As I write, 5 years ago today, I went on my first date with ____. I remember, because I got him a framed “Night Sky” print from the night we met (October 18, 2018) for Christmas that year.

Ours lasted…13 months? I mean, it got scratched to smithereens even sooner than that, but that’s the last time I saw it—in November of 2019 when I piled all of his shit on top of my kitchen island so that he could move out as quickly and efficiently as possible, not having to come back for so much as a charging cable.

But my world did change that night. That was the night the universe sent a person into my life who triggered my core childhood wounds to such a painful degree, that I had no choice but to begin healing them.

I couldn’t do much while we were together, because I was too frantically focused on making him love me like he did in the beginning. Which, in hindsight, I know was not real love. How do I know? Well, it felt fucking terrifying. And not in like an “allowing yourself to be truly vulnerable with another person is scary!” way. I mean in a walking-on-a-tightrope-between-two-cliffs-with-no-harness-as-snakes-are-dropped-on-you-from-a-helicopter kindof way.

And I want to be clear here, this person never actually put my life in danger. But somehow my body believed that the success of this relationship was a life or death matter. I had so much anxiety on a daily basis, it felt like my body was on fire. I was slowly burning myself to a crisp from the inside-out.

You know how I could have stopped it?

I could have set him free when he showered me with compliments and affection within 2 weeks of our first date, claiming he’d never loved anyone like he loves me—despite knowing ALMOST NOTHING about me. When he gushed that the moment he fell for me was when I, for some reason I still don’t understand, said the words “I’m no feminist, but…”

After our first of many conflicts, where he blamed me over and over, never taking accountability for his part in things, calling me “petty” and “fragile” for HAVING FEELINGS—when I first noticed a burning sensation in my body— I could have said “okay thx byyyye!”

When he told me flat-out that he doesn’t feel joy around me most of the time, a few weeks before he was set to move into my apartment, I could have been like, “Oh yeah? Huh! So that’s kindof a problem, isn’t it? I hope you find joy with someone else in another apartment BYE!!!”

When he claimed he had to think about other people, other places during sex; that I basically did nothing for him other than providing a naked body… and I had a certain reaction, you know, Ouchie… and his response was “I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around you all the time! I’m just speaking my truth!” I could have said, “Fair enough thanks for telling me okay byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye!!”

But in order to do these things, you have to believe that you deserve better. That “better” actually EXISTS, and quite abundantly so. You need to know what good communication sounds like. What healthy boundaries look like. What compassionate honesty feels like. You need to learn how to love yourself unconditionally—so that when an imposter comes through, claiming to love you but practicing something quite different, you can recognize it from a mile away.

And that’s exactly what I did, the moment I stopped chasing ____. I initiated an all-systems shut down, and spent far more time than I bargained for (thanks, Covid) holed up in my apartment, alone, asking myself why it is that I kept choosing relationships like this. Oh that’s right, this one wasn’t the first by any means, but it was the most painful, compounded by the fact that ____ was so incredibly wonderful in the beginning, and…somewhat wonderful every so often later on.

Once I understood what the hell was going on (subconsciously re-creating childhood trauma), I started the slow, bewildering process of figuring out how to love myself. Like, how does one even do that?! Really though? Stand in the mirror, smiling at yourself until it feels genuine? Make lists of all your favourite qualities? Slap posters of hand-painted affirmations all over the walls and ceiling, until suddenly, it occurs to you, “Wait a second!! I am worthy! I am loved, I am enough!!!!!!”

Well, no… not for me, at least. As it turns out, the secret to loving yourself is to observe any emotions that surface, no matter how uncomfortable—sadness, fear, guilt, shame, anger, hurt—and just… hold on and brace yourself for this, because it’s kindof revolutionary…

Let yourself feel them.

The secret to loving yourself is to notice as any qualities surface that you wish you could change—qualities that are supposedly the reason you have struggled so much in relationships—you’re too needy, you’re too emotional, you’re too sensitive, you’re too selfish, you’re not good enough, not smart enough, not rich enough, not sexy enough… and just… EMBRACE the SHIT out of them.

So what if I’m needy! So what if I’m sensitive! So what if I cry as often as I laugh, if I’m scared of being abandoned, if I need verbal reassurance that everything is okay when things feel tough. SO WHAT IF I HAVE THE SEXUAL SEDUCTION POWERS OF A COCKROACH!!! If someone isn’t digging what I bring to the table, they can fuck right the hell off!!

Once we realize there is NOTHING we need to change, that we are perfect as we are; we start attracting people who love us exactly as we are. Employers, friends, collaborators and romantic partners who feel like they struck fucking GOLD when they find us, even if we are low-key in the middle of a breakdown.

The trippy thing is, once we really let ourselves believe there is nothing wrong with us, a lot of those “undesirable qualities” just magically disappear. They are simply things we were made to believe about ourselves by people/communities/institutions who were threatened by our wholeness.

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On June 26 of last year, around 15 months ago, I got an email from ____. Coincidentally, this email found my inbox the very morning someone extremely special was driving to Montreal from Vermont to meet me for the first time. My future partner, Ben. You know, light of my life and all that shit. He’s the best. There is a saying, that your exes can sense when you’re ready to move on…

It seems ____ and I had both been doing some healing. His email was, well, as close to an apology as I could ever hope to get—a mostly heart-felt attempt to find closure, with a good amount of subtle jabs thrown in. (He admitted to being a fan of my writings, describing them as “self-absorbed but still entertaining.”) Again, ouchie!

But this is just his perspective, not mine. I know why I’m here. I’m here to share myself completely, the good, the bad, the ridiculous, the ugly—in the hopes that you feel a little less alone. I am here to treat myself with kindness and humility as I process my own insignificant yet incredibly unique life, so you might feel inspired to do the same.

And you know, I may also be here for a bit of attention.

So. Fucking. What.

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