A love letter to the woman I am now

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The other day I decided to unload all the photos off my iPhone onto my computer because I was running out of space.

After they’d all imported, I started to look back at pics from three and four years ago in my iPhoto library. Photos taken in the year after I left my ex.

It’s strange. In so many ways I felt like the 8 years I spent with Jay were basically … just the same. Day in, day out. It was like for 8 years I stopped … growing. Stopped evolving. Or maybe it was just … slowed? I don’t know. That time in my life feels sluggish and half lived.

But looking back on the images from four years ago, when I finally left, it’s shocking to me. The things I went through, the lessons I learned. So so many in such a short amount of time. And I watched them all unfold again while looking through my pictures. I remembered each moment and what it felt like to be experience these things for the first time.

I looked back at that version of me, all full of hope and excitement and just sheer creative power .. finally feeling like a beautiful, desired woman. But also … if you really looked in her eyes … full of such deep rooted fears and insecurities and self doubt. I wanted to hug her and tell her to hold on, this ‘becoming who you’re meant to be’ is going to be a long, painful, thrilling and heartbreaking process but it will be for your good. I promise.

It’s amazing to me too because at that time, I was in the best shape of my life. My face was thinner, my arms were toned and defined. And yet .. the sad truth is? I have many pics that I took simply to look at the parts of my body I didn’t like and shame myself for them. I have a serious amount of sexy pics too (which I’m glad I took because GD I looked good), but to see me struggle and obsess over that last bit of roundness and softness just breaks my heart. For the girl that I was.

So … as much as this month is dedicated to loving friends and building relationships, I also want to dedicate it to loving myself. To loving the woman I am now.

Because to be the woman I want to be in the future, the woman I KNOW I can be … I need to love all that I was before and all that I am now.

So here goes … I am 35, single and I love myself.

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Galentine’s and girls night: Thoughts on friendship, love and happiness

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February. Valentine’s Day. Ugh.

The day (and month) every singleton dreads because it is basically a celebration of everything we’re not. And for those who are yearning for a relationship, the build up to the day and the day itself are just salt on an open wound. Double ugh.

This year I’m quite happy at being single. Genuinely. Maybe for the very first time in my life EVER I feel at peace and excited about facing this next year alone.

I mentioned in my last post that I’ve dedicated the remainder of this year to my own ‘Happiness Project’ and that my theme for 2018 is ‘Discovery’. I’ve also decided that, similar to Gretchen Rubin’s Happiness Project, I intend to dedicate each month to a subject. Something to explore and experiment with and discover something new about myself.

So .. it’s fitting, even if cliché, that I should dedicate February to relationships and love.

Triple ugh. Just kidding.

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Experiments in Happiness

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I had ice cream for breakfast recently. (gasp)

Someone left a pint of chocolate ice cream at my house and normally this would throw me into a borderline existential conflict. I would struggle with the decision to either throw the pint out without eating it (because of my never ceasing ‘diet’) … or binge eat it all in one sitting, only to feel great shame and berate myself afterwards, vowing to never eat that crap again.

That morning, after an early workout, I decided to take a different approach. I added a little protein powder and ate a proper serving size. Then threw the rest away. This, for me, was an experiment.

Typically I would feel great remorse even having something sweet AT ALL, let alone for breakfast. I mean I’m still trying to lose 10 pounds which my mind never lets me forget. So how did I feel after? I felt ok. I hadn’t binged, I’d had a proper serving size. I felt … happy.

I’ve written about how my 2017 was a particularly difficult season. I feel like with the turn of the new year, however, that the clouds have finally lifted and are allowing some perspective to shine through.  Along with a very positive, very energetic desire for change. (*Cue angels singing in harmony*)

Though last year was rough, I’m a naturally positive, happy person and I feel like I’m finally shaking off the ashes of the years before and getting super motivated to learn and to conquer the whole wide world. Or at least my own.

First step? I’m starting a year-long Happiness Project.

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Mobs, Magic and Bruno Mars

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I really really really reeeeeaaaalllly want to be in a flash mob.

This revelation came to me the other day while I was at the gym and the Bruno Mars song “Marry You” came on. I hadn’t heard it in a really long time. (Awkward fact: one of the last times I heard it was the night of my surprise bachelorette party.)

That song … well, it’s cheesy but there’s something glittery and giddy and hopelessly romantic about it. It’s about being in the moment. And trusting your gut and heart while simultaneously rebelling against traditional wisdom. It seems magical and wonderful and beautiful to me.

After I heard that song in the gym, I couldn’t get it out of my head. So later I went and tried to look up the music video. I came across one that claimed to be the ‘official music video’ though that seems doubtful. However, in it, there’s a flash mob that performs in the middle of what looks to be a crowded square. At the end of the song/dance one of the dancers proposes to his girlfriend and swoon. How incredibly, dramatically, stupidly romantic.

It was while watching the video and listening to that song that I had a sobering moment. For some reason, I couldn’t feel all the giddy feelings that song used to elicit. I heard the words, even sang them and they made me feel happy on a surface level, but deep down I couldn’t believe them.

I couldn’t swallow the romance. The hope, the fairytale belief … it was gone.

I felt like warning the girl (both the real one in the video and the figurative one the song is written for), ‘hey, it’s likely it’s not going to work out so DON’T go all in’. And it made me sad. Where has my belief gone? Where has my hopelessly romantic heart hidden itself?

I’ve never wanted to be the wounded, guarded girl who is too bruised to believe in fairytales. And it hurt me to realize that somewhere in these last four years and all the heartache it contained, I have become this woman.

Or … have I?

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Rebels and Resolutions

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One of my NY resolutions was to write a blog post every week.

Sigh. I have already failed at this.

It’s not for lack of trying. I’ve been trying to write a New Years resolution/goals post for the past couple of weeks now. Had a few thoughts .. but kept getting sidetracked and distracted and then I’d go back to what I’d written and think, ugh, I don’t wanna finish this.

I’ve always struggled with this part. The discipline part of any personal project. And I recently learned why. And (hopefully) a few tricks for overcoming it.

My best friend has been reading a book called The Four Tendencies by Gretchen Rubin. Basically it breaks down the driving forces behind why we act … and why we DON’T act. We all have a natural way of responding to expectations and we all are motivated to work in different ways. Some are motivated by external forces only (Obligers), some by both external and internal forces (Upholders), some are motivated if they understand the WHY behind a course of action (Questioners) … and some (like me) aren’t motivated by anything.

We’re the Rebels.

Sounds cool, right? Let me assure you, it isn’t.

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Happy Anniversary to me

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It’s been a year. A whole year. Since my heart was broken for the very first time. 

It was the thing I was most petrified of my whole life. Surrendering your heart to someone and having them break it, hand it back to you and walk away. Rejection. To be quite honest, that was likely a major reason why it took me 8 years to work up the courage to leave my ex in the first place. Heartbreak was something I was petrified of, how could I possibly do that to him, even if breaking up was the best thing for both of us?

This time last year, I was 34 and heartbroken. And to make matters worse, I live in the neighborhood he works. Ugh. Needless to say, it became complicated and mired. Humiliating. People expect a woman at my age to know what to do in a situation like this, to have already gone through heartbreak and to have learned how to do it gracefully. I didn’t. I’d never had that experience. Not to say that I’d never experienced hurt or rejection – I had many times during the course of my 8 year relationship as well, little hurts and indifferences and small cruelties that sting and break your heart slowly. But this was different. This time I had truly ‘fallen’ in love. It got messy. I didn’t understand ’no contact’ and why that’s integral to moving on with some dignity. In some ways it was like I was 16 in my heart, having my high school sweetheart break up with me and it felt like I would never recover. 

I don’t know that I’m ready to talk about that relationship in great detail just yet. But I’m gonna try to unpack it, at least a little bit, because it’s the anniversary of us ending and that actually seems like something to celebrate. You see, he was an unavailable man. I warned you, I have done some very cringe-worthy shit. This is one of those things. I was the other woman. 

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Dating with Anxiety: How to lose a guy in 10 days … or three months

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I’ve been trying to think about what my next article should be … for about a month now. I’ve been stumped. Why? Partly because I truly want to sound cool and I want to be Carrie Bradshaw. I freaking love her. Sex and the Big D. I feel like my posts should be about single girl adventures and fun, flirty lessons … and while I do have some crazy adventures from time to time, the lessons are rarely fun and flirty and they’re really starting to beat me up.

I started this blog for me right? And I must stay true to that. To the authenticity of this project. Warts and anxiety and repeated mistakes and all.

During the past month I ended a very short-lived but promising relationship with a guy I was growing fond of … and I traveled to Bali alone. But in reverse order. Soon I will write about Bali, but for now I need to talk about that short-lived relationship.

Ok … to be honest, I’m still processing the relationship. I am sad that it has ended though I was the one who opted to call it quits. I miss him … or do I? I don’t know. The honest truth is I have overwhelming anxiety at the beginning of relationships. Oh let’s be honest, I have overwhelming anxiety throughout ALL of my romantic relationships. I have carried these deep fears of abandonment since childhood and I am only just now, at 35, starting to understand them. Starting to really see the damage NOT addressing them is doing to me and my future happiness. 

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The Big D: Dating (Part 1)

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He had a thick accent and he was buying me drinks. This was a Tuesday at my favorite neighborhood bar and it was supposed to be an early night. I was supposed to just get sushi with my friend then a drink then home by 10. But his accent and story about being a federal agent stopped me. It was definitely a lie but I was that kind of intrigued that comes from three stout vodka sodas. I began to feel that restless, excited feeling that comes when I realize the night is about to take a turn and I want to be there for the ride.

I love this feeling. Well …mostly. Most of the time it takes me to some pretty cool places and lets me experience some pretty cool things. Occasionally though, it leads me down the wrong, gonna-be-way-too-hungover-and-it’s-not-worth-it-because-this-place-was-lame path. However, this night it was the former. Lorenzo (that was the ‘federal agent’s name) asked me what I did for fun. I mentioned I sing a mean karaoke and that was it. We were off to one of the coolest gay bars in Dallas that has karaoke almost every night of the week.

This is the other big D in my life. Dating. For all intents and purposes I’ve been single for about 3 years. And I have dated. A lot. So so so many dates. In fact, so many I’ve decided to start a blog so I can one day remember them all. Good and bad.

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The Big Beginning

Let me start off by saying I know next to nothing about anything. 

I’m not wise nor will I be a resource of helpful life tips and spiritual insights. I’m almost certain to give you the wrong advice. I’m terrible at relationships and make all the wrong choices when it comes to dating. This blog will likely annoy you, frustrate you, anger you because this blog isn’t really for you. It’s for me. And really it’s not even for me, it’s about me. It’s about the trials and tribulations of being … well me. Divorced. Dating. (Drunk.) And be warned, I am annoying, frustrating and I’ve definitely done a lot of things that are worthy of anger.

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