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Anger, Peanut Butter & The Single Girl

I’m very bad at being angry. In fact –usually when I start to get mad, I get upset with myself that I’m mad, and then I think I’m being too hard on myself, so I get sad that I’m being so self-defeating, and in return I start to cry, and then get angry because tears are splashing down my cheeks.

Exhausting, right?

Part of recovery, I’ve discovered is getting very mad. It’s not a part I enjoy and it’s not something I like to admit, but if I’m being honest with everyone and trying to rid myself of all of my negativity –I’ve got to lay it out there.

As mentioned a few days ago, I’ve started a new friendship with T (read about him here). It’s been encouraging for the process to have a non-gay (hey, it’s a rarity in the city), male friend who will be there for me to talk to. He’s easy to get along with, easy to look at, and even easier to be around. We haven’t known each other very long, but we’re comfortable and open –and because we both know a relationship is off the table, there is absolutely no pressure.

He’s working up his grand gesture to his ex-girlfriend and he has been running his ideas by me. It’s been entertaining and inspiring to help him with a romantic presentation that will certainly (fingers crossed for him) win her back.

I really don’t mind helping him and I really do want to be his friend. But, at the end of the day, I started asking myself: “Why hasn’t anyone done this for me?”

Partly because I’m trying to rid of these negative questions and attitudes towards love and partly because it frankly just frustrates me –I got mad. I got upset. I left the office in a huff, wondering what was wrong with me.

I thought:

“I’m a 22-year-old, 5’4” (but usually 5’7” because of my high heel obsession), in shape (and with a shape) woman. I’m independent, self-supporting, and ambitious, yet I like to be needed and to need someone. I landed a job and an apartment within the first three weeks of moving to NYC and I can hold an intelligent conversation. I’m not exactly funny, but I think I’m rather charming. I’m not a model, but I think I was given beauty. I volunteer because I thoroughly enjoy it, not because I have to, and I would bake cookies every single day if I could afford it or had the time. I tend to be a pretty good listener, I can get along with almost any type of personality, and while I’m a planner, I also enjoy adventures. Did I mention I’m from the South, which makes me super sweet, friendly, and courteous, too?

Why hasn’t someone noticed? Why am I not good enough for someone? What the hell is wrong with me? Where is my grand gesture?!”

After a surprisingly easy three mile run, I still wasn’t over my anger. In fact, while attempting to talk to my parents, I ended up getting so frustrated that I had to end the phone call after it barely got started. I sincerely couldn’t take my mother saying “It’s all about timing, dear.”

Of course it’s about timing. Of course I have to patient. Of course I have to let it all play its course in perfect rhyme and rhythm, and have faith that all is unfolding as it should. I’m trying very hard, I really am –I’m giving this recovery every bit of energy I have.

But still, last night, I ended up in sweatpants, my favorite sweater with three crumpled napkins by my computer, and dipping a large spoon into my jar of peanut butter.

Am I still making progress?

Yes. I allowed myself to get upset. I allowed myself to cry (for the first time since this blog started). I allowed myself to get very mad and have all of those negative thoughts. I allowed them to come and to leave, and after I was finished with my temper tantrum, I sought advice from my two sponsors, M and J, who gave me some words of encouragement and kindness. I then sat down to write this blog, with a container of pudding (I’m being honest, here), and admitted my level of anxiety.

Single can suck. Single can be incredibly difficult. Single can making you get down on yourself and ask a million questions you will never find answers to –even by reading this blog, searching online, or reading self-help books. Single is part of the journey and it can be a major pain in the ass sometimes.

But I can’t (and neither can you) beat yourself up for hating it sometimes. No matter what step I’m at in the program, how confident I am, or how much self-love I build up –I’m always going to have hard days. I’m always going to have a moment of jealousy, a time of insecurity, and nights where all I want to do is be held.

As one of my sponsors, J, said: “This is all normal.”

The only thing that’ll change is my reaction to being upset and the time it takes to let go of it. Last night, it took from about 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. Three hours isn’t too awful, but eventually, I’ll be about to calm myself down faster and more lovingly.

I also, hopefully, will learn not to keep peanut butter at arm’s reach. That probably wasn’t such a great idea.

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98 Million Thoughts

Yesterday, a friend forwarded me an email she received that claimed the average adult has approximately 60,000 thoughts in a 24-hour period. Not only is that a striking figure, but the second part of the survey claimed that of those 60,000 thoughts –nearly all of them are the same as the ones we had the day previously.

Now, I’m not sure of the credibility of this survey or how they measured an adult’s thinking processes –but it further solidifies that human beings are a creatures of habit; and when we get stuck on a certain worry or thought…we remain stubborn for quite some time.

I only took one math class in college, and wouldn’t have if it wasn’t required for my degree, but I attempted to come up with a rough estimate of how many thoughts I’ve had about single-life, relationships, and love:

  • Probably started seriously dedicating thoughts to being in love/having crushes/etc. around the age of 13 = 9 years of thoughts
  • 365 days in a year X 9 years = 3,285 days
  • Of those days, I’ll say I dedicated about half of my thoughts to relationships (the other half is probably balanced between NYC, writing, my friends, stopping violence against women, what to wear, reading, school work,  family, etc.) = 30,000 thoughts about love every single day
  • 3,285 days X 30,000 thoughts = 98,550,000 love thoughts

About 98 million thoughts about not being in a relationship, actually being in a relationship, hating myself for being single, being annoyed about love, actually being in love, worrying about getting married, being jealous, and so much more.

98 million thoughts?!! I wonder how many thoughts I’ve had just in the time it’s taken me to write this blog. I wonder how many of these thoughts I’ve said out loud or written for the whole cyber world to see. I wonder if this is normal?

Of all of these thoughts, very few have been encouraging over the last 9 years I’ve been obsessed with love. A selective bunch have been full of optimism and hope for all that’s to come, and even less have been geared towards giving myself positive compliments and encouragement –or telling myself it’s okay to be single and to love myself first.

Step Two, which I officially started yesterday with the flower breakdown, is to believe that a higher power can take away all of my negative thinking towards relationships. That this higher power, in its infinite wisdom and peace, can restore sanity to me and a hopeful spirit.

I’m not sure I believe that yet. I’m not sure I believe my 98 million thoughts can just be lifted and taken away –and I certainly don’t think it’s something that can happen overnight or in a week. Of those 98 million thoughts, not very many have been geared towards thankfulness or prayer. If anything, they’ve been pleading players –full of tears, fears, and ‘Do you hear me?!!!” pleas.

So how do I turn around my 98 million awful thoughts into relaxed, positive, and letting go-thoughts?

How do I make myself believe that something out of my power can restore my power?

How do I do this?

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FedEx Sent a Box of Jealousy

Since deciding I wanted to create a 12-step program to letting go of my negativity towards love and finding the self-love I need –I’ve been in a great mood. I have been buzzing with this positive energy, telling everyone I know about how excited I am, and the support I’ve received from my friends and family has been incredible.

I haven’t been sleeping well because I’m so full of creativity and ambition over this journey and how badly I’ve needed to do it, and the fact that finally, I am. These blogs have literally been flowing out of me –almost like an out-of-body-experience. When I re-read them, it’s like I don’t even remember writing them.

And all those happy thoughts, rainbows, butterflies, and fairy dust that have been keeping me on a “Hope-to-Love-Being-Single Cloud 9” disappeared in a matter of seconds yesterday.

It was a particularly busy day at the magazine because it was the day before going to press. Last minute edits were being made, the edit staff was arguing over commas and pull-quote selections, and the art director was attempting not to lose his cool. As the EA, I sat up front, man the desk, man the process, and smile and nod when needed.

Thanks, FedEX

I was editing pages when my FedEx guy (he always remembers me) walked in, cheerful as always, with a big box that read “Pro Flowers” on it. Immediately, in the mere four seconds it took him to walk from the door to my desk, I racked my mind with who could have possibly sent me flowers: My mom? Would she send me flowers? What about my dad –did he say he was going to do that? What about the guy who came to my birthday party –would he do that? Does he even have my address? What about my ex –is he trying to win me back…again?

The nice FedEx man interrupted my ridiculous questioning and happily said they were for my co-worker, J. Without even thinking, I grumpily replied “Of course they are.” I quickly signed my name and he walked off as my co-worker giddily accepted the flowers waiting by my desk.

All it took was for the realization that flowers weren’t for me –even though I wasn’t expecting flowers –to turn my mood downward. I automatically typed a snarky IM to the co-worker who received the flowers, and then told our general manager about it with a frowny face. My co-worker, E (also a single chick) and I looked at each other and silently said: “Really?” She quickly said, “All I get is e-flowers,” to which I replied, “I don’t even get those!” Then, I started getting annoyed at the fill-in editor and with the art director, and in a huff –I decided I need to get some air.

I marched (literally, stomped) my way to a new food venue (I had a 20 percent off coupon, so why not?) where five very friendly, perky employees greeted me kindly and asked if I could be helped. I snapped at the last one, and when I couldn’t order my Diet Coke to go with my avocado burger –you’d think with my attitude, the whole world was falling apart.

And in a way –it had.

I had been reminded that I was single. That flowers weren’t for me. That there wasn’t a secret admirer who cared about me. That I wasn’t the special one in the office who was on display because their boyfriend publically displayed his love. That all of this blogging maybe wasn’t going as smoothly and easily as I had imagined. That maybe, I was still going to have admit my jealousy and my poor attitude…is a more intense, than even I originally thought.

However, having this experience only strengthened my desire to continue on this journey. I don’t want to feel this way when someone gets flowers. Especially J who has grown to be one of my dearest friends, and who doesn’t boast about their relationship to me (and frankly, has listened to my ridiculous rants since the day we met). I want to be able to be happy for those who have found love, not dangerously jealous. I don’t want my longing for love and dissatisfaction with being single to rule my life.

So here is the last part of step one –I fully, whole-heartedly admit that I have a problem with being single. I admit to being envious of others. I admit to being hateful, sad, and overall just moody when something rubs me the wrong way in terms of love. I admit that I hate being single, but I sincerely do want to learn how to achieve contentment and happiness as a solo-lady.

I admit this process is going to take work and it’s not going to be easy.

And to celebrate moving on to Step 2 “believing a higher power can take away my negative attitude towards love” –I’m buying myself a bouquet of tulips and daisies.

After all –if it’s about self-love, I deserve to show me that I care.

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Why Being Single Can Suck

My friend R has always been full of helpful insight and wisdom. She’s been through more than any young woman should –and when I see her standing bold, beautiful, and optimistic; I’m enthralled with her courage.

We jokingly call our relationship a “long-distance friendship” –the majority of the time we’ve known each other, we’ve been in separate towns, and most recently, different states. We stay connected through Facebook messages and text messages –primarily consisting of “SOSes”. It’s a secret term we send each other when we need to sincerely, immaturely, and inappropriately freak-out.

If some of the letters I have sent to her were ever published –I’d be certified straight-out crazy. Luckily, as a writer herself, she knows how to respond in a manner that gets through to me, and she has prevented (and taken the blunt of) many of the ridiculous rants that come out of me.

As I’ve been trying to figure out if there is anything else I need to understand (or at least attempt to) about why I hate being single –I looked back on some conversations between us.

I’ve concluded that sometimes, it just sucks being single.

Maybe some will curse my poor word choice –but sucks is just really the best term for it. For some, it’s unmanageable (it’s been the way for me, which is why I’m writing this blog), and for others, being single is just something they put up with, but can handle without freaking out (God bless ‘em). But as a collective, there are parts of being a minus-one that a plus-one doesn’t have to endure.

Being incredibly honest with my friends on Facebook (probably to a default, but I’ve never been shy) –I asked them what sucks the most about being single. The response I received was incredible –from high school friends I haven’t spoken to in years to men (believe it) who feel the same way too:

“Having creepy guys hit on you and not being able to say, ‘I’m sorry. I have boyfriend,’ and really be able to mean it, while thanking God your man is not that weird.” -N

“Having no one to play in leaf piles with.” -C

“The most difficult part of being single was when my relatives or friends say ‘Gosh, you are such a pretty girl, why aren’t you married yet?’ – Like, duh, gee I don’t know, maybe it’s because I haven’t met anyone that I want to marry yet or maybe I don’t want to get married right now!” -K

“Watching everyone around you find someone who wants to be with them forever. It is like a constant reminder that there must be something wrong with you because no one wants forever with you.” -R

“There are so many things I hate, but what I think I hate most, is not being able to touch someone. To lay next to someone on the couch and watch a movie, to hold someone’s hand while we walk, to walk into a loving embrace after a bad day, to wake up next to someone, just to name a few. Now don’t get me wrong, I know being in a relationship isn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but that’s what I hate the most about being single.” -B

“The most difficult part about being single: knowing you’re a catch and that someone is out there for you, but having to play the waiting game until he shows up.” -M

“To me the worse part of being single is the lack of companionship; it seems like with a friend with benefits or a one night stand, a girl is seeking something that can only be found in a relationship built around trust.” -E

“I guess it’s not having the love from boys and pampering from boys that we girls enjoy. Like if you’re upset and stuff…it’s nice to have a boyfriend to go to… and it’s nice to have someone to cuddle with at the end of the day.” -S

“Not having someone to cuddle with on Sunday nights or not having the one person to turn to when things are bad. Yes I have my friends but having a companion would be nice.” –E

“The worse part of being single or what I miss the most about being in a relationship is sleeping alone. I really can go days without hugging a single soul.” -L

Notice a common thread? I did: being single sucks because…you’re alone.

If you’re stressed out from work and you want to pull out all of your hair and be incredibly frustrated –there isn’t someone to say, ‘its okay baby, come here, let me hold you.’ Or if you just had an incredible run where you beat your best time and you’re in a playful mood –there isn’t anyone waiting at home for you to seduce or an apartment you can just drop by to. Or when it rains (or on a lazy Sunday) –there isn’t someone there for you to curl up with.

Instead –you’ve got yourself. And of course, as E says, you’ve got your friends. But there is something different about companionship. It’s comforting. It’s soothing. It’s relaxing. It’s heartfelt. It’s warm. It’s…completion?

I hope this journey can teach me (and all of you, too!) that I’m already complete –even if I don’t have a companion. No, I don’t come home to someone gleaming over their newspaper at me, I don’t fall apart in a man’s arms (but R’s inbox is there for that), and Sunday nights are just like other nights –but I still have myself. And God is there too.

So far, it’s still hard to not have companionship; and my thoughts are the same as all of the ones above -but I can get there. And I want to. I don’t want to be plagued and pestered by thoughts of being alone or lonely. They don’t have the right to rule my mind, confidence, or mindset.

We enter this life alone and we exit it alone, too. We’ll fall in love in between –but at the end of the day, the end of the story –you’re happily ever after…begins and ends with you.

Let’s try falling in love with ourselves first. Then we can try this Sunday night cuddling thing.

PS –I watched a Nicholas Sparks movie last night –not a good idea for a single gal starting this experience, FYI.

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My Name is Lindsay and I’m a Love Addict.

I believe we all have vices –an action, a person, a continuing experience, or something we consume that we literally are addicted to. For some –it’s physically harmful to their well-being, like drugs or alcohol. Those types of addictions aren’t the kind you can easily hide for very long, and take intense therapy to overcome.

Then there are other type of addictions that modern entertainment have made hundreds of thousands of dollars out of –hoarding, shopping, promiscuous sex, plastic surgery, and the list goes on and on.

I don’t believe that the average person enjoys seeing another person suffer, but for some reason, audiences enjoy shows or movies that show someone struggling and overcoming a vice they have. I think we all live for the moment when good overcomes the bad, for when the guy wins the girl, for when the depressed reaches serenity, for the surprise twist when the goal becomes reachable, and the dream unfolds naturally.

Basically –we all wait around for the happy ending. And this obsession is where my addiction comes from.

I’m Lindsay and I’m addicted to love. Anything and everything that has to do with, reminds me of, keeps me connected to, gives me hope for, or just is flat-out –love.

I can’t and won’t blame my addiction to love on Disney movies or on being a girly girl. I won’t blame it on a long list of relationships gone sour or guys who have came and gone in and out of my life.

To be honest –I’m not sure where my obsession with love came from (but I’ll figure it out in one of the steps ahead of me), but I’ve reached the point where I know it’s something I need to admit and address before it takes over my thoughts, my life, and my future.

Anyone who knows me or who has spent more than an hour with me could tell you how much love plays a part in my life. From thoughts and dreams of a love that I’ve yet to experience to writing a slew of articles about relationships (or lack of, rather) –love has consumed my thoughts, my energy, and my focus for as long as I can remember.

I’m not one of those gals who has to have a boyfriend at all times. I really don’t jump from relationship to relationship or who throws around those three words insincerely. I have love and lost, I have gotten my hopes up and they have fallen, I have been blinded and burned by love. I’m not afraid of being single and I don’t get into relationships quickly –but I do hate being single. And even more so, I hate dating.

I’ve gone on more first dates than a 22-year-old woman should, and I’ve mastered the conversation, the movements, the dress, and the body language to a science. I know what questions to ask, I know what answers I like and which ones I don’t. I know if it’s clicking and when it’s bombing, and I know how to close the night without a kiss and without a second date.

I don’t have a problem finding dates, and I don’t find myself to be unattractive. But frankly –I’m exhausted.

I’m tired of searching. I’m tired of beating myself up for the mistakes I’ve made or for resenting men who have hurt me. I’m tired of going on dates and being disappointed. I’m tired of trying to figure out what’s wrong with me or wrong with them, or trying to pin-point through astrology, Mr. Google, and fortune tellers when I will finally meet the right guy. I’m tired of stalking ex-boyfriends via Facebook and not being able to let go of love or flames I once had. I’m tired of being jealous of my friends (or even strangers) who seem to have found chemistry with someone else. I’m tired of always looking around at bars or on the subway at men I don’t know –wondering if they’re the guy, and being disappointed when I don’t find the attention I wish they’d show me.

I’ve never really liked being single, nor have I been one of those girls who is so damn good at just letting the punches roll and having no worries about relationships or finding that perfect person. I’ve tried to not go on any dates for 60 days or 40 days and created countdowns until the day I can go on dates again. I’ve tried putting all my focus on exercise, so that I would find myself more attractive, and then my confidence would allude, so then men would be drawn to me. I’ve tried going on a second date with someone I know I’m not that into, just hoping that something would change. I’ve tried burning negative feelings and bad memories, and writing down all the things I hope for with a specific time frame.

And all of these efforts have proven unsuccessful. And being unsuccessful doesn’t sit well with me. I’m a go-getter, an achiever, and an activist. I enjoy being at the front of the pack and going after what I want and know I can reach. I push myself in everything I do, and I hate admitting defeat and giving in.

But this isn’t something you achieve. It’s not a goal with a deadline you can set. Love and marriage aren’t things to put on a checklist. They aren’t tangible, physical dreams that you can see or know when you’ve encountered them.

So, I’m trying a different approach.

I’ve always been told that in order to find the love of your life or that perfect relationship, you need to love yourself. I’ve rolled my eyes at this comment every time a friend or family member have said it to me (especially the ones who are happily in love at that time). But now, I believe it has some merit.

Yes, I have confidence in myself as a person. I have confidence in my career and my financial stability. I have confidence in my appearance for the most part, and in my support system that is always there for me. I have confidence in my ability to move to a huge city, hundreds of miles away from those closest to me, and start a new life.

But when it come to being in love or in a relationship –I find myself to be a failure. It’s harsh, but it’s truthful. I’m not fully in love with myself, and I need to build on that relationship before I even think of being committed to another person.

I’m not a psychologist and I don’t plan on seeing one, but I’m taking notes from Alcoholics Anonymous to do a recovery program for myself. I’ve tweaked the 12 Step process they use to help me in my journey to self-love and confidence in relationships.

I’m not putting time restraints on myself, nor am I making any rules. I’m not going to tell myself that “I’m not allowed to go on dates” or that I have to stop all of my negative thinking towards love cold-turkey. Nope, this is going to be an open, loving, and refreshing process that will hopefully make me see where my issues originated, and how I can overcome them.

Why am I putting this online and advertising to the whole world that I do have a problem with relationships and love? Why does anyone care?

I don’t think I’m alone in these feelings. I don’t think I’m the only single girl who sincerely hates being single and wants to find the love of her life. I don’t think I’m the only woman who blames herself and beats herself up for not being good enough, pretty enough, or anything-enough to keep a man interested. I don’t think I’m the only one who is exhausted of obsessing about relationships and feels the pressure to get married –even if she’s super young, like me. I don’t think I’m the only one who is jealous of everyone who has found love and who really just wants to cuddle with someone at nighttime instead of a pillow. I don’t think I’m the only one who looks in the eyes of strangers, hoping that the process of weeding through Mr.Right-applicants is over.

So this blog is for all of you. Yes, it’s for me too –as a writer, I’ll do better if I document my experience, rather than just thinking about it. But, I want women to know they’re not alone and it’s okay to have these feelings. It’s okay to not be perfect and to be jealous and to be young and full of hope and sadness towards love. The journey of learning to love yourself for who you are, even completely single, isn’t an easy one.

But it’s better to know you’re not alone in these feelings, right?

It’s September 19, 2010 and I’m officially an admitted Love Addict.

Here we go. I’ve got my favorite pair of heels on my feet, my favorite gloss on my lips, my skinny jeans on my body, and my hand in my own hand -telling me it’s okay to go forward.

I’m ready to fall in love with myself.