Yesterday I found myself on a park bench watching the ducks and geese and chimney swifts while the sun set in the hazy sky. I was just sittin’ and thinkin’ about how crazy it is that life is just a series of getting addicted to one thing after another, and then inevitably withdrawing from each one.
Just hear me out.
Sure there are the obvious (and often harmful) addictions, but discovering a new song that you play on repeat? Creating a good habit that makes you feel good? Creating a bad habit that makes you feel good? Making fun purchases? Talking to someone you like or love? Hanging out with friends? Good foods? Good shows?? Good books???
They all give you that hit of dopamine or serotonin or oxytocin (or all of the above) that we all want need so badly.
Then when you break that habit, or lose that person, or your friends are busy, or you start living on a budget and the mailbox is devoid of exciting packages…? Whoops, well here comes the withdrawal.
I’ve read articles on how our bodies get so used to the hormonal highs triggered by our obsessions that not only do we go through emotional withdrawal when the thing is taken away from us, but our bodies can literally have physical withdrawal symptoms too. LIKE WE WERE ON DRUGS. Who created this rigged system??
I’ve purposely never used drugs to avoid all this mess, and now you’re telling me that the brain chemistry of someone who’s recently had their heart broken is incredibly similar to the brain chemistry of someone who’s recently quit cocaine??
Well call me a fucking cokehead then, cause I’m a professional in that field.
Last year I read the book Calling In “The One” by Katherine Woodward Thomas. And yeah, it’s about exactly what it sounds like it’s about.
I have yet to be able to tell you if it actually works, but I will say that it was fantastic therapy. I dug into places of myself that I hadn’t really thought about deeply before, and I found patterns and habits and expectations that I had never put into words or coherent thoughts until then. It was…enlightening, to say the least. I saw clearly the ways that I had acted and responded in previous relationships, and how I protected myself and tempered myself — often detrimentally so.
And so I worked on myself, by myself, to ensure that I didn’t bring those things into future relationships. And man, I was diligent about this book. I was willing to put in the work and change and grow. And, not to toot my own horn, but I think I was pretty successful.
photo via thefemale
Somewhere in the middle of the book Katherine tells you that when you decide to choose differently, and act differently, and embrace different things, then you may experience “tests” or tempting circumstances that, if you don’t choose wisely, could bring you right back to your old behavior. Or, when those tests come along, no matter how hard they may be, you can choose to stick to what you’ve learned about yourself, about your wants, and about your needs, and choose differently.
Ummm, bitch please, I hated this idea of “tests.” Hadn’t I already been through enough!? So I conveniently forgot about that part of the book.
(oops)
And life was good after that. I’d go so far as to say it was maybe even great. In fact, I wasn’t even looking for a relationship, I was more than happy to live my quiet little life and wait for the universe to drop someone into it and say, “you’ve been so incredibly patient, Jordan — so here ya go, you two will be perfect together.”
*insert heart-eyes from the good lawd himself*
From my little human perspective, it seems kinda cruel that the universe knows exactly who and what can be the hardest tests for you. Because then someone came back into my life who I had previously already been entangled with. And who had taken me an embarrassingly long time to get over.
Maybe others would’ve thought me ridiculous for even trying again, but it didn’t feel ridiculous, it felt right. Like maybe we’d been given a second chance to make things work. At least, that’s what silly romantic me thought.
I will say that one thing I’m really proud of is that I prioritize living my life in a way that I live with zero regrets. I tell people when I like them, and when I love them. I take chances, even when the odds are against me. And I don’t let fear stop me from doing things that I want to do. To this day, I don’t think I have a single regret, and I hope to keep it that way.
So let me tell ya, when all this started to happen I was high on cocaine a cocktail of happiness hormones. Mom said I was a lil glowy. I felt like I was a lil glowy. I couldn’t stop smiling — I felt like an idiot, but like, a happy idiot.
And then, all of the sudden, after a few weeks of my hopes being sky-high…things slowed. Then stalled. Then pretty much stopped altogether. And instead of feeling like I was appreciated and wanted, it felt like I was trying to convince this person that I was worth wanting, worth loving, worth keeping around. My voiced feelings seemed to go unheard — there was just deafening silence, and the constant need to check my phone.
I don’t know what’s wrong with people that makes it so fucking hard for them to communicate, but I was simply not raised that way. And when I say that I’d rather be verbally rejected than be left in complete silence, I 1000% mean it.
Billie Eilish was right when she wrote: I don’t relate to you, cause I’d never treat me this shitty.
Though I could make a million kind excuses for this person, it’s also possible that I’d been gaslighting myself the whole time. Maybe they lied to me. Or played me. Or simply just wasn’t that into me to begin with. Maybe they were already choosing another girl over me (again). Perhaps it was only wishful thinking to believe that they were any different than all the other guys in the past who had used me when they were bored or lonely. All I know for certain is that it hurt. I was confused, my sisters were confused, my mom was confused, even my dad was confused.
In the past I’ve been so desperate for love that I’ve failed to set boundaries, or stand up for myself, or value my self-worth, because I didn’t want to lose the person who I was with (or wanted to be with). I thought that if I always put their needs above mine, then I’d hold more value in their eyes. Turns out, you can’t force people to love you, no matter how hard you try (very unfair, I know). I’ve experienced certain patterns in my relationships and potential partners since I was 14 (hence the previous desperation), and this time I was determined to break those patterns — even if it meant hurting myself to save myself. I know I have a tendency to stay too long and give too much of myself, without either one of those things being reciprocated, but at least nobody can say that I’m not a caring or forgiving person.
photo via thefemale
So I did what I didn’t want to do: I gave an official end to things before the other person did it for me.
I walked away, and I closed a door that I really wanted to leave open. And I did it to prove to myself, and to the universe, and to every person who has ever walked all over me that I’m worth more. I’m worth someone’s time. I’m worth someone’s effort. I’m worth a definite and enthusiastic yes.
But you all know the depressing routine that follows: deleting their number, deleting the cute good morning texts, deleting every saved photo that they’d sent you, deleting the 3am conversations that made you feel like you’d do anything for this person.
Then you indulge in a good cry while your dry phone warns you that that the 10-minute version of All Too Well is going to make you go deaf, and then you go to bed. And when you wake up, you take your fucking life back.
(Unless the next day is the first day of your period and the cramps are a real bitch — then you promise to take you life back the next day. That’s okay too.)
photo via thefemale
One part of me is furious. I’m furious that before this person entered my life everything was going amazing, and now here I am, telling my mind to just shut up for a minute. I’m furious that nobody has ever fought to keep me in their life. I’m furious that other people can so easily act like they don’t care when I feel like I’m pathetically begging for them to simply acknowledge me. I’m furious that nobody can ever be brutally honest with me. I’m furious that I still fail at knowing who to trust. I’m furious at the amount of times I’ve been told that I’m “wife material.” Like, yeah, it’s obviously true. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t also make a bomb-ass girlfriend (I do — no pun intended).
Another part of me is sad, even though I don’t want to be. Even though I know I deserve more. I’m sad that I catch myself wondering what makes me harder to love or commit to than other girls. I’m sad that I could run myself in circles trying to figure out why everything always goes wrong, and what I could’ve done to avoid it. I’m sad that I have to try not to think about how year after year goes by and yet I still find myself ending up alone. I’m sad that nobody has ever just showed up on my doorstep telling me that they were wrong, and that they don’t want to lose me. I’m sad that Taylor Swift’s Foolish One is a biography of my life
But regardless of the tornado of emotions and thoughts, in the middle of it all, there’s also a part of me that feels really good.
Because I’m really quite proud of myself.
For possibly the first time in my life, instead of holding on to something that was hurting me, hoping that the situation would someday change, I let it go. I set myself free. And that’s something that doesn’t always come easily to me.
I’m grateful that I never took up drinking or drugs, because me and escapism are way too good of friends for that. So instead, I buy myself flowers, and I sit on park benches, and I watch the sun set, and I just patiently wait for the feelings to fade.
And hey, I’ll be fine. I always am. This ain’t my first rodeo, but I’m hoping that maybe it’ll be my last.
I’m ready for something real, even if it’s messy. I’m ready for someone to whole-heartedly, enthusiastically, and unapologetically want me in their life. Leave your regrets at the door ✌🏼❤
art by jordan rae 