Tag Archives: writing

by - 27 Comments

A Single Girl Struggles (But Stands)

In New York, there are certain areas of the city that residents stay away from: mainly those ending in “square.” Near Macy’s and the Empire State Building at Madison Square, and with all the shining lights and smelly streets in Times Square, just to name two. Once you see certain things once, there is no need to return, unless you have a guest visiting who has never seen them– and then as a New Yorker (no matter how long you’ve actually lived here), you feel a moral obligation to show them the sights.

While during the winter season, it could be argued Bryant Park is one of those areas to steer clear of with the Trump Ice Skating Rink and little shops – for me, it is a part of town that’ll always hold a special place in my heart.

Maybe it’s because it featured the many timeless houses of couture for decades during Fashion Week or because it is home to the New York Public Library, or maybe because I used to spend Tuesday afternoons listening to a children’s choir and drinking coffee from a local vendor – but Bryant Park, even when it’s crowded with tourists and shoppers, is absolutely beautiful.

As I usually do on Sundays, I spent a large portion of this past Sunday afternoon writing, applying to freelancing positions (base salary just doesn’t cut it!), and coming up with new ideas. It is a time of the week where my obligations are not pressing and I can take a breather to do what landed me in this city in the first place: dreaming. And so, I ventured to my park, set up shop in one of my favorite cafes, appropriately stole Wifi, and went to town.

Two hours, a chicken soup, and hot tea later, I gathered my laptop, bundled up and eagerly went to walk around the park, even if I had to brave the cold. As I crossed the street, prepared to get the same rush of energy I always do – I was hit with a wave of sadness.

You know, that feeling that makes your heart heavy, knocks the air out of you (and not because it’s less than 30 degrees), and you get this almost uncontrollable urge to burst into tears? I tried to brush the odd feeling aside and continue embracing one of my favorite Manhattan scenes, but after about five minutes, I couldn’t take it and knew that if I didn’t catch the train home, I would be that girl on the street, sobbing, and attracting unnecessary attention.

By the time I finally made it to the 100s and into my apartment, I sat down on my bed and let myself cry. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t expected, and it came without a reason. Once the weight lifted off my heart and I felt sturdy enough to stand, I gathered the pieces together and tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with me.

I couldn’t blame it on the menstrual menaces, it didn’t come from an old familiar longing to be with a man, it wasn’t the result of a bad fight with a friend or the loss of a loved one. Really, I had an incredible weekend and up until my Kate Spade boots touched upon the park, I was in a delightful, hopeful mood.

So what happened?

Unsure of what was going on with me and fighting the need to be weak, I escaped to the Internet to take my mind off of my unexplained breakdown – and there it was, waiting in my Gmail, the solution to my regression: an email from Mr. Possibility.

This message wasn’t a bad one, nor have we really repaired anything since he explored other possibilities. We still talk, we’re still friends, and I have no plans to cut him out of my life. But what I realized was – I hadn’t really let myself get upset about what happened.

Regardless if it was merited or not, if either of us wanted a relationship, commitment or exclusivity, or if I had a right to be sad– I was. However, because I am on this journey to standing up for myself, choosing myself before attempting to woo a man into the role of boyfriend, and letting go of these self-defeating thoughts, I thought I needed to be strong. Not just for me, but for the women (and men?) who were walking down this road with me, too.

But that’s the thing about paths, sometimes you need to sit down and rest, sometimes you step on a rock or twist your ankle, or you run out of momentum, and there you are, at a fork in the road, wondering which way is the best route to take. While tenacity and self-love may be the ultimate goal, knowing that it’s okay to be imperfect, to cry when you feel pain, and allow yourself to fall apart when you need it – are all steps along the way.

Maybe I hadn’t realized it at the time, but Bryant Park was part of one of our really memorable dates. He took me ice skating, which really involved waiting in line for an ungodly amount of time and then being nearly knocked down by speeding 12 year olds, while Mr. Possibility and I stood (yes, stood, not skated) in awe of how fast they could go. We laughed, held hands, and I watched his cheeks go from his normal Irish-inspired-white to rosy. It was right around this time that I realized he wasn’t just some guy I was seeing or some guy that would be fleeting from my life in a moment’s notice…but that maybe, just maybe, he was a possibility for something more someday.

I’m not quite sure what I think now, but I realized that by remaining tough in front of all of my friends and on the pages of this blog, I wasn’t being honest with myself. Sure, I’m not broken down. I’m not destroyed. I’m not eating chocolate chip cookie dough like its going out of style. I’m not throwing away everything he ever gave me or deleting emails or writing his name for the entire world to see (nor would I ever about anyone). I’m not beating myself up or blaming myself or thinking his curiosity is due to me.

But I am human.

And though I’m diligently working at finding serenity in my single self, I did meet someone who I could imagine a relationship with down the road. Even though I’ve made great strides in this journey and I did take a dive into unchartered waters, I ended up with most of my hopes drowned. Even though I’m not at a place where I want a relationship, I never wanted my trust to be broken before anything had time to blossom. Even though I never considered him my end-all-be-all and I approached the dating scene with a new-and-improved point of view, what could-be turned out to be something that’s currently-not.

Even though I picked me, he didn’t pick me. And for that Sunday, I let myself feel it, let it out, and let it go. Showing and experiencing weakness doesn’t mean the enthusiasm behind the “recovery” goes a few notches down, it just means that tears are sometimes the trail that leads to peace.

Plus, the best thing about being knocked down and falling (either to a heart break or in love), is that you get to be a single gal who stands up, dusts herself off, and struts her way towards something new, confident in the company of herself and knowing that at times she may stumble and she may plummet, but she will never stay down for long.

Thank you to everyone who submitted photos for my new page,Addicts Unite. If you’d like to submit a photo of you reading the blog with a link back to your blog/Twitter, please email Lindsay!

by - 26 Comments

Settling for a Second Chance

I’ve heard about people who were madly, insanely in love with one another, and then as time passed, they grew apart and discovered that what once connected them, now separated them. Together, they came to this conclusion, and with love and the best wishes for future happiness, they parted ways, attended each other’s weddings, and never had a foul word to say about one another.

These are the people, who when you ask them about their ex-boyfriends or girlfriends, they smile and happily swear they are still very close to each and every single one of them and have no hurt feelings about the way things ended or how they collapsed.

May come as no surprise, but I’m not one of these people. Not in the very least.

My breakups have been messy. Complicated. Painful. Drawn out and involving discussions and several hours getting down to the heart of everything. At times, I’ve been the one left with a million unanswered questions and a mind that just can’t understand why; and then I’ve also been the heart breaker who can’t comply with the pleas to stay in a relationship. In my experience, though not extremely vast, when I fall for someone and my emotions get involved, leaving or being left by that person isn’t an easy task. Though I am at least friendly with a few of my exes and remain in contact with almost all of them, the initial sting…and several months after, were far from cordial.

Strangely enough, if I think about patterns in my past relationships, they have also all come full circle. And more often times than not, I’ve attempted to rekindle a flame or been asked for a second chance.

Most recently, right around Christmas, Mr. Idea came back into the picture. He was putting up his Christmas tree and stumbled across an ornament I gave him when we dated and the memories of that very special time in our partnership came flooding back. He sent me an email, mailed me card, and called me saying how much he missed me, how much he believes in us, and how if given the opportunity, he could be the man that I needed. The man that stood by my side and supported me, could meet my every desire, and fulfill my romantic dreams. He would change, he would do what was required to put the pieces back together and he apologized profusely about all the pain, all the harsh words exchanged, and the tears he made me cry.

Had this happened, say six months ago, I have no doubt in my mind, I would have cried on the phone, invited butterflies back into my tummy, and despite the screaming pleas from my friends and family to run far, far away from him – I would have given him a second chance.

But since Mr. Idea and I broke up – a lot of things have changed for me. I started this journey and this blog, I met someone else, my career progressed, I found my footing in my newfound home of Manhattan, and I stopped letting the fear of being alone rule my life. With other exes in the past, when they would ultimately realize the mistake they made when breaking up with me, I’d always give them the benefit of a doubt and welcome them back in my heart. Somehow, I was afraid if I didn’t give them another opportunity to prove we were meant together, I could make this horrible, ridiculous mistake that could screw up the course of my love life and leave me 45 and single, with three cats, living in the Bronx. Or if I woke up one day a little lonelier than the one before, and knew that the man I left waiting in the dust was still getting coughing over my exhaust, I would reach out to him, regardless if I saw a future or not, just to fill a void in my heart and in my bed.

I don’t think it is always the reason why, but sometimes, people ask for or agree to second chances in relationships because they are simply afraid that nothing better is out there. That this love – or the love they once felt with this person – will never be matched, never compare to what could be waiting in the future. I distinctively remember Mr. Faithful, when we sorta toyed with the idea of getting back together my sophomore year of college, drained and tired of all of our discussions laying on my dorm room bed, saying, “Linds, maybe we just need to accept that this is love. And this is as good as it gets. If we don’t want to be alone, we should just settle for what it is that we have, regardless of how hard it is.”

And his words, those words, were the ones I heard screaming loud and clear in my head when Mr. Idea stated his case for why we deserved another shot. If I’m going to get married one day, if I’m going to fall in love, if I’m going to commit to someone with everything I have and support them in their good times and in their bad – it isn’t going to be someone who it feels like I’m settling for. It is going to be someone who sweeps me off my feet – no matter how much hell I can be in heels.

I won’t say I don’t believe in second chances because sometimes giving a look at what was, can help you realize what you had (or how much you didn’t want what you had) – and also, by having a conversation with a previous lover who you aren’t sure you’re over, can give you that closure everyone needs. When Mr. Unavailable’s ex-lady was so cold about his grand gesture, I felt bad for him (though I enjoyed the chocolates and flowers, her loss!) because to release the what-if monsters, all you need are a few words to why a second chance isn’t in the cards. Even more so, that second chance we pray for, we wish for, we lose sleep over, and we dream about isn’t always “take two” with our ex-lover, but could be the starting scene with someone else, our second chance in disguise. Or maybe a second shot at a powerful relationship with ourselves.

Nevertheless, when it comes to breaking up and realizing that walking away from a relationship or a could-be relationship is better than sticking around – it’s important to realize that sometimes, endings happen for a reason. Through this journey, I was able to finally put away any wishful thinking or deluded illusions about the one man from my past who I was not completely over. And so, ironically enough, when he came to bait me back into the ocean of disaster we created, I very honestly and openly told him that my heart wasn’t in it. Nor would it be.

And instead of  believing that he could change or that all the things that were never what I wanted would start to fit my fancy, I decided that I’d rather be alone than be stuck in a relationship that already failed once. I’d rather be in my single shoes than to return to a man who hurt me, who I merely fell in love with the idea of, and who even if I squint my eyes and rack my imagination, I can’t see standing up at the alter, gleaming at me as I cascade down the aisle.

That by not settling out of fear and giving him a second chance, I instead gave myself the opportunity to be free to meet someone who will never need to ask for one in the first place.

Thank you to everyone who submitted photos for my new page, Addicts Unite. If you’d like to submit a photo of you reading the blog with a link back to your blog/Twitter, please email Lindsay!

by - 17 Comments

The Company of Confidence

For a few years now, running has been my way to escape from all the worries, the distractions, the sadness, the anxiety – and just go. To jam up Gaga and Fergie and feel the heat of the pavement on my soles.

Maybe it’s because I feel like a hamster on a revolving wheel being cooped up inside or the new gaggle of New Year’s resolution-ers who are determined to lose 10 pounds by Cupid’s Day – but lately, my daily run has been so monotonous. By the time I hit mile three, I’m ready to hop off and get back to my apartment – and not because I’m tired or out of breath, but because I’m just bored.

This has happened before and it is usually the time when I jack up the speed, switch to the elliptical or the bike for a few weeks, add in an extra mile, or sign up for some additional Pilates classes.  As a person who lives for the next challenge and can’t imagine not moving forward in her life – it is incredibly hard for me to take a back seat to anything or to ever just relax.

Including love.

Aside from Mr. Possibility (and now Mr. Rescue), when I met a guy – I dove right into the middle of everything. I looked for certain qualities, I took note of “signs”, I paraded him with questions and imagined everything from our wedding date, our names together, and how he would drop down on one knee. Before I even kissed a guy, I had him figured out in my head and placed these enormous expectations on what I thought the relationship would be. When I started seeing red flags arise, I would turn a blind eye, excuse the behavior and just “see what happens next” before I made any rash decisions. I forgave their pasts, no matter how ridiculous and I vowed to be the girl who changed everything in their life. Who fixed their troubles, who stood strong and reliable, and hoped to become this girl who entered their life and made it better.

Before I even really, truly, knew who the man was – as a person, not a romantic partner – I let myself fall completely in love with the idea of what could be with them. Now, I took this to extreme lengths with Mr. Idea, (hence his name) – but if I’m being honest about the “exact nature of my wrongs” in terms of love addiction, I think I’ve done this with every man I’ve ever known. Even ones I didn’t date longer than a week in college.

And then inevitably, at some point, it would all get to be too much. Those red flags would become less like fabric blowing in the wind and turn into screeching, violently scarlet lights surrounded by orange caution cones, begging me to just walk away. Yet, when I reached the point of turning on my toes and getting away from Mr. So-Not-Right-For-Me, and I hesitated, allowing him to be the one to end the courtship – I was hurt. My confidence became shattered, along with my viewpoints of relationships.

This pattern, as ugly and self-defeating as it is, has been pretty consistent with every Mr who has captured my interest. Instead of allowing myself time and room to really understand who I was dealing with or who I was truly kissing on the corner of Broadway or having drinks with downtown, I let my thirst for companionship, for love, for a consistent relationship take over my ability to form actual opinions and think realistically.

I allowed my fear of being alone, of being single, of not being good enough for a relationship, or my inability to keep a “good man” around to be at the forefront of my mind. No wonder I blamed myself for everything, no wonder I got myself to a plateau where I had to overcome what I coined “love addiction” through an intense journey that tests me every single day. No wonder I ended up crying in the corner of my tub, the day after my last birthday because I got myself in such a devastating state.

Because I didn’t stop. I just kept going. Even when I was bored, even when I knew it was wrong, even when I knew it wouldn’t work out one day, even when I was tired and nothing was changing – I kept running right back into the arms of someone who never deserved my embrace to begin with. Just like I switch to an elliptical to change up the pace, I would try to steer the man or the dating process in a better direction to ward off any negativity, or take on more work than the dude, so he wouldn’t feel overburdened.  I resumed responsibility for all of the things that were mine…and all of those that weren’t.

Even with Mr. Possibility (who continues to look less and less like his name) and new guys I meet, I have to remind myself to breathe, to pace myself, to not push myself to where I can’t even enjoy the next relationship because the last one banged me up so badly.

Finding self-love through this journey isn’t just about making myself a better person so I can find Mr. Right. It isn’t about going back through all of my old relationships and figuring out what I learned. It isn’t about preaching my viewpoints or spreading the message of independence.

It’s about finally being able to rest assured.

To have faith in myself so I don’t settle for less than I deserve, because I know that regardless if I get married or not, I have confidence in who I am and am proud of the decisions I’ve made. To listen to my gut when it tells me to hold back or to slow down or to think before I leap. To enjoy my life, with all of its uncertainties and complications, and stop waiting for it to begin, instead of just living it. To keep my eyes focused on today instead of worrying myself into a frenzy about several years from now.

But most importantly – it’s about getting back up in the race, clearing my head and my heart, and taking one huge breath, knowing that even if I feel stuck in a rut or like I’m not making progress, it’s my right, my responsibility to do what’s best for me.

And at times, the smartest thing a gal can do is accept the red flag…and run as fast as she can in the other direction. Even if that road is one she’ll have to take alone. After all, the company of confidence is much better than the company of a coward.

PS: If you’re a fan of Confessions of a Love Addict and want to be part of a new page on the blog, email Lindsay or send her a Tweet.

by - 27 Comments

Dearly Beloved….I’m Afraid I Don’t

My best friend growing up was a black-haired little girl whom I adored. We went to the same church, we lived less than a mile from one another, and when I think of my youth- it is impossible to not see her face. Together, along with her younger sister, we created rock bands, played detectives, and even were so obsessed with the show Sister, Sister, that we would pretend to be the twins (I was Tia, she was Tamera, if you’re curious).

We took dance classes, joined Girl Scouts, went through confirmation, and played outside on her tire swing until her dad made us go inside for the night. She was the first person I ever talked to about boy crushes and her name is scattered among the pages of my very first “articles” and diaries. Our names are even painted underneath the deck at my childhood home, stating that we’d be friends forever.

At one point, I distinctively remember one of our conversations and we decided that by the time we were 21, we’d be finished with college and we’d be married, and have a baby by 25. I would be living in New York, of course, and she wasn’t quite sure where she’d be. We were so certain on this path that we wrote it down and we dreamed up these ideas of what we thought our husbands would look like, what they would do, and what their names would be. If I remember correctly, my man would be an architect, he’d be tall with dark hair and blue eyes, and he’d be named Brian.

I’ve yet to date a Brian, so perhaps that may still come true.

But as I sit here, past the age of my projected marriage, but not quite to the baby deadline– I realize how unprepared, how unready, how absoultely terrified I am of actually being married. I’ve never thought of myself as someone with commitment issues and I really don’t think I sincerely have them- but when I think of saying “Yes, Mr. Standing-in-Front-of-Me, on this alter on display to everyone I’ve ever known and complete strangers, I will spend the rest of my life with you. No matter what. I promise. Scout’s honor” – I feel like I’m going to be sick. And really, all I want to say is “Dearly Beloved….I’m afraid I don’t.”

However, that friend did end up getting married to a guy she loves, and is living in our hometown, moving up the ranks at her job, enjoying her new home and new puppy. We don’t talk very often, but I was happy to be part of her wedding before I moved and we stay in touch from time-to-time. I’m thrilled that she found someone who she knows is Mr. Right for her and she’s satisfied with her life, and sometimes, I wonder why I’m not ready for that.

This year alone, I’m invited to six weddings  and I hope to attend most of them, if not at least send something from the registry. And my very best friend from college, L, got engaged over Christmas and for the first time, I’ll serve as the coveted Maid of Honor. While I’m incredibly happy for all of my friends and admittedly stalk all of their photos – I sometimes can’t understand why there is such a rush to the alter. I mean, at 22, 23, and 24 – do we really even know ourselves yet? How can we marry someone else when we aren’t even sure of what is that we want for our lives in the first place? Or maybe I’m the late bloomer who missed the flight to marital cloud 9.

When I think of my weeks spent writing these blogs, going to work for the 9 to 6 grind, attending events and fancy parties, and happy hours with friends, I realize how selfish of a life I really have. Every dime I make is geared towards me (or secure in my savings account), every decision I make is based on what I want and what’s best for me, and my plans change as often as the subway schedules. I’d rather buy a new pair of shoes than to buy a gift for a man – even when Mr. Possibility and I were at our finest – and if I don’t feel like cleaning or washing or saving money from the week’s paycheck or working out, I don’t have anyone to answer to but myself.

And really, I love it.

I’ve spent all this time obsessing, worrying, wondering, hoping, praying, and dreaming for a man to walk into my life and be my end-all-be-all. For him to take away all of the negative baggage, the disappointments, and the trust issues I have from guys from the past. For him to “rescue” me from a single life that for the longest time, I absolutely abhorred. But now, for whatever reason, it is more appealing to me than the life I imagined as a 10-year-old playing make believe under my favorite Oak tree.

As a single woman (or really just any woman, relationship-oriented labels be damned) – I think we get so caught up in this portrayal of a wedding, of happily ever after, of the romantic illusions of until-the-end-of-time that we forget that marriage is serious stuff. It is a lifelong commitment. It is promising not only your body to one single person and your heart, but vowing that every decision you make from this point forward will be dependent on what another person thinks, feels, wants, and needs. While I’m hopeful that the man I ultimately marry will find me beautiful at 60-years-old, the reality is that when you decide upon forever walking down that aisle, everything, including the love, will get old. The flame will weather in the wind, it will come and it will go, and there will be moments where even though you love the person you’re married to – you may not like them very much.

And the same can really be said about the relationship you have with yourself. There are days where even though I’m working towards loving me-and-only-me, I feel bad about decisions I’ve made and I don’t like the person I see staring back at me in the mirror. Each and every choice I make, where it be to take the C train or the B train in the morning or what to eat for lunch or if I should be texting back a guy I’m intrigued by – affects my life. Maybe not in huge ways, but in ways nonetheless.

For me, at my age, at this point in my life, with my career just starting to blaze forward – I can say with full confidence that I’m not ready to be married. I’m not ready to have that feeling in my heart-of-hearts that tells me this is the guy for me. I may long for a compainion and I may be able to imagine having a exclusive boyfriend, but I know saying “I do” isn’t in my near future. I missed my projected marrying age, so now it’s up to me to decide what my second-chance age will be.  And that ring finger that I used to look at, picturing a rock on, looks awfully good naked and bare. While I’m sure my mother and currently-smitten friends will tell me “you’d change your mind if you met the right guy tomorrow” – I can say that right now – I truly, really, honestly, don’t want to be engaged.

And guess what? That’s really just fine by me. If that isn’t progress, I’m not sure what is.

PS: If you’re a fan of Confessions of a Love Addict and want to be part of a new page on the blog, email Lindsay or send her a Tweet.

by - 14 Comments

Sugar & Spice, but Not Everything Nice

Since New Year’s, when I felt ready to move onto Step 5, I’ve been trying to figure out what “admitting the exact nature of my wrongs” actually entails. For months now, I’ve confessed many unattractive obsessive qualities and maybe told more than TMI on the pages of this blog.

Nevertheless, if I think of my “wrongs” as they pertain to feeling unworthy of love or as a perceived failure in relationships, I think one of the most consistent mistakes I’ve made as a love addict is something that you’d think wouldn’t be portrayed as a bad thing.

As my mother puts it: “You’re just too nice, sweetie.”

I’d classify myself as someone who avoids controversy like the plague. Unless I feel super passionate about something, say women’s, children’s and animal rights, I allow people to state their case and calmly and kindly say, “I don’t agree with you, but I’m glad you have an opinion.” Maybe this makes me a pretty killer journalist, but in the dating scene or as someone’s girlfriend – it makes me a little vulnerable to manipulation.

After about three months of dating Mr. Idea, he went into what I called a “funk.” For whatever reason, not only did he have no interest in kissing me, making love to me, or really even holding me – but his attitude was hostile and flat-out rude. Of any man I’ve ever dated, he knew exactly what to say to make me feel the lowest of lows and his blows were harder than any boyfriend should ever give. Though he never physically hurt me (I did, however, throw a high heel shoe at his face once, woops), the emotional baggage we gave to each other was immeasurable. Needless to say, it wasn’t a healthy relationship and to deal with my extreme ups and downs, I consulted my very best friend, my mom, and my group of girlfriends.

And when I would go to them, crying, frustrated, or mad – they almost all said the exact same thing: “Why don’t you just break up with him, Linds? Why are you sticking around when he treats you so badly?”

I’m not sure anyone really understands the true dynamic in a relationship unless you are one of the two experiencing it, and those who love us only want us to be surrounded by support and happiness – but when you’re in love (or even just in lust), you want to stick around because you can imagine tomorrow. And you also don’t want to leave, in fear of the “what if” monsters you’ll have to battle down the road. Because somehow, if you’re the girl who puts up with the good and the bad, the ugliness and the messiness, the frustrations and shortcomings – you must be something special, right? Because don’t we all go through hardships, don’t we all lose ourselves in funks, and don’t we all just want someone who will stick with us through the thick-and-the-thin, through the years when our breasts hit our toes, and our hair turns a lovely shade of gray?

But at what point does being the nice girl, the good girl, the girl who stands by her dude’s side encouraging him and forgiving his mishaps…get completely pissed off and leaves the relationship (or pretend one) for good?

I do believe in the best in people and perhaps even more so, I believe everyone is capable of change. But the older I get, the more confident I become in myself and with my life, I also believe that the only person who can make your life better, is yourself. It is a decision and a journey that begins and ends with taking one step forward, without looking back, and having faith in the miles ahead. And until you can be without funkiness or messiness as an individual, it is real tough to be in love or be an active, giving-and-taking participant in a relationship. My personal goal to be a better person and un-addicted to love is part of my disarray and something I should work through before I agree to be official with someone. And maybe that reasoning is why I made the agreement with Mr. Possibility in the first place. Or the reason why Mr. Unavailable was unattainable and Mr. Idea finally drove me to a point that I had to leave.

And that point is one that is taking me less time to get to as I grow in my recovery. I’m not really the kind of person to completely dismiss someone, place them on a blacklist, and curse the ground they walk on – but I also am starting to notice when I’m being just a little too nice. A little too reachable. A little too comforting. And when a man pushes you and tests your patience and your lenient nature – you reach an even more intense summit where you’re just done. Sure, girls are sugar and spice, – but we don’t have to be everything  nice.

If I want to be in a relationship one day with a man who has his act together, a stable head on his shoulders, and enough charisma to light up a room – I can’t wait around forever for him to come out of the shadows. Sure, no one is perfect, but a line has to be drawn somewhere and it is really up to me on where to place my ending point. Standing by your man or having patience with someone who you can see a future with is an attractive quality – but independence and the ability to demand respect and your needs to be met is even sexier.

While my Southern graces will stick with me until the end, the New Yorker I’m growing into knows sometimes you have to kick the grace to the curb, state your case for exiting, tie your laces, and get right back in the dating race.

PS: If you’re a fan of Confessions of a Love Addict and want to be part of a new page on the blog, email Lindsay or send her a Tweet.