mattered? He didn't listen to my request, and my biggest issue that causes me pain is not feeling seen or heard. This guy did just that! He didn't see or hear me! So what does it matter that he's a nice guy? 

Over the next few days I thought about what she said. I knew I had a decision to make. Not about whether or not I would see him again. It was about whether or not I was going to move forward. Was I going to keep making excuses for people who disregarded me? Was I going to keep putting others' desires and opinions before my own? Was his satisfaction more important than mine? Was his voice the one that mattered? Shouldn't my opinion matter most to myself? 

A choice had to be made. I texted him and told him that his behavior bothered me so I couldn't see him again. Truly, he was a nice guy. But this was about something so much bigger than him. This was about taking a step towards becoming the woman I want to be. And in order to become that woman, I have to do it differently. I have to make decisions that I respect. And that is way more important than being liked, or having a boyfriend, or making decisions that others respect. 

I haven't figured it all out, but I'm on my way. I've made the decision to move forward, and that really is the most important thing. I'm not angry about it. I don't judge the guy. I actually believe him to be a nice person who has his own issues like we all do. 

I'm on a journey to find myself though, without the pain and baggage. I'm hoping to find empowerment. I'm hoping to feel more in control of my destiny than ever before. I'm hoping to dream of new things other than being loved by others. 

I'm hoping. I'm dreaming. 

They say it's not about the destination but the journey. The journey is beautiful, but the destination is myself in it's truest form. I won't stop reaching for her. I won't stop dreaming of her. Because that's where the sunshine is. 

Abuse

Most of you don't know. Some of you know some of it, and others know more. No one knows it all because that is what abuse does. It isolates. It hides truth.

I can't hide anymore. 

For the last 5 months I have been in an abusive relationship. 

I know that I have posted photos of fun adventures, lots of smiles, and a handsome man to boot. But I have spent the last 5 months being manipulated and degraded and gaslighted and abused.

Many of you are probably wondering why I posted the happy photos then. Well, I'm 33 with no strong family ties, no close friends, no children, and a slew of failed relationships. At my age it's easy to feel like your relationship status puts you into a caste system of sorts. Single. Married. Divorced. Etc. We all have our own judgments about the types of people who fall into each category. That's a blog post for another time.

At 33 you start to wonder if you'll ever find someone with whom to make a family and spend your life. Your standards start to dip. You no longer require too much. You just simply want to be loved, and seen and heard. 

In case you're wondering, these are really hard words to write. It's hard because I've heard from so many people things like, "Once you stop looking, they will find you" or "It's better to be single than to be with the wrong person" or "It will happen for you one day". To those of you thinking those things or any variation thereof, I say, shut the fuck up, please.

I made my life look great on social media because I want people to believe that about me. I don't want people to see my loneliness, my fear, my grief, my frustration. Because those feel like an endless ocean of dark water that if I step in, will consume me and from which I will never return. 

And if we're being honest, no one wants "Negative Nancy". That's what some friends used to call me. No one wants the neediness and the anger that doesn't end. No one wants that person across their news feed. As my this ex would say, no one wants me to be my actual self.

So when a handsome man comes along and sweeps you off of your feet you want so badly to believe it. You convince yourself that if you just give a little more and try a little harder it can really work. You tell yourself that relationships take work. You have to learn to communicate with another individual and if you can just figure that out, you'll have a successful relationship and be happy. I set out to do everything differently than I had in the past. I was fully committed to learning this person so I could be a great girlfriend.

And then there was the first time the name-calling started. We had been out with friends and had a late night in the city. We had been drinking, and I was having difficulty finding us an Uber home. I walked up the block to see if I could locate an Uber, and I realized he had walked off in his own direction without me. Immediately, when I called him to let him know I was on a street corner in the early hours of morning by myself he began to say things. "You're so stupid" "Fuck you" etc. 

I became angry and probably said a couple of things similarly back to him. I finally found an Uber and made my way back to my house. I told him to pick up his stuff, and we were over. Once he got to my house he continued in person calling me names like "slut, cunt, bitch", etc.

I was stunned. I could not believe this person who had been amazing and magical and said such flattering things to me for the first month could turn into a monster so quickly. What had I done so badly to piss him off?

But the next day as I started to miss him, I began to make excuses....We had been drinking...I said mean things too... I walked away from him too...Maybe it was an off night...I get angry when I drink sometimes too...

He was certain I would never talk to him again after that, but I wanted to give him another chance. We all deserve a pass sometimes. However, now I think back to that night, I realize that I should have walked away then. All of my friends told me that if he was doing that only a month into the relationship, it would only get worse. They were right.

The part I think that makes me the most susceptible to accepting this behavior is the fact that I have messed up relationships in major ways by also allowing my anger to get out of control and say things I don't mean. I have done some terrible things in relationships and have received numerous passes for my behavior. Ultimately, much of my own bad behavior has led to ruined relationships and hurting people I care about. So I truly want to give the forgiveness that I recognize I have also needed at times.

We fell into a cycle, and the behavior continued. Things would be great for almost a week, and then there would be a huge blow up. Our fights never seemed to be about anything real though. He would blow up over seemingly innocuous things. Because I said something he didn't like. Because I acted too emotionally. Anytime I ever tried to come to him with my emotions he rejected them. He didn't want a Negative Nancy. He didn't want me.

We would have a discussion, and he would say something I didn't understand. He would reply to my confusion by saying he would explain it like he was speaking to a 5-year old. I would try to explain myself and use an experience from a previous relationship as an example, and he would get up an walk out of the room. He would respond when I told him that he was acting ridiculous by saying that I was "stupid as shit."

We couldn't ever talk about how his words made me feel. He had to turn it back around and accuse me of the same behavior. But because it was me instead of him doing it, that made me worse. He would call me names. When I called him names in an effort to defend myself he would use that as proof that I was guilty of the same behavior. But I was always worse. It was unladylike. No guy wants a girl to speak like that. I used too many curse words for a girl, though he would rarely make sense because he used the "f word" so much during one of his lectures that I could not understand what he was saying. But somehow, I was worse still. 

There were multiple occasions he left me in the middle of a restaurant or a bar and made me walk home by myself. There was one occasion that he threw me out of his house along with all of my things in front of his best friend. There was a camping trip at the lake where he took me paddleboarding and called me a "cunt" so no one else could hear him.

Then last weekend we went to Aspen. Everything was going well. We spent the day biking and walking around the town. That night we had plans to go dancing. I began driving us and using Google Maps to navigate my way from Smowmass to Aspen. I made a wrong turn. As I was turning around he was telling me that he knew the way, and I should ignore the app. I said no, and he called me stupid. I responded, "We're going this way, dickface." (Needless to say, I never take being called stupid well) He began to call me a barrage of names...stupid...idiot...I'm a joke...I'm a loser...no man wants me. So I said that we were going home. He told me to pull the car over. He was planning on making me walk in the cold in heels over a mile uphill back to the hotel.

I pulled the car over, and he continued to yell at me, ordering me to get out of the car. I refused. He then grabbed my neck to choke me. He quickly released but got out of the car to come around to the driver's side to physically pull me out of the car. I still resisted and refused. As the insults continued I became enraged. Needless to say, I don't take physical assault well, either. I stepped on the gas. I drove his car right into the ditch...on purpose. Negative Nancy was released just for a minute.

He went into full meltdown mode. I got out of the car and began walking. By that time, it was clear that walking in the cold was the safer less painful option. He hopped into the driver's seat while his passenger door was still open and began trying to get the car out of the ditch. He ended up getting it further stuck and bending his passenger door to the point that it no longer functioned as a door just dangling off the side of his car.

As I walked away, I looked up and saw police lights coming down the hill. I was sure they were coming for us.

Throughout the following days, I became hyper emotional. All of this anger bubbled up within me, and I had no idea how to get it out. How had I let myself be such a fool? I began researching signs of emotional abuse, and it turns out that I was a match. As I read more and more the anger and sadness enveloped me. I learned what the term "gaslighting" meant. I learned that I possessed every symptom of emotional abuse, and he exhibited every sign of an emotional abuser. 

I'm embarrassed to say that I still hung on. Maybe I just had a way of pressing his buttons. Maybe if he could see how much he hurt me. Maybe if I confront him with the evidence. Maybe if I just wait for the perfect time to tell him how I feel. 

So I patiently waited about a week. I let him sleep next to me. We watched TV, and I let him borrow my car while his was in the shop. I told him I loved him, and carried on like normal. But I found myself in my alone time emotional, feeling like I was going to explode. 

Finally, I asked him politely if it was a good time to talk. He said 'no' like always. I told him that since he was on call over the weekend and there was no guarantee we would have time to talk, a sunny afternoon spent outside was the best place. I wasn't trying to fight, but we did just have the cops called and serious property damaged the weekend prior. 

I began by stating that the relationship had turned abusive. I began by telling him that there is no way to move onto the good stuff and work on learning to communicate better when there were temper tantrums and name-calling and abuse. As I spoke, the tears just overwhelmed me. The anger and the hurt that had been sitting for so long just below the surface had risen up. All I could do was cry. 

I am rarely the one crying in a relationship, but I can say I have never felt so frustrated in a relationship. I honestly felt like I had tried everything. My tears were me at the end of myself. 

I found myself holding onto one thing. I told myself that if he could acknowledge how he hurt me, there was hope. I wanted the relationship to work so badly. I felt like we had all of the bones of a great relationship if he would just care and try. As I continued to talk through my tears he became frustrated. He didn't want to listen. He wanted to talk. I sat there begging him to just listen to me. Begging. I explained that I had so much emotion pent up with no one to talk to hoping to find the perfect time and place for him to listen. I needed him to hear me so badly. The relationship depended on it.

It never occurred to me that there would never be a perfect time and place because he never cared about me. He didn't want to hear anything I had to say. He only cared about himself and what he had to say. He wanted me to know that in spite of my tears, I was still worse.

He walked away as I sat there sobbing from over 5 months worth of abuse. That was probably the best thing he could have done for me. It hurt, but I knew I had given him his last chance. The one hope I was holding onto was snuffed out. 

Now I'm sitting here wondering where this leaves me. Who is this person I have let myself become? Am I that desperate? I'm embarrassed. Everyone told me to leave him, and I couldn't find the strength. What does that say about me? My struggle to maintain my dignity led me to become what many would call "crazy". I'm sure if he was telling the story it would be a tale of a bat-shit crazy girl who "never wanted to hear about herself" (he told me this daily). 

But I kept posting the happy photos. I kept suggesting more trips and more self-help books and couples therapy. I kept ignoring my feelings. I concluded that men aren't supposed to care about those anyway. 

So I'm writing to tell you that I'm broken right now. I'm writing to tell you that I feel so alone, unloved, and un-worthy of love. I'm writing to tell you to never trust what you see on social media. I'm writing to tell you that abuse is sneaky and real. I'm writing to tell you that it takes time to heal. I'm writing to tell you the truth. I'm writing to get it out. Hoping that writing it will get the anger and sadness and grief out of my body, on the outside of me instead of the inside where it's destroying me.

I'm writing to tell you that the hardest part has been that there has been no one to talk to. My family and friends told me to leave him, and became frustrated with my yo-yo relationship. They want to tell me what to do without listening. They don't know how to spot abuse. They don't understand why I kept going back. They didn't really try to understand either.

They also know me well. There is indeed two sides to every story. I have not been perfect in the relationship. I KNOW how to push someone's buttons and make them angry. If I could make a living at button pushing, I would be rich. I guess that's where things get tricky and sticky. It's easy to overlook abuse because there are two sides. But I found myself acting out in strange ways...calling names...damaging his stuff...in an effort to hold onto my dignity. What kind of person would I be if I didn't put up a fight? 

But abuse is so much more than that. It's the person telling you things happened differently than what you remember. It's the person telling you that you shouldn't tell the couples' counselor everything. It's the person telling you that being in the relationship is your choice, but it's also your only choice. It's the person telling you that you've never been engaged because you're such a terrible person. It's the person telling you that you're just too sensitive. It's the person telling you that you're always angry and that's why they don't love you. It's fake apologies just to get you to shut up. It's the threats to leave if you don't let them do what they want. It's the "tit for tat" in every conversation.

Abuse is even more than that. Abuse is telling you that no other person has made them feel like this. It's telling you that you would make a great wife and mother. It's telling you that you're so beautiful (a "9" to be exact). It's great sex, and fun nights out. There's deep connection and plenty of things in common and intense physical attraction. There's so much good mixed in with the constant domination and scrutiny in the background. It's having a calm conversation and the straight face when he says, "I'll fuck you up" over this very blog post.

So here I am scared to post this, and much of my words are for my own documentation purposes. I know he won't like it, but my emotions have become uncontrollable. My behavior has become erratic. I am fluctuating between sadness and rage. I'm embarrassed and don't want pity. But I also don't have a fucking single person to talk to. I'm not talking about a one-time pow-wow. I'm talking about someone to express this deep-seeded rage that won't end. I'm talking about when I talk to him and don't know if I'm crazy or he is. I'm talking about feeling so completely alone in this, because I AM. I so so so am. And writing this is the only way I have to get it out. But it just feels like I need to get it out over and over and over again. There's no one for that.

That's abuse. 

Break Ups and Speakers

I broke up with my boyfriend today. Admittedly, we did the whole "break up, get back together" dance a million times, but today was different. I found myself crying, not because I lost him, not because we broke up, but because I realized how I let him make me feel. I realized that my self esteem was shot, and the relationship had become completely one-sided. 

The night before I brought over a house-warming gift (an air purifier) and a 4-month anniversary gift, an expensive bluetooth speaker. I accompanied the speaker with a card. The speaker had some sentimental value between us, if you could call it that. 

This man loved to listen to rap. He would listen to gangster rap in front of his children, while we were cooking dinner, while we were riding in the car, while we were hiking, biking, at the pool. You get the idea. I am deaf in one ear so many times it frustrated me when the music was loud because it meant that my brain was absorbed in this world of hoes and money instead of talking and connecting with my boyfriend. 

One weekend we were camping, and got into a fight. He sat up and played rap music from his bluetooth speaker until the wee hours of the morning. I laid in the tent all night unable to sleep from the noise, and listened while I overheard other campers in other campsites make complaints about the noise. 

The next day when I mentioned it to him and mentioned the designated quiet hours, he said that if other people were bothered by him they should have left their tents and campers in the middle of the night to confront him and let him know they were bothered.

So that day while we all played in the water and enjoyed the sun, I found a moment alone with the speaker. In an overjoyed frenzy, I tossed it into the brush knowing that my boyfriend would be too drunk and scatterbrained to notice. 

I felt good. The silence felt even better. To not have to listen to songs about money and hoes and drugs and Drake was pure freedom. 

After we returned from the trip I discovered that he had a backup speaker. A less expensive one with not so good sound quality, but fully capable of playing noise nonetheless. 

One night I went to his house to cook dinner and showed up late, stressed, and exhausted. He of course had his gangster rap playing. I asked him to turn it off. He did, only to turn it on full blast later on in the night while we were trying to talk. 

I will sum up the rest of the night to say that we ended up in a huge fight, and he told me that he felt like I was stifling him by asking him to turn it off. How dare I stop his party! So he ended up throwing me out of his house and physically throwing all of my things out the door. I was enraged by the disrespect.

So the next day I went to his house while he was at work, knowing that he keeps his door unlocked. I took the speaker back to my house. I found a hammer, and it did what hammers do. No more speaker. No more Drake. It felt really good to feel that silence.

Let me just say this is not how I usually react to things. I am not a vindictive person, and do not have a history of destroying other people's property (unless warranted, like the time I caught a (now ex) boyfriend sexting another woman). Honestly, I can say that I was a little perplexed by my actions. I knew where the anger was coming from, but normally I'm a direct, scream-in-your-face kind of person. I guess deep down I knew all along that he wouldn't have listened to me. He only cared about what he wanted, and destroying those speakers was the only way to get him to listen.

A month later, I felt that some proverbial corner had been turned in the relationship. We seemed to be more committed to making each other happy and listening to each others' needs. 

Surprisingly, once I admitted to him what I had done (during another crazy fight) he never seemed to hold it against me or make too big of a deal about it. I mentioned that I planned on replacing the speaker on a couple of occasions, and I thought our 4 month anniversary was the right time. 

I don't normally celebrate an "anniversary" monthly, but no one expected us to stay together that long, including us. So it felt like something that was worth celebrating. I included a card thanking him for showing me grace and giving me room to grow in the relationship, referencing him not making too big of a deal about the speakers. 

He thanked me multiple times and seemed genuinely thankful for the speaker. However, later that night I asked him to be careful about the way he kissed me because I had a cold sore on my lip. He was always fine kissing me with a cold sore, and that was totally his choice. I just didn't want him to kiss my lips and then kiss other parts of me in an irrational fear that he would spread it. (really not sure how scientific that fear is) 

Immediately he began telling me how sexually naive I was and how boring I was went it came to our physical intimacy. I told him that I didn't understand why he was all of a sudden attacking me just because I made my desire known. As usual, he was taking the most vulnerable parts of me and using them to hurt me. We went to bed solemnly. 

The next morning he tried to kiss me, and I immediately brought up his words from the night before. What was that all about? He said that I was attacking him so he had to attack back. What? 

As our conversation unfolded, I began to cry. Two weeks prior I helped him move apartments in 90 degree weather. I watched his children while he cleaned and put furniture together. I offered up a rug I had in storage for him to use in his home. I bought gifts for his daughter's birthday, and ran around on his behalf when he had to work late the night of her celebration. I had bought him these expensive gifts in addition to reading relationship books and attending counseling sessions and many other huge efforts on my part. And he still felt the need to attack me? It hit me that this relationship had become cruelly one-sided. It hit me that this person only cared about one thing, himself.

So as I turned to pack up my things, I found my own bluetooth speaker that I had brought over to help his mentally handicapped son while I was babysitting with a giant dent in the side. 

I asked him what the dent was from. He coolly responded that since I took a hammer to his speaker, he took a hammer to mine. No remorse. No regret. That was just how it was. An eye for an eye.

The entire ride home I sat there feeling like a complete fool. I put up with this for 4 months? I actually thought this person loved me? Even writing this now brings me to tears. What is wrong with me that I let this person treat me like this over and over? Did I deserve it? I did destroy his property. That is pretty screwed up in itself.  He didn't care how his "Cash, Money, Hoes" songs made me feel. He didn't care that I wanted to talk instead of party. He didn't care that relationships aren't built on rap, but on communication. He didn't care.

I could no longer hide from the fact that I was in an emotionally abusive relationship, and it was suffocating me. I had allowed him to make me feel like such a terrible person, that I thought if I could just give more he would see that I'm not terrible. If I could just put up with the rap and try to sneak in quality conversation in between. Maybe if I could learn the songs too. 

Previously in fights he would tell me that I'm not married and have never been proposed to because I'm so terrible. He told me that I would end up alone if I wasn't with him. He told me that I am why all of my other previous relationships left me. And I believed him.

On some level I still do. I have been rejected, and that rejection runs deep. I don't want to be alone. I do want to find someone with whom to spend my life. I am scared that I will never find someone. I am scared that I'm running out of time. 

Those previous men wasted years of my life and rejected me because of some perceived deficiency inside of me. Here I am at 33, with this "This is Why I'm Single" blog that started when I was 26. That is a lot of years wasted on bad dates, awful fights, good intentions, bad kisses, good kisses, roads going nowhere, cohabitation, separation, cross-country moves, couples counseling, and many other time-wasting bad decisions.

But I can say today that I feel fortunate that this man only got away with wasting 4 months of my life instead of 4 years.

Who taught you? Who told you?

Who taught you? Who told you? 
Where along the way did you learn to treat women like this? Where did you learn to avoid letting your guard down and withhold your deep parts only to replace it with flowers and flattery? Who taught you that it's acceptable to make relationships all about getting what you want? Who taught you that it's ok to call the person you're supposed to love hateful names? Who turned your safe place into a mine field? 

Who taught you? Who told you? 
Who showed you that avoidance and violence could be forgiven with platitudes? Who showed you that kindness is weakness? Who showed you that strength is arrogance and ego? Who showed you that you should only do nice things for others because of how it makes you feel? Who showed you that it is a woman's job was to feed your ego, and your job was to convince them not to expect anything in return?

Who taught you? Who told you? 
Who made you so afraid of real love? Who told you that you could love me without touching my heart? Who told you that I was only to be loved and admired from afar? Who told you that my pain and brokenness were separate from my beauty and mystery? 

Who taught you? Who told you? 
Who told you that love was about grinning and bearing your way through every moment, but it didn't require change and effort and submission to the force of becoming a better person? Who told you that I wasn't worth any of that?

Who taught you? Who told you? 
Who molded your heart to be so withholding and cold? Who taught you to cover it up? Who taught you that love was about distracting me from your own heart? Who taught you that love was cold and fights were to be avoided and relationships are about ego and fear? 

Who taught you? Who told you? Because I feel as sorry for them as I do for you.

Evolution

I can feel this place changing me.

A year ago I was brought to my knees with the loss of my relationship shortly after a cross-country move to the Washington DC metro area. Ever since it has been waves of awakening. It has been a fight to stay sane, let go of the anger, feel like I fit, to figure out what is next. 

One thing I haven't been fighting for is to stay me, the old me. It feels like the old me has been gradually falling away. At first I was violent in my attempt to hold on. I just wanted to run back to Colorado, to my family, my friends, and everything I knew.

It was after a weekend spent with the warmest people I have ever met at an artist retreat in the woods of North Carolina that I heard Gd talking, telling me to let the past me go. Let the anger and fear go. He assured me that if I would just let myself grow and change, that I would, and there would be abundant life here waiting for me.

The biggest lesson the past year has taught me is that you absolutely never know where life is going to take you. 

I recall my last camping trip in Colorado before I moved. I sat on a cliff overlooking the lake thinking back to all of the summers spent there in my 20's. It was the lake where my friends became my best friends. It was the lake we took my niece on her first boat ride. It was the lake I got drunk and vomited all over my friend's boat, learned to wakeboard, rode down the streets with my friends, with the country music blaring, the windows open, singing the lyrics at the tops of our lungs. It was the place that quenched a deep thirst in my soul for adventure and deep friendship. At that moment all I could think about was that I was now walking away from it, and I didn't know when I would be back. I can still see myself there in my mind's eye, lingering, while my friends all wondered where I was. 

But here I am, anew. With no lake. New friendships. New trips to be taken. New memories to be had. Not knowing when I will feel like I truly belong, sort of hoping I never do. But I feel the changing of me nonetheless.

I was a tax accountant for so long. It was my father's own profession, and I followed in his footsteps. I never saw myself doing anything but tax accounting. It really was all I had ever known or allowed myself to know. Since being here I have taken a major step towards a completely new profession in the IT field, considering pursuing a Computer Science degree. The washing away of my identity it seems. Identity doesn't wash off easy though.

Here is the most diverse place I have ever lived. I never realized how whitewashed the places I lived before were. Not to say there was anything wrong with those places, but just to say there was some major adjustments to be had when moving here. I now have friends, coworkers and boyfriends from India, Iraq, Lebanon, Philippines, Turkey, Ethiopia, Mexico, and Iran just to name a few. 

I will never forget my first happy hour with my coworkers. The three of them all happened to be Indian men. While grabbing drinks they invited all of their friends to meet us. After a couple of hours the other newbie had to leave, and there I sat with a table full of Indian men. I would have expected to feel quite uncomfortable in such a scenario, but because of their friendliness and inclusiveness I felt right at home. I took the opportunity to ask them about their personal lives and families. They all said that when the time came for them to marry, they would appreciate their parents setting them up with their spouse. They seemed so unburdened with the prospect of finding a mate because they knew they had their families to help them make the right decision. I admit I was somewhat envious of that cultural dynamic.

There are also plenty of frustrations about living here as well. Traffic to name one. Traffic to name the other, Oh, and did I mention the traffic? I assume that because it is such a diverse place, that has a direct impact on my driving experience locally. Yep, I'm driving alongside people who literally learned to drive in Bangladesh. 

No one knows how to use traffic circles. No one. And there's a phenomenon that I've come to call the "Virginia stop", which is essentially more of a courteous brake than coming to a complete stop. It seems there is nothing that can provoke someone to stop in Northern Virginia. Not a stop sign, not a cop car, not an ambulance, wildlife. Nothing.

I was driving on the Beltway when there appeared before me a high-speed chase of sorts happening between a car and several police vehicles. Most places, traffic would slow down or would move to the side of the road while the police took on the dangerous project of catching the perpetrator. However, everyone continued to drive like they were in the Daytona 500. It was one of the more bizarre moments from over the last year to be sure.

But, this traffic situation has pushed me in so many directions. I started my first job here with a 1.5 hour commute each way. I had to forfeit the gym, breakfast, showering regularly because there was never enough time. I actually started having major leg cramps because my 1.5 hour commute was not straight driving. It was sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for most of the commute. 

Needless to say, I burned with rage. The anger seeped from my veins, and I walked around everyday with my frustration sitting just under the surface waiting to take it out on someone. After shortening my commute, though, the anger still lingered. I couldn't shake it. I eventually had no choice but to realize that I had a bigger issue than traffic. I didn't want to live that way, being that angry person. I remember times coming home from a long drive that had been so aggressive and intense. I found myself driving at high speeds and bobbing in and out of traffic on the interstate in order to catch up to some jerk just so I could show them my middle finger. Admittedly, I can still find myself singing Christian worship songs in the car while intermittently yelling "motherfucker" at least 10 times on my way to work. 

The traffic here has certainly brought me to my knees in anger and frustration. I don't want to be that person, but I truly don't know how not to be. Deeper still, it has forced me to come face to face with my anger issues. I couldn't admit that they existed before, but when you let a traffic circle ruin your entire day, you are probably the problem, not the traffic circle.

The list of terrible things about this place could go on and on.....people aren't friendly, people are materialistic, people are too absorbed in their jobs, everything is so expensive, yada yada.

But I have felt Gd's provision through it all. I now look at friends as gifts because they are so rare here. The different communities I am apart of, my gym, my coworkers, roommates, they all feel like a little oasis in a huge desert. When I feel so thirsty for human connection, they never run short of encouragement or a listening ear.

The other night I was hanging out with a couple of coworkers discussing my dating life. They stopped me and proceeded to tell me that I could have any man I wanted because I was gorgeous and smart and witty and that most girls in the area could not compare. They reminded me that I deserve so much more than I have been pursuing (they don't know the angry-driver me). I could tell that they really meant it too. I don't know if I have ever felt all of those things about myself all at once, gorgeous, smart, and witty. I did in that moment, and that was enough. I certainly NEVER envisioned myself feeling that way in Washington DC.

I remember being intimidated about the idea of dating and working in the D.C. area. Everyone here is certainly more educated than I am. I assumed they were also prettier, skinnier, smarter, and richer than me too.

Now I find myself asking what other labels have I given myself. What other boxes have I stuck myself in? I feel this old identity falling away because there is no longer anyone to uphold it. My friends that know me best are no longer there to tell me that I'm too difficult for most men. My family is no longer there to judge whether I date red, yellow, black, or white men. My bosses I didn't get along with are no longer there to remind me of what a failure I was in the past. I no longer run into ex-boyfriends at the bar, or friends-turned-enemies, or old coworkers, or acquaintances, or even familiar faces.

At first it was hard. I grieved that deep deep loss. Because I also don't see the friendly faces, and the babies being born, and the lake adventures, and camping trips, and brunches either.
Now, that the grieving is done, though, the new self can evolve. I can still appreciate the old person I left back in Colorado. I don't know when I'll be back, but the love and memories remain. I'll cherish them forever. Without being that girl, I couldn't get to this woman I am now.

(Also, I secretly feel so posh when I take the Metro into the city. I have never felt posh before.)

Bitter. Thirsty. Desperate. Jaded. Single.

Bitter. Thirsty. Desperate. Jaded. Single. 

You could justifiably describe me with all of those words.

How is it that I have friends who have been engaged, married, and had kids multiple times over before I have ever even been proposed to? I'm not THAT old, am I? I guess I'm not really that young either. 

But, my optimism and humor about love you've heard from me in the past has now waned. Love doesn't conquer all. Love doesn't heal. Love doesn't.....anything. It certainly doesn't last. Not for me. 

I'm so confused by it. Love makes me hate myself because I have none of it, but it seems to be all around me almost taunting me. How f**ked up is that? 

I've believed in love, hoped for love, wished for love. I've asked for love. I've prayed for love. I've looked for love. I've chased after love. I've waited for love. I've fought for love. 

I have to let go of all of that. I have to put it down and walk away. I have to shut down all of my desire for love. Because it's made me all of those things: Bitter. Thirsty. Desperate. Jaded. And worst of all, Single.

I've become the person I never thought I would be. 

I find myself unable to hold back tears when I get the news that a friend or coworker is newly engaged or married or pregnant. I never thought that I would be the kind of person who let someone else's happiness shine a light on my own unhappiness. I never thought I would see someone's fulfillment as my personal measurement. I never thought I would find myself on the unhappiness side of the equation. But as embarrassing as it is, that is me. 

And I don't know how to let go of that. So I carry it with me on dates, with friends, wherever. My identity is so tied up in in wondering why no one loves me. I can't stop asking myself where I went wrong.

I'm still genuinely happy for my friends who have good things in their lives. They genuinely deserve every good thing that goes their way, probably more so than myself. Those of you who know me personally, know that I have done my fair share of breaking hearts. You probably think that I am getting what I deserve. 

That might be so. 

But what most people don't know is that I don't think I fully understood relationships for most of my life. I still don't. I didn't have good relationships modeled for me. I always saw narcissistic one-sided relationships that pushed people away when they didn't meet expectations.

This sounds pretty crazy, but recently I was watching the television show "Married At First Sight" where trained professionals choose candidates based on a multitude of compatibility factors and ultimately get married at first sight. Then the couple proceeds to move in together and figure out how to live their lives together. After 8 weeks, they decide if they want to stay married.

I watched these couples who were deemed "perfect" for one another as they learned to communicate and compromise and make decisions considering the other person's feelings and desires. I can't pinpoint the exact moment it sank in, but I remember feeling dumbfounded.

Ooooooohhh. You have to work at relationships. You have to listen to the other person and consider them. Huh.....

I don't think I fully had a clear picture of what that meant, and what that looked liked until that point.

When I was coming up, we called people like that "pussy-whipped" or controlling. I came from a family who used phrases like "It's my way or the highway" or "Just get over it" or "If you don't like it then leave". Over the years, I definitely incorporated many variations of these phrases into my own relationships. All of my relationships took the highway over my way.

So I'm the broken component here. I get it. 

I'm not sure if that makes things better or worse. It's all my fault, which can normally mean that I can also be the one to change it. But my terrible personality, my intensity, or curt communication and needy nature doesn't change easily. Trust me, I've tried. I have been reading up on neurosculpting to include several books about changing one's personality to be more optimistic or relaxed. The science is still nothing to hang my hat on. Most of the information out there is lots and lots of science and studies without much of a solid game plan to help unbearable humans like myself. 

So in the meantime, I will show up to the weddings and baby showers with a big smile on my face and "Congratulations" on my lips. I will leave the tears for my own time, and continue to observe love as though I were standing on the outside of a shop looking through the window at it. 

Asshole

I was laying in bed with my ex. We had recently broken up, and was doing the whole back-and-forth limbo, knew-it-was-over-but-kept-going-back-for-more-hurt routine. I kept hoping he would get this epiphany that he wanted to be a better person, listen to me, care about what I had to say, and communicate back. I knew I needed to work on those things as well so I decided to listen closely for a change. Here is what I heard:

I can't remember what topic we were discussing when he brought up a story about a girl he had a sexual fling with before we met. He and a date had gotten very drunk and began getting very kinky. They started playing with each other's butts. Annnnndddd he licked her asshole. The way he described it, he made out with it. It was a whole encounter that his mouth had with her ass....a woman he barely knew. I'm sure he went on to defend himself from my heckling over the encounter, but once I zeroed in on that fact, I didn't hear much else. 

Some weeks later, after being in so much misery over the break up I called him up and asked him if he was interested in working things out. I believed we still had chemistry, and all we needed was some counseling in order to be better. 

He said he would think about it while he was away on a business trip.

During those few days, I waited on pins and needles. I couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. I sat by the phone all day waiting for a call, a text, some sign as to what his answer would be. I genuinely had hope for us. I counted down the minutes until he would be home. I considered surprising him at the airport with a sign the way I had done when we first met. 

Somewhere in the middle of my anxiety I started looking at his social media accounts. I needed a sign. I wanted to see if he had had any activity to prove he had in fact been around his phone and he was just choosing not to contact me. No activity that I could see. So I looked to see who he was following.

Since I had previously snuck a peak at his phone I knew the names of a couple of women he had been talking to on Tinder. Sure enough, I found their names among the list. In addition, I found close to 20 other pages with names like "Country Babes" and "Combat Honeys" and "Girls with Assets". They were filled with half naked photo-shopped women looking to score some attention and likes. 

This had not been the man I knew previously. When we first met, he acted like he was a wannabe family man. His siblings were married and had kids so he felt like he was looking for someone to join him to complete the family. He portrayed himself as a Bible-thumping, "Jesus is my homie" type of guy. We went to church, small groups with other Christians, prayed before dinner, made Christmas about Christ, and did the whole wholesome charade hoping it would parlay into a whole married with kids thing.

Now here I was hoping we could just put the pieces back together. We just needed Jesus. We just needed counseling. We just needed to forgive and forget.

But as I stared at the social media account, the truth was right in front of me. Some men are at the stage of their life that they become more focused on becoming someone and giving their energy towards relationships that will be around awhile, and others are satisfied getting drunk and licking assholes. 

I was in one group. He was in the other. And there is no amount of Jesus and counseling and praying and begging or cajoling that was going to fix that. I just had to listen and hear that inside.

I could see now that he thought he wanted to be the family man when we first met. But as I got to know him, the truth of who he was came to light. He also realized that he was indeed not the family man he imitated. He was the drunk asshole.........................licker.