Tag Archives: Men

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One More Week! Submit Your Valentine

It’s a week until Valentine’s Day (or Single Awareness Day or that day you have a date with Jack, Captain and Jose…) — but instead of making it about love and romance or the lack thereof, make it about all the reasons you love yourself.

That’s right — why you love you! Because you’re pretty great. Actually, you’re awesome.

So write a love letter to yourself by clicking this. Read Valentine’s from the last two years published on Confessions of a Love Addict here. Don’t worry — if you want to be anonymous, you can do that. Or I can link back to your blog.

Make sure to tell all the special ladies in your life to write one, too — don’t you all deserve to get a little more self-love in your lives?

 

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Things I’m Not Afraid Of

I’m not afraid of being alone.

Because loneliness only feels lonely when you give it your power. And though a city can make you have solitary thoughts in the solitary confinement of your tiny hole of the concrete landscape, you’re constantly surrounded by energy. It consumes you while it confuses you, and though you’d rather not break a smile or a sweat, if you walk the streets or catch a train, you’ll find yourself doing both. The city keeps you company, like it or leave it. And being alone isn’t better than surrendering to something you don’t want or becoming someone you’re not because you ache for love. Or maybe it’s just touch that makes you desperate. Learning to stand up single and stand up tall may not be the greatest lesson of all, but it’s one that’ll sustain you. Walking to the beat of the route you decided to take and being proud of who you are — with or without someone — is happier than sitting in the  back seat when you should be driving full speed, windows down, ahead.

I’m not afraid of being wrong.

In fact, I’d rather make mistakes if it means that I will ultimately become a stronger, smarter version of myself. Falling down isn’t the same as giving in — but they are equally important. Before you can fly, you have to be able to land and yes, even crash. It’s only in the aftermath that you can put the puzzle of yourself back together. And sometimes, to recreate the parts and mold them into something that fits again, you have to hang on before you can let go. Sometimes you walk down the path or into the bedroom of something so wrong that it tastes eerily right. And it’s only when it all turns from sweet to bitter that you can feel yourself release it. Before you can figure out what it feels like to be right – to be so right, you can’t believe it – you have to be able to detect when it’s painstakingly, not. You have to admit that you put yourself there, that you’re to blame and it’s you that’ll have to change.

I’m not afraid of having hope.

Sure, seeing things as peachy-keen when life has a knack for serving you lemons may seem irrational and naive. I may be a Pollyanna with a bit of a kinky side who sees the light in all of the emptiness, the good in every bit of sorrow — but I wouldn’t trade that blind optimism for anything. Because you have to believe in something or someone or some entity that you can’t describe and you’ll never be able to define, to get yourself through the muck. There are no amounts of charming tall men in suits, yellow chariots, magical cocktails or hideaways that can disguise the unfortunate things that will happen to us all — but if you keep faith somewhere buried inside of you, you’ll never really care. Because even if everything else fades away or disappears, if everyone you know becomes people you used to know — at the very least, you’ll still see that glimmer that you tucked away for days just like this one.

I’m not afraid of imperfection.

Aren’t flaws rather stunning if you think about it? The most gregarious and gorgeous of individuals aren’t cookie-cutter or Hollywood print-outs. Instead, they’re like you. They’re like me. They’re people who have courage and wear t-shirts that show a little too much skin. They rock teeth with gaps but they do the most with what they have, where they are and however they can. The beauty I see in those around me has almost nothing to do with their style and everything to do with their souls. You can’t see what’s really inside of a person or really know how they’re light was lit until you’ve witnessed what made it flicker in the storm. You can’t look past your own silly shortcomings until you’ve been able to look past someone else’s. And not just see through them, but love those wrinkles, those crooked smiles, that freckled face. That madly beautiful, imperfect face.

I’m not afraid of being last.

Because honestly, I forgot I was racing. To the big, high-powered, executive suite job with the burgeoning paycheck. To the altar where I’d convince myself that this man grants my every wish and will lead my every dying decision. To the mortgage and the 401K, the bonds and the stock markets I’m just now starting to teach myself. To the sweet nursery with the sweet baby that’ll depend on me for everything and I’ll find myself consumed with a love I never knew possible. You can’t rush such luck or such joy — and I wouldn’t want to, even if I could. Maybe there’s an ideal time for all of those milestones and maybe it just works itself out. Maybe it doesn’t. But I’d rather be last than to be first and find myself wondering why I moved so quickly when I could have just treasured all the moments before all of my little ducks lined up in their little row.

No, these things, I’m not afraid of. But I used to be.

I needed to be the star — to be the girl who did everything so fast you would miss her if you hesitated for even a second. I wanted to fall in love as soon as I could and marry sooner rather than later. And the thought of being alone was enough to knock me off of my up-on-her-high-horse feet. I gave myself a hard time for having a heart full of hope because surely, if I was too positive, something was damned to go terribly wrong. And if I was wrong, how could I ever find all that I wanted to be right?

I was so fearful of not being the person I had set myself up to be. And if any sign of trouble crept into my picturesque view of how life should be, I would royally freak out. I had a two-year, a five-year, a ten-year plan for everything: this would happen then, that would happen after and all would be well.

But living that way — full of fear that nothing would happen just as I laid it out — was more painful than pleasurable. How can you live in the now if your now is surrounded with anxiety? And so, I decided to stop being pensive. I stopped doubting. I started just savoring. And enjoying.

Because when you stop being afraid of these things… better, not-so-scary, not-so-planned things start to happen instead. And those worries you held onto for so long, they all become things you’re not afraid of anymore. They suddenly just become… things.

Don’t forget to write a love letter for Valentine’s Day to yourself! It’s Love Addict’s 3rd Year of Valentine’s Day From You to You!!

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Falling in Love on Fridays: Loving on a Prayer

This week’s Falling in Love on Fridays comes from one of my very best friends in the whole world (and the world wide web). Nikki started as my bubbly intern at the campus newspaper and quickly grew to become a treasured soul in my life: always reminding me to be positive, always giving me a dose of reality and always remaining one of the most thoughtful, generous people I’ve ever known. Though we haven’t lived in the same place in a long time, we stay connected each day via Gchat (I call her my Gchat BFF!). Her story is one that’s unique and so sweet — just like her. Check out her awesome blog, Mrs. Healthy Ever After for more great insight into her married life. It’s hard not to fall in love with this girl, I promise. (And if you want to submit your own falling in love story, read this!)

Loving on a Prayer

I remember thinking I was in love and when it all changed. I had been in a long relationship with my high school sweetheart who was a couple of years older than me. Everyone thought we were the one’s for each other and we were that “it” couple at church. On the outside, it seemed like I was living the dream. He even wanted to marry me. But when he said I had to marry him by my 19th birthday and on top of his porn addiction that led to me having the worst self esteem ever, I knew enough was enough.

It’s weird thinking how “first loves” or failed relationships truly play into your happy ever after. But they do. And no matter how bad the hurt is from one relationship, there really is hope for that knock-you-off-your-feet love story you’ve always wanted.

I was still dating my porn-addicted ex long distance  when I met Addison. He had been out of school due to back surgery the first semester I started college and all his friends took me under their wing at the place where we both worked. Every chance they got, it seemed like they were saying that I had to meet Addison because we were so much alike. By alike, they meant super-sheltered, goody-two shoes Christian kid, so I didn’t think much of it. Until he  finally walked into the game room I was working in, that is. Someone was making fun of me for being a virgin, as usual, and he just waltzed up and said, “Don’t feel bad. They make fun of me for that too.”

Impressed by a male outspoken virgin, I ran around the desk, gave him a hug and said, “I love you.” Yeah, I know. Not the smoothest of moves, but I was a bubbly freshman who said “I love you” to practically everyone. But that day, a friendship was born.Turns out, Addison had a high school sweetheart who absolutely shattered his heart and he thought he was going to marry her too. It’s a weird commonality, but it was refreshing to have someone to talk with about such a pain that’s hard to express. Eventually I broke up with the wrong guy and Addison continued to be probably one of the best friends I ever had.

One night while we were watching MASH in his room, I turned to look at him during a funny moment and he just planted a kiss on me, completely catching me off guard. It was the most magnificent kiss that has ever happened to me. I asked him what that meant, because it really came out of no where and he said he just wanted to date casually. That was fine with me because I had just gotten out of a longterm relationship and figured it was time to do the “college thing” and date around. But we were inseparable and dating casually didn’t last long. What was really funny was that while I was still dating my ex, I had  prayed to God to send me a man– any man– even if it was a “Joe-Schmo who couldn’t remember my birthday” as long as he wasn’t addicted to porn. Imagine my surprise when my first birthday together, he actually forgot to give me a birthday present. At first I was hurt and mad, but then I just had to laugh. Sometimes God has a sense of humor.

But the real defining moment when I first realized that I loved him and knew he was the one was something that still shocks most of my girlfriends when I tell them this story. I’m not proud of this, but dating a porn addicted really really messed with me on multiple fronts. Early on in our relationship, I took the opportunity to search through Addison’s computer for EVERYTHING. I wasn’t as fast as I thought because when he walked into the room, I just froze. First, it was the expected “What are you doing?” but then to my shock, he replied, “Here are my passwords to emails and Facebook. I have nothing to hide, so if it makes you feel better, go for it.”

I was blown away. After being in a relationship full of lies, and let-downs and entire feelings of inadequacies, I found a guy who was upfront with me about everything. And now, almost five years later, I am married to him and he still says its okay to go through his computer if I ever feel the need to snoop around.

Since then, we’ve been through a lot: long distance, death, failed plans and more. But you know, it always did turn out alright. It just goes to show you that even damaged goods like me, who was overly suspicious of computers after years of hurt, could still find the one who could be what she truly needed all along.

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Hey There Beautiful

Before starting this blog, I wasn’t a big fan of Valentine’s Day. Even though I pine over things with delicate little hearts (forgive me future child for your nursery decor) and cry almost every single time I read Modern Love in the Times – I’ve always felt like V-Day was more about consumerism than cupid.

But two years ago, I decided to challenge you — yes, you! — to write a different kind of Valentine. Not one you’d give to your crush or husband or anyone. But instead, one that’s written to you. Taken or single, the day isn’t about chocolates and dinner dates or wondering if you’ll be the only one in the office who wasn’t sent flowers…. it’s about self-love. So why not count all the ways you love, you?

Because you’re pretty great.

And beautiful. And incredibly brave and strong. Determined and kind-hearted. Forgiving and a free spirit full of charm, wit and dreams. You are all of these things — and you deserve to read it.

I’m excited to announce the third edition of Valentine’s To Yourself on Confessions of a Love Addict. It’s really simple — click this link and write a letter of love from you to you. If you’re a blogger and you want me to link back, I will. If you want to be anonymous, that’s cool, too. I’ll publish them all. (Just like I did in 2011 and in 2012).

So, hey there beautiful — go ahead and get started. It’ll take you weeks to list everything that’s great about you…

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Getting Naked in Soho

Yesterday, after taking the pup for a quick jaunt around our block, I hopped the downtown train to make an appointment that had me a little jumpy. But no really — it was a trampoline exercise class that brought back childhood nostalgia along with a quick fix for my champagne hangover from the night before. I quickly discovered that while I’ve always had quite the bounce in my step, when I try to actually put some steps to that bounce… it’s not exactly graceful. No matter — I found myself sweating more than I thought possible when it’s under 20 degrees outside, and once the class ended, I graced the streets of Soho without muffs or gloves to get an iced coffee.

When the wind hit my flushed cheeks, I inhaled and smiled at the dirty, yet fascinating concrete landscape before me.

Since I’ve been living in the fog of cold, dreary days and the cloud of a warm, promising someone, I haven’t had much time — or really energy — to just walk around the streets I moved hundreds of mile to walk on. And so, carrying around gym clothes and a book I’ve been trying to read for a month without much progress, I decided to forget about the frozen sidewalks and have a day date with my very first love.

I tried on a dozen puffy down coats because I know I need one, but can’t seem to fall enough in love with one to actually fork over the cash to bring it home. Then I browsed clearance black boots in search of a replacement pair for the ones that my lovely dog not-so-innocently chewed the zipper (thanks, Lucy). I spent a good thirty minutes redesigning my bedroom in Bed, Bath and Beyond, filled up a cart and determined I could find a way to budget it into my savings before concluding that I liked the way my space looked and put it all away. I lost myself in the Container Store because for some odd reason, organizing gets me excited, and I landed a pair of expensive running pants on sale for $2. And then, I walked across some avenues and got naked.

No, but really.

It wasn’t technically in Soho, but at the Soho House — a swanky, members-only establishment in Meatpacking — but saying I stripped down to nothing in Meatpacking just seems very terrifying and kinda dirty. And while I’d love to say that my baring-it-all adventure was caused by a lovely combination of friends who encouraged me to let it all go and some sparkly something to make me feel at ease, it wasn’t that type of situation. Instead, it involved a fancy gift certificate and a massage therapist who knew just how to knead out the soreness in my very tired legs and shoulders.

It doesn’t seem like much of a story, I know — but when I walked out of my relaxing oasis into the women’s changing room, sporting a fuzzy robe and slippers, I caught a look at myself in the mirror and couldn’t believe what I saw.

For the first time, probably ever, I saw natural beauty.

Beauty that wasn’t made by Maybelline or lined with liner or pinched with pouty lipstick. Instead, it was me. With some flaws and lines, some scars and teeth that definitely aren’t aligned symmetrically and flushed cheeks from nearly falling asleep from an hour of rubbing. I’ve worn makeup nearly every single day since I was 13, and though my skin isn’t entirely clear yet, with the help of Accutane lately, it’s been rather radiant. I’ve been so amazed with the results and the changes, that I decided I would try the makeup-free thing at the spa. So, I must have looked a tad obsessive, standing there looking at myself, but I realized that in my pure state of just me, I was actually, just fine. Better than that actually — I was, and am, just lovely.

With that confidence, I headed to the steam room, where I decided I wanted to go… robe-less. And though no one came in for me to compare myself to, I know I would have felt comfortable if they did. The past six months, I’ve worked really hard to get myself to the very best me that I can be — both emotionally by letting go of the past and imagining a future that’s better, and physically, by making a commitment to running and putting things in my body that are good for me. Or, in the case of my acne-prone flesh, doing what it takes to feel pretty, literally, in my own skin.

And you know what? Sitting there, naked at the Soho House, feeling the sweat everywhere, I felt so incredibly refreshed… and beautiful.

That feeling, though wasn’t just because of a toned body or a complexion that’s clearing up, it was also from dedicating myself — and the pages of this blog — to learning how to love myself for who I am, regardless of what I have and what I don’t. Who I’m dating or not dating. If everything is perfect or everything is unsure. I still deal with bouts of insecurity and moments where I doubt anything I see — but finally, I’m really starting to see the changes I’ve worked for since I started this journey. The transformations aren’t huge breakthroughs or major events that I’ll remember the date of, but it’s moments like that one, that make me see how far I’ve come.

While I will always have a long way to go, I really couldn’t imagine a better ending to my much-needed time with New York than catching the train home, relishing in my daring bare of a day.