two months…

It was on a Monday afternoon. I’d agreed to meet a man with whom I’d been chatting online for decaf tea (I was five weeks into a restrictive 90-day health program, which ruled out meeting for a drink or actual coffee).

I’ve done enough online dating to have a pretty specific philosophy on it:

I’ve created a pretty great life for myself and, unless a man brings something similarly great to the table, I’m not interested.
Meeting people online allows one an abundance of options, most of whom are not going to be a fit; thus, my objective is to meet lots of people quickly, rule most of them out, and date a few good matches until one emerges as most likely to have relationship potential.
I’m rarely nervous about meeting men personally, as I go in with genuine curiosity and an intent to get to know them (even though I know statistically most will not be a match).

So I walked into that coffee shop anticipating I’d be meeting someone I could have a great conversation with but still easily rule out as not a match — and my position seemed to be supported as I spotted a visibly nervous man seated at a table near the window.

“Oh brother,” I thought, quickly assessing that I’d likely have to carry an hour-long conversation for the both of us and wondering how I might minimize the discomfort we were surely about to experience. Ugh. I hoped I might instead be pleasantly surprised.

As I sat down, I noticed everything wrong with him physically: he was too tall for my taste, his front tooth was a little crooked, his features were narrow — not as broad and full as I prefer, his skin appeared red and blotchy, he had a skin tag in almost exactly the spot I’d had one removed months back… And then he led by telling me about a two-week international trip he’d taken during which he’d foraged everything he’d eaten — by choice. Adventurous, yes!… but not my jam.

Our conversation improved as he quickly recovered by sharing how much he liked dining in restaurants and cooking, too. We talked about some of our local favorites, where we’d traveled, children (and step children) and more.

In the end, it was pleasant. And he’d proven to have the emotional intelligence and people skills to build rapport — it wasn’t the one-sided conversation I’d feared it might have been. He asked to see me again and, after a pause to feel into it, I agreed. While I wasn’t sure he was a match, I thought we’d enjoy a dinner together, and it was worth another chance.

That Saturday, I sat in a coffee shop awaiting another first meeting. While I waited, I texted an intuitive friend, sharing that I was meeting someone for coffee then going home to freshen up and meeting Monday’s date for dinner.

“Not feeling your coffee date but your dinner date is a hell yes!” she texted.

“Really?!” I texted back. “I might have thought him a strong maybe at best.”

“Oh, you’ll see,” she replied.

I found myself growing excited as I dressed for dinner. I walked into the restaurant to find my date looking nearly as nervous as the first time we’d met. His energy quickly shifted as we decided what to order, and found ourselves easily talking and laughing for the next three and a half hours until we noticed staff turning chairs upside down onto tables and realized that was our cue to leave. He walked me to my car. I remember that, even though it was slippery, I stubbornly resisted taking his arm (perhaps because he was on the building side of the street and I was closer to traffic and I am a stickler for manners). And then he leaned down to kiss me, twice, in the sort of way that was neither too aggressive nor too chaste, stirring something inside of me and leaving me wanting more.

The next day he texted, “When can I see you again?”

I told him my week was unusually filled with evening commitments and Monday was my only availability… which presented a problem: Monday was Valentine’s Day and surely a reservation would be impossible to come by… except he was friends with a restauranteur and managed to get us a table at a desirable establishment at a moment’s notice.

Again, we talked and laughed and flirted awkwardly… because now that I had started to feel something, I was nervous, just as he’d begun to feel more comfortable. Dear readers, I’m not too proud to say I grilled him, and he answered my many questions openly. When I asked him, “What’s the one thing you most don’t want me to know about you?”, he replied, “Nothing; I want you to know everything about me.” His transparency was astonishing to me yet, curiously, he didn’t reciprocate with similar questions of me.

Before we knew it, four hours had passed… during which time we’d talked, laughed, eaten dinner, held hands and even kissed across the table and then moved to sit side by side, holding hands as we listened to a jazz trio.

I had taken a ride share to the restaurant and accepted his offer to drive me home. By now, I’d grown willing to let him in — trust him to get me home safely, let him know where I lived, kiss him deeply and with desire, plan to see him again and anticipate it might lead to exclusivity.

Today marks two months since we met — two months of:

engaging conversations, fun and laughing until our cheeks hurt,
sharing more freely and intimately than ever before,
trusting in this thing developing between us even when it’s terrifying,
practicing staying vulnerable and feeling the safety in that,
joking about our different attachment styles and my skittishness,
spending more time in bed together than probable for two people our age,
and wondering how it took so many years, such a remarkable alignment of circumstances, and an incredible leap of faith to find something that feels so easy, natural and right.

I’m struck by how much I’ve had to grow and change to be the person I am in this relationship — how uncomfortable I must allow myself to be to share in this intimacy; how brave, how open, how vulnerable to venture, eyes wide open, into something that feels both like a risk, and so worth it at once.

And to think I nearly let myself sabotage it!

my love life in Red lyrics

Three weeks ago: “Maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much, but maybe this thing was a masterpiece til you tore it all up.”

Two weeks ago: “I’ve been spending the last eight months thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end… on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again.”

This week: “All I know is you said hello and your eyes looked like coming home. All I know is a simple name, everything has changed… I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now.”

With enormous thanks to Taylor Swift for being so damned relatable!

begin again

I started dating again…slowly. Lots of chatting through the apps for a couple of weeks, and then slowly getting out and meeting people. I guess “slowly” is relative, considering I’ve met five guys in the past two weeks.

Red (Taylor’s Version) has been my soundtrack for the past several weeks, pretty much since it came out — and, as I’ve shared before, I’ve been hitting the repeat button on All Too Well, sometimes weeping, sometimes singing at the top of my lungs.

Yesterday, as I was putting on makeup before sashimi dinner with the only gentleman I’ve agreed to see a second time, I caught myself singing “I’ve been spending the last eight months thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end, but on Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again…” A hopeful sign.

He chose one of my favorite sushi restaurants for dinner. He looked a little nervous when I walked in… maybe slightly less than when we’d met for tea earlier in the week. But from the moment I sat down, our conversation flowed naturally, we learned more about one another and we laughed and laughed. We savored small dishes and sashimi for nearly three hours and left as staff was turning chairs upside down on top of tables. And he walked me to my car and kissed me just enough to keep me wanting more.

Today he texted to ask for another date.

Stay tuned… 😉

since I learned…

Ten days ago, a door to the past was closed (see previo us post) in a way that my imagination hadn’t let it before. My emotions, like a pendulum, swung between devastation and expansiveness.

I spent the afternoon listening to Taylor Swift’s “All Too Well” on repeat, the deep, heaving, guttural sobs of the early day giving way to high-pitched wailing in late afternoon.

“And I know it’s long gone and there was nothing else I could do, and I forget about you long enough to forget why I needed to…
And maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much, but maybe this thing was a masterpiece ’til you tore it all up…
It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well.”
Taylor Swift

My son embraced me and spent the evening at my side. My daughter empathized over a video call. All over a weeks-long relationship six years ago with a man who was short, fat and bald.

I had made him into a myth in my mind. I had made him and our relationship unassailable and perfect (which it was not), all because I felt more hope, joy, love and warmth in our time together than I’d ever felt before. I had wrapped all kinds of hopes and dreams up in my wish that he’d come back. I had also bundled all the grief and hurt and pain of my ex’s death, along with a lifetime of unresolved hurts, into a package and slapped a label with Perry’s name on it. My therapist friend helped me understand terms like “complex grief” and “ambiguous loss.” I spent thousands on therapy, coaching and personal development. Yet here I was, finding I hadn’t fully healed from it all six years later. As I became aware of my thoughts, I realized I had made him into an imaginary friend, who I talked to in the mundane spaces in my day.

And yet, I had managed to go the better part of four years while in another relationship without thinking about him all that much…

[Now I realize I was on the receiving end of this same dynamic in my more recent relationship: he wanted my love to fill a gaping hole of hurt stemming from a tumultuous childhood, horrific experiences in the military and other hurts. It was as though I could see this huge void / need and, having known him such a short time, all the love I could give was little more than a bandaid on an amputation.]

Things I’d learned along the way came back to me:

You should be able to experience several soul-affirming relationships before deciding who to commit to. — from a relationship coach
Men coming right out of a divorce are not themselves and are prone to over-giving, over-promising and love bombing, none of which will last. — another relationship coach
Use the feeling as a compass. You will know your next relationship is right when it feels the way you want it to. — yet another relationship coach

Trouble is, no other relationship yet has.

When I look back, I remember steeling myself and thinking, “I have loved so deeply — and even though I’m hurting, this is a sign I’m close. No doubt I will find my mate in a few months.” Ha!

I spent the weekend journaling, clearing my energy using the intuitive process I’ve learned in the last year, and was ultimately called to a practice of forgiveness: I’ve made a list of family members, exes, friends and even former bosses I need to forgive, and used my intuitive tools to learn how many times I must forgive them. It’s become a 90-day practice, and I’m just 10 days in. I’ve already learned so much. Short version: all this stuff I need to heal is mostly not about Perry. And it’s mostly about forgiving myself and re-parenting my inner child for not having the tools or resources or power to create and hold boundaries, ask for what I need and share my truth — and for allowing my thought patterns to make us into more than it was.

This past weekend, I found myself still listening to Taylor’s “All Too Well” on repeat. But I’ve been dancing in my kitchen, singing at the top of my lungs, creating space for hope to creep back in.

gut punch

I approached the checkout and set my basket on the tray. The cashier greeted me with a smile and “how’s your day going so far?”

“Bit of a gut punch, to be honest,” I replied, putting on a brave face.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, turning around and ringing a bell.

I tapped my card on the reader through bleary eyes as a bouquet of flowers suddenly appeared on the counter next to my bag of groceries. And that’s how I ended up bawling in a Trader Joe’s.

20 minutes later, after I’d put strawberries, spinach and chicken thighs in the refrigerator at home, I found a sturdy red vase for the flowers. As I ran water into it, I thought about all the tears I’d cried these past several months and how this period in my life mirrored the time six years earlier, after my ex’s death and Perry had left. The voice in my head said, “please tell me this is my rock bottom.” Just then, the vase slipped from my hands and broke.

I stood there, crying and laughing at the same time.

—

Earlier in the week, my intuitive coach worked with me to release some energetic love blocks. As we spoke, I told her about my ex dying and Perry leaving, and my tangled mass of ambiguous loss and compound grief.

I told her that, of every man I’d ever dated, Perry had felt the best — warm, fun, generous and supportive. She tuned in for a brief read of his energy and told me if I reached out to him via email, he’d likely reply.

The thing is, I had emailed Perry — probably as many times as years had passed, but always in that vague, door’s open manner, like a photo with “This popped up in my memories and made me smile.” Sometimes I tried timed my outreach to when my horoscope said doors were open to past love or second chances. And in nearly six years, I’d never received a response. As if that wasn’t already clear enough (I am one to beat a dead horse, evidently), I found myself once again drafting a message — this time with a direct request to let me buy him a cup of tea or glass of wine next time he was in town on business. I said I’d love to catch up and learn whether there might have been something I’d said or done wrong that I might learn from, so as not to fuck up the next great thing. I released any expectation of hearing back.

So it was a surprise to find an email waiting in my messages this morning. It read:

“I hope you had a peaceful new year and that you and your family are well. I’ve been busy with work and recently re-married and am very happy. I wouldn’t take it as you having done anything wrong; it was a transition in my life.”

I took a big, deep breath as I read it and the knowing settled in. I whisked off a quick reply of “Congratulations! I wish you every happiness.” A finality came over me and, with it, a flood of emotions: grief, sadness, loss, heartache, longing, loneliness, “it’s not fair!” and many more.

I applied waterproof mascara between the tears and left for my appointment, stifling the deep, heaving sobs from my belly. My client was understanding of my vulnerability, and appreciated my showing up.

After, I stopped at the grocery store intending to stock up and allow myself to hunker at home with ALL the feelings. And that is when I found myself sobbing at the check out.

circling back

I’ve been single for the past seven months after a long-term relationship ended.

For much of the time we were together, we talked about marriage. And, in the end, we never made those next steps — and it’s better this way. I’ve made peace with it.

And then I focused on work and family.

A few months later as I was still focused on my own growth, I felt a little nudge like a small voice asking a question as it poked at the back of my head, on the right side, just at the base of my skull. This poking was persistent and specific; the question was “love?”

In no way was I ready to dive back into a relationship. My business needed my attention. And I have only a few more months of having a child at home… once again, more possibilities open on the horizon. I needed to get back into the energy of what I wanted to create — and, as I did, unresolved hurts from the past kept rising to the surface. I took on a mission of healing and clearing those persistent beliefs, stories and energies.

A strange thing began happening as I started doing this work: nearly every man I’ve dated in the past decade circled back in one way or another. Guys I haven’t heard from in years came out of the woodwork to say “hey” in my dms: one became a client, one invited me to play Words with Friends, one asked to catch up over dinner, one hit me up to learn more about the work I’m doing now — and even that most recent guy reached back out to express his disappointment that I didn’t try to repair our relationship (he even gave me an apology script) after it had ended (and then notified me two days later he was engaged).

It became a running joke among a group of girlfriends. “Who did you hear from this week?” became a regular question during phone calls or messages, with me occasionally sharing screen shots or photos.

As flattering as it may have been to suddenly and strangely attract all these fellows from the past, there’s only one who might have stood a chance. And, of course, he’s the one I haven’t heard from in five and a half years.

“What if you reached out to him?” my friends have asked.

Truthfully, I have. More than once. Following through on something I said I’d do. Checking in. Sharing a photo memory that made me smile. And ultimately to let him know that I’d forgiven him and was grateful to have experienced what we shared together, to have those feelings as a compass. And I’ve never gotten any sort of response to those handful of notes over as many years. Which is its own sort of response.

I know all this and it still hurts. And I’m still tempted to share the Facebook memory that popped up from six years ago from our time at the beach. And I still hope for at least one more conversation, an acknowledgement, some kind of closure that I haven’t seemed to be able to allow myself.

I’m learning to move forward again, to release the energy and heal the hurt that seems to come in unending layers, and to embody the energies of what I want for myself: love, tenderness, devotion, adventure, companionship, etc.

And still, I can’t help wishing he would circle back.

past to possibility

And here is the biggest realization of all in all this reflection: There was an energy I felt; there was an energy from which I attracted; and there was an energy I was in that relationship. The reason I loved him so much was because I also loved me so much:

I loved the way I showed up.
I loved wanting to be my best self every day.
I loved being loving.
I loved feeling playful.
I loved feeling feminine, sensual, vulnerable, sexy, connected, and naughty.
I loved the conversation and companionship.
I loved the ease and harmony.
I loved feeling warm, safe and expansive.
I loved having my needs met.
I loved feeling YES! in every cell of my body.

So I might never hear from him again. I may never experience a relationship like ours again. But I know I don’t have to create that again, because I can be all of those things. I can choose to live in that energetic place — and, for the first time in nearly six years, that feels accessible to me again. And, for the first time in my life, I have the knowledge, skills and energetic practice to sustain it.

owning my feelings, part 2

About six months ago, I wrote about taking ownership of my feelings and being responsible for how I felt in relationship to another. I wrote about how I had to shift my perspective to fully embrace a relationship with a man who was not who I wanted him to be, but himself.

In short, I had to take ownership of my happiness and the way I was showing up.

Looking back, I realize I was also settling. I allowed myself to stay in something for a long time because it felt secure and comfortable and okay, even if it didn’t light me up. The truth is that I was terrified to seek that lit-up-from-within love I’d felt before, because my experience with that kind of love was that it didn’t last. And the pain was so great I never wanted to feel that way again. (I still don’t.)

Healing past patterns

I’ve been doing a lot of intuitive energy clearing around the old wounds and energetic patterns, working to free myself from the karma of abandonment, unworthiness, and more. I’ve stared plainly into the face of the ways I’ve allowed myself to be treated and vowed “never again.” And, to be honest, it’s still been a struggle to release the hope / pain / futility of a relationship that began six years ago and ended three months later. Processing and healing the pain and trauma of that break-up is something I’ve had to take on in layers. It’s as though that one, seemingly insignificant life event became a portal or container for every ounce of unprocessed pain I’ve ever felt. In short, it felt karmic.

Forgiveness has not been easy. But it’s worth it if I can free myself to find that kind of love, support, warmth, expansiveness and freedom again in an intimate relationship with another human.

The worst in all of it is the advice givers, the “you need to be happy yourself” and “you need to be your own complete person” spewers. No doubt these things are true. But who says I’m not?

It’s possible to be happy and also very sad at the same time, to want to share a partnership and companionship — especially in this bizarre season of pandemic isolation — and to be perfectly capable of living a full life on my own. Haven’t I already proven this?

Creating from ‘hell yes!’

This is a long way of getting around to where I am, which is having shifted into a place of possibility. I’m open to meeting new people. I hope friends introduce me, or that we reach for the same avocado in the grocery store. The thought of going online again is less dreadful than it was a month ago, and I can get there if I must. (I’m still terrified at the prospect of letting anyone in, though, of getting too close. So that will be my next hurdle.)

Meanwhile, I have begun to remember who I was when I attracted the kind of man who felt like a great match: I was whole, happy, empowered and, candidly, sick of taking any wishy-washy shit. I was part Pink’s “So what? I’m still a Rock Star” and part Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable,” along with a whole lot of other not-gonna-take-any-crap-ness. I was in the energy of anything not “Hell yes!” is a hell no. And this may be the realization I needed to get back to that place where I can attract that epic, life-long soul love I’ve tried to find or create for my entire adult existence. This kind of “bitchy” energy is incredibly clarifying, and allowed me to easily edit the people with whom I spent time.

Maybe it was getting to this “I’m a goddess; do not mess with me” energy and staying there that drew in a man I was crazy about. He was very much in the driver’s seat, and I loved that about him. But I was the one asking him to dance in the kitchen on a Sunday morning; I was creating the kind of love I wanted.

I’ll write more about that energetic evolution in my next post…

Reminiscing

welp, here we go again

We got into a fight over a long weekend. By text. It was stupid.

But I have boundaries and was enjoying my time with my son that day so after a few snarky exchanges, I typed “I’m happy to talk when we can have a reasonable conversation.” And I put my phone on airplane mode.

The next morning, I turned on my phone to find 70-odd text messages, of which I assume about half were duplicates (you know, like when you turn on your phone after a flight). I took a screenshot and sent it to him in the afternoon, saying “Last night, I practiced self care by turning off my phone. You may want to consider whether this is a sign you need some self care too.”

He replied: “You don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

I left it alone. Later I went back and skimmed his messages. He was clearly flooded with lizard brain emotions, and I have some compassion for that. But there was a “you better reply” ultimatum and some very personal attacks — a line neither of us had crossed before, and one I could forgive but not forget. It’s not okay to listen to someone’s vulnerabilities only to weaponize them years later. Even if it struck me as out of character.

Here’s the thing: I’d been loving traveling to see him. Our visits were easy — show up, enjoy each other. No drama. I thought maybe he was past his pattern of occasionally blowing things up. There was no need to. We seemed comfortable and secure.

But, having been laid off, I’d been training in neuro linguistic programming, strategic intervention, intuition, reactivation (activation) — all modalities of coaching I was using to better myself and plan to use working with others. I was strengthening my internal resources and leveling up. He could be in lower energy often, and I wondered if he would accept some upgrades for himself…?

I got my answer.

And I’m more okay with it than I might have thought, given the time we’d spent together planning for our future. But more than half of our time together was long distance, which makes separation less intense than near-daily presence. Letting it go, knowing it’s better this way felt very zen… very witness mode… very above the matrix.

So I’ll date myself for awhile, rediscover what I like and what I want as I venture back into a post lockdown world. I’ve got one more year with a kid at home. The horizon looks different, open.