Week Thirty: Overwhelmed
There are days when I think this blog is filled with nothing but the spurning and whining of what I wish my life could be; lamenting the loss of who I wish I was; hanging my head low at my lack of accomplishments.
And then, as I am down trodden and worrisome and plagued by the cycle of self-doubt, I am surrounded and covered in abundant love.
If I have not told you lately that I love you, let me say it again, loud and clear: I love you. Whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever part you play in my life, I love you.
I've often said that love is not a finite resource, that we, as social creatures, have more love than we know what to do with. It seems to me a pity that for all that effort in loving our friends and family and furry companions, we seem to lack the diligence to use that love on ourselves.
It goes without saying that I've not been very kind to myself as of late.
Perhaps it is no secret that I was recently rejected, the burden of which I've been carrying around for weeks. Was he lying about why he bailed? Am I not attractive? Did I overdo it in some way?
Over the weekend, and after a couple of drinks (a topic which we are going to touch on very soon though perhaps not today), I was feeling particularly brazen and after having heard nothing from this person, not a single peep of explanation nor any inkling of his desire to in fact keep our intended date, I caved. I texted him. Though originally I had the courage and conviction to address him head on, the practical part of me knew that doing so in a public space both wasn't wise or fair. It wouldn't have been fair to corner him in a place where he had no escape plan or put him in a position of addressing my upset.
Somewhere in the world or on the internet or in a book (honestly, who can remember all these things?), I read that you can never blame someone else for what you're feeling. Yes, I was hurt by his actions, or lack of in this case, but at the end of the day, I am the person responsible for the way I feel. I can't hold someone else accountable for my happiness or my hurt or my anger. The only person who is driving the way I feel is me.
So, why then is it so easy to let someone else take the wheel? I'm not quite sure. Maybe we're just hard wired that way - predisposed to carrying the emotions of others or giving them the reins.
Though at the behest of my closest friends, fearing that it wouldn't make me feel any better (spoiler alert: they were right), I sent that fateful message, the subtext of which was "Why? Why was I not good enough?". It feels like a slap in the face knowing that you didn't even merit an explanation. And the answer that I got didn't really give me the satisfaction I hoped it would. It didn't make me feel justified or angry or appeased, it just made me feel sad. I spend the evening thereafter beating myself up, the cycle of self-abuse chanting in my head "You are worthless. You are not worthy of love. You are nothing.".
I know these things aren't true. Mostly. At the suggestion of another dear friend, sometimes you have to fake it 'till you make it. And I choose to try and love myself even if I don't feel like it, even on the worst days when I feel like an absolute pile of human garbage and oh my god it's no wonder I've been single for so long and why am I so hard to love?
And sometimes, that means asking for love when you need it.
Yesterday, still burdened with a heavy heart and a sour attitude, I asked my loved ones for happy things. To no ones surprise, in ample supply they provided: pictures, memories, love, joy, affection, support, consolation. Though I may not have a romantic love in my life right now, I have more than enough platonic love and familial love to tide me over. And I can't thank you enough for lifting me up out of such an awful, terrible, ugly mood.
Romantic love isn't everything and I am still a complete and full and delightful person without but isn't that what most people want? To love and be loved in return? Barring the occasional emotional meltdown, I tend to like who I am most days. My friends would probably say that I'm dedicated and loyal and funny and for the majority of my time, I tend to agree with them.
So, this is just one disappointment, and I'm not ashamed to say I'm disappointed. That's life. But it's just one moment, right? Just one tiny speck in the universe, one infinitesimal second in the scheme of my life. I am not defined by this (that's what I'm telling myself anyway) but what I am defined by is what I choose to do with this hurt. And though I am perhaps not quite there yet, I will choose to eventually let it go. Because as I mentioned earlier, love is not a finite resource. I am not suddenly tapped out and have lost all capacity to care about other people.
Perhaps I'll first focus on loving myself and then letting everything else come later.
And then, as I am down trodden and worrisome and plagued by the cycle of self-doubt, I am surrounded and covered in abundant love.
If I have not told you lately that I love you, let me say it again, loud and clear: I love you. Whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever part you play in my life, I love you.
I've often said that love is not a finite resource, that we, as social creatures, have more love than we know what to do with. It seems to me a pity that for all that effort in loving our friends and family and furry companions, we seem to lack the diligence to use that love on ourselves.
It goes without saying that I've not been very kind to myself as of late.
Perhaps it is no secret that I was recently rejected, the burden of which I've been carrying around for weeks. Was he lying about why he bailed? Am I not attractive? Did I overdo it in some way?
Over the weekend, and after a couple of drinks (a topic which we are going to touch on very soon though perhaps not today), I was feeling particularly brazen and after having heard nothing from this person, not a single peep of explanation nor any inkling of his desire to in fact keep our intended date, I caved. I texted him. Though originally I had the courage and conviction to address him head on, the practical part of me knew that doing so in a public space both wasn't wise or fair. It wouldn't have been fair to corner him in a place where he had no escape plan or put him in a position of addressing my upset.
Somewhere in the world or on the internet or in a book (honestly, who can remember all these things?), I read that you can never blame someone else for what you're feeling. Yes, I was hurt by his actions, or lack of in this case, but at the end of the day, I am the person responsible for the way I feel. I can't hold someone else accountable for my happiness or my hurt or my anger. The only person who is driving the way I feel is me.
So, why then is it so easy to let someone else take the wheel? I'm not quite sure. Maybe we're just hard wired that way - predisposed to carrying the emotions of others or giving them the reins.
Though at the behest of my closest friends, fearing that it wouldn't make me feel any better (spoiler alert: they were right), I sent that fateful message, the subtext of which was "Why? Why was I not good enough?". It feels like a slap in the face knowing that you didn't even merit an explanation. And the answer that I got didn't really give me the satisfaction I hoped it would. It didn't make me feel justified or angry or appeased, it just made me feel sad. I spend the evening thereafter beating myself up, the cycle of self-abuse chanting in my head "You are worthless. You are not worthy of love. You are nothing.".
I know these things aren't true. Mostly. At the suggestion of another dear friend, sometimes you have to fake it 'till you make it. And I choose to try and love myself even if I don't feel like it, even on the worst days when I feel like an absolute pile of human garbage and oh my god it's no wonder I've been single for so long and why am I so hard to love?
And sometimes, that means asking for love when you need it.
Yesterday, still burdened with a heavy heart and a sour attitude, I asked my loved ones for happy things. To no ones surprise, in ample supply they provided: pictures, memories, love, joy, affection, support, consolation. Though I may not have a romantic love in my life right now, I have more than enough platonic love and familial love to tide me over. And I can't thank you enough for lifting me up out of such an awful, terrible, ugly mood.
Romantic love isn't everything and I am still a complete and full and delightful person without but isn't that what most people want? To love and be loved in return? Barring the occasional emotional meltdown, I tend to like who I am most days. My friends would probably say that I'm dedicated and loyal and funny and for the majority of my time, I tend to agree with them.
So, this is just one disappointment, and I'm not ashamed to say I'm disappointed. That's life. But it's just one moment, right? Just one tiny speck in the universe, one infinitesimal second in the scheme of my life. I am not defined by this (that's what I'm telling myself anyway) but what I am defined by is what I choose to do with this hurt. And though I am perhaps not quite there yet, I will choose to eventually let it go. Because as I mentioned earlier, love is not a finite resource. I am not suddenly tapped out and have lost all capacity to care about other people.
Perhaps I'll first focus on loving myself and then letting everything else come later.
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