Dating in my 30s has led me to the same question over and over again:
“Why am I like this?”
I fear that sounds self deprecating in the most exhausting way.
But, it truly comes from a place of wide eyed curiosity.
While I already feel painfully aware of my faults, shortcomings, and areas of growth… I’ve been stumped as to where and how and when they took up permanent residence in my make and model.
And yes, I have attempted therapy. Multiple attempts, each with big aspirations and bigger commitments to ‘doing the work’. But ironically enough finding the right therapist is eerily similar to the romantic dating landscape. The right fit wasn’t fitting.
So I’ve taken an alternative path. Is it based in science or data? Absolutely not. Do I feel delusionally confident in my findings? Yes, very much so.
Some of it is a bit woe is me, so buckle up. But while mildly depressing, extremely enlightening.
Connecting dots that span from childhood to the awkward middle through the wild twenties and landed us here seem to just make sense. And for one avoidant or denial reason, the obvious only feels obvious now.
Adolescence
Memories are hard, but from what isn’t completely drenched in cobwebs, they tell me I was an odd kid.
The most prominent snippets:
I was a small shadow to the before / after school 30s something YMCA woman
Countless hours creating elaborate and dramatic relationship dynamics between my barbies
At recess one day in the middle of the field a group of girls stole my shoes as I pathetically weeped with soggy socks and jello backbone.
Safe to say at a pretty early age I grew a strong preference for being alone. I had a family that loved me, a sister that tolerated me, and a few fellow small humans I considered pals - but solo time always felt like thriving.
Teenager
How did any of us survive? Truly a war zone of emotional and mental weaponry.
I clearly have held on to some zest for dramatics.
I didn’t sport, I was medium to low smarts, and was as timid as they come. Not unique to feel unique, but at the time was an octagon peg surrounded by round and square holes.
Small clusters of girlfriends would come and go and best friend bracelets changed hands.
Something about me or them or both always lacked a feeling of permanence or loyalty, but also easy to exist short sided.
In the whirl of navigating girl group politics and broken hearts every other week, my parents’ were getting a divorce.
Evenings often felt like I took on the hats of therapist, legal counsel, and sounding board to my mom.
With an already formed eye roll towards the main male influence in my life, these new nuances didn’t help my budding perspective on men as a whole.
Heart Break #1
Ah to be bamboozled by the cool, older hockey player. Classic. I was a walking heart eyed cartoon character, and it took such little (to no) effort to make me swoon. Every day of that summer long relationship I walked on air knowing that he had ‘picked me’.
All for it to end a few days before school started with the break up of, “you’re just not very interesting”.
Interesting enough to take my virginity though.
We hate to see it, hate to give a blip of a high school summer fling ‘relationship’ that much weight, that much power. But it feels possible that relationship combined with my deep rooted stubbornness is indeed my origin story.
Twenties
Unknowingly and unwillingly, it began the slow but sturdy construction of walls. A fortress. A safe haven so meticulously architected even the host wasn’t aware of its scope.
Artfully camouflaged as independence and a free spirit, most of my twenties sauntered on with one failed or short lived romance after the other. Ever the optimist and romantic, I whole heartedly dove head first into each with the genuine mantra of ‘this is different, this is it’.
‘Twas never it as I ran away in the darkness of night or on the wing of ‘It’s not you it’s me’ text.
Generally speaking these men, with a few outliers, were nice, good men. They cared, they listened, they loved. They had no idea of the unscalable barricade that stood ahead of them.
And then Vitos happened.
Engaged
Working in the restaurant industry is like living in another dimension. Time isn’t real, customers aren’t humans, and the responsibilities of tomorrow don’t exist when the shifty touches your lips.
Steeped in red leather and candle light, it wasn’t a shocking development to fall in love with the brooding bartender. Our romance had a quick pace, a shared character flaw, and within months we were playing house.
While we were swiftly engulfed in a serious, committed relationship tracking towards the aisle and children, I was still able to hold on to what I had always been truly devoted to - being alone. With schedules that overlapped as Night and Day, our time together often meant shared snores and few shared meals.
These big feelings and these big gaps in time together left me feeling something rare - I longed for his presence. And my brain equated that ache to mean necessity. I needed him, therefore I should marry him. And if I need him, and marry him, then I accept the faults and flaws - no matter the loneliness those faults and flaws cause me.
Running, Again
“Oh sweetheart, the only change you can expect is the change you can control.” - said the southern therapist through the virtual portal on our second session as I debated what life I wanted to sign up for. It took 45 minutes and $150 dollars to confirm I was ending an engagement, leaving the man I had loved for almost five years, un-planning a planned wedding, and moving across the country to a city I knew one person.
Ending that conversation was the beginning of feeling numb. Planning my exit, telling him it was too late, and packing the car felt like an out of body experience. I drove 11 hours a day for 4 days alone with a blank brain and a withered heart.
And arrived in Philadelphia a violent case of whiplash - was I devastated? Empowered? Reconsidering? Irrevocably damaged?
Dark Times
The funny thing about ripping your own heart out, is you’re deeply, deeply depressed until you’re deeply, deeply bitter.
The blame ping pongs at a rapid speed, the regret tries to taint every good memory, and the light at the end of the tunnel intermittently snuffed out.
Often times it felt like I was fighting for my life not to truly, whole heartedly, with every fiber of my being despise the existence of men.
How could I not? Most of my loudest memories of men echo disappointment, hurt feelings, questions of my own worth.
Woof. And I was actively trying to date amidst this harsh sentiment. Wooooof.
In Progress
Unraveling this spool of thread has let me come to terms with these feelings. Sit with them. Poke at them. Unapologetically revel in them. Stare straight at the fortress built upon masculine induced tribulations.
This level of self awareness is, well, uncomfortable. And a temptation to spiral further down the ‘you’re crazy and absolutely going to die alone’ road.
But it has been a humbling gift.
You can’t ask people to act within the confinements of your expectations of them. You can’t exist in a permanent state of anticipated disappointment. You can’t speak of grace but only act in rigidity.
My flaws haven’t evaporated nor my bitterness found an absolute cure.
But having a new, bird’s eye view of my baggage has made the load feel lighter.
Not just in terms of my romantic apprehensions, but also how I’ve navigated friendships.
Turns out letting people in is not a direct attack on autonomy.
I think about that soggy socks little girl and while I still want to swoop her up to dryer, bully-free pastures - I also want to tell her wipe her eyes and give them hell.
Because we’re all accomplices to the change we choose not to make.
