A few days ago, I had to get really honest with myself about how run down I’ve been feeling from the dating scene. There, I said it. It took me a minute to even recognize this, because if you’ve read any of my work before, you know that so much of it is inspired by the self-discovery that comes from aloneness and being single and embracing that stage of life. I’m the freaking single queen! I’ve been squeezing as much juice out of this chapter as I can. I’ve been single and loving it for almost four years now, focusing on myself, my friendships, my art, my career. I’ve truly been practicing what I preach, and I really thought I was ready. I’ve been putting myself out there, and time after time, nothing comes of it. Wrong person after wrong person. Bad date after bad date. No connection after no connection, or sometimes there is a connection, yet our lifestyles and values aren’t compatible for a partnership.
When it comes to relationships and dating, I’m often the friend people go to for advice. The one with the positive outlook, the one encouraging those to put themselves out there, the one who is finding the learning and growing lessons in every single encounter I and those around me have. As of lately, I’ve been so debilitated by some of the bad dates and encounters and experiences I have had.
Sometimes I look around me and feel like it’s harder for people like me—writers, artists, creatives, highly sensitive humans—to find a person to connect with. The way I feel so deeply. The way I seek out every layer of not only beauty but sorrow and pain and everything in between that this life has to offer. The way I share myself so openly through my writing, as well as the intensity of the field of work I’m in (I work in residential facilities where children who have experienced trauma live).
Then sometimes I wonder if being a writer is too much for most people. If people can’t handle the way I bare my heart naked and raw with the world. And look, I get it. I’m not here to live a normal existence. I never wanted to date “most people” or be like “most people” anyway, so maybe it will just take me a little longer to find someone who doesn’t fit into that “most people” category. To find someone who wants to squeeze as much juiciness out of life as I do.
But as of late, I’m fucking pissed. And I’m giving myself full permission to be pissed for as long as I need to be, without coating it in sugar or “finding the positives”. And let me tell you—it feels damn good!
I’m angry. I’m angry, I’m angry, I’m angry! And just by recognizing that, and writing it, and living it and breathing it, man, I feel a little lighter already.