A heterosexual female perspective
I grew up with parents who never pressured me to get married or give them grandchildren (I think people who pressure their children to have children are selfish and need a hobby but we’ll save that for another post).
When it came to men and dating, my mom cautioned me to always have my own money and that it’s best to go for average looking dudes otherwise “all the girls will be after him” (the removal of blame on the man and the placement of blame on women doesn’t go unnoticed).
Yet, despite being raised to believe men won’t solve my problems, I revolved almost every second of my life from pre-school on trying to get them to love me.
Whether you want to blame Disney movies, trauma, the fact that women were seen as property not too long ago (and still are in many countries), or other societal constructs, there is still a deeply engrained message that marriage and children are the highlight of a woman’s life.
So, I tried to be the best girlfriend possible, while simultaneously needing to be loved for the quirky, wild, angry monster I am.
Without being asked, I put my boyfriend of the year before my schoolwork, acting, family, friends, goals, dreams, art, etc., only to be left….well…disappointed.
I thought this was what I was supposed to do? Where did I go wrong?
There was a brief moment in time at the age of 22 when I was truly happy being single. I made the Dean’s List at the University of Rhode Island, had a fun summer internship at Rhode Island Monthly Magazine, wasn’t really partying or dating, and was about to walk in the StyleWeek fashion show.
Then, a dude who I had written off as a one night stand a year ago, decided to resurface – and before I know it we were boyfriend girlfriend.
My grades plummeted, I gained weight, and I was, once again, revolving my life around someone other than myself.
A year and a half later, I woke up, thanks to a farming adventure in Maui and a potential cult encounter.
Hey, at least that relationship got me to California! There’s always a silver lining if you squint hard enough.
I digress. My point is, for the last 30 something odd years, I revolved my life around boys, men, dudes, whatever you want to call those creatures with penises, only to wake up one day a single 33 year old with a boat-load of trauma, living in her parents’ pool house.
So, explain to me again why the FUCK we keep perpetuating the idea that finding a man is the epitome of a woman’s life?
I did the whole “playing house” thing. I was basically married. I cooked, I cleaned, I did laundry, I made sure the dog didn’t die, I listened and gave advice, I rarely ever said no to sex, spent time with his family and friends, and let me tell you- there’s a lot more to life.
If and when I do find *my person*, I’m going to look back on my time NOW with more fondness then any period I was in a relationship.
Just these past two weeks, I co-hosted my first breathwork and yoga retreat, got three callbacks for theatrical jobs and booked one of them (yay the strike is over!), had an AMAZING audition for a supporting role in a movie with an A list celebrity, started rehearsing for my upcoming intensive with THE Larry Moss, met up with multiple friends, and pampered myself – because I’m a fucking catch.
As most of you know, I took a six month break from dating, hookups, etc. after my last relationship ended in April. When October rolled around (and long before then), I was READY to date and do all the things with all the men who were pining for me when I wasn’t available. And, of course, the familiar disappointment ensued when every dude seemed to have a girlfriend or reveal their insanity once I was no longer “off the market.”
At first, this infuriated me, and I went on a strange drunk texting bender one fated night. After that, my anger and manic desperation came to another head when I was in Montana. Luckily, I managed my crazy just enough to still enjoy myself (thank you, therapy).
Since returning from that trip beginning of November, I have had quite the turnaround. I am content being alone. Truly. The idea of someone introducing me to their husband’s one single friend, or scrolling through a human catalogue (also known as a dating app), brings on a wave of nausea.
I’ve even contemplated the possibility of never getting married or having children, and I’m okay with it. The life I’m leading now and the spaces I’m putting my energy in are a million times more fulfilling then any romantic relationship I’ve experienced.
When I think back to what I’ve received from the boys and men I’ve given my life to, I’m left feeling perplexed and a bit robbed. Okay, I’ve met some cool people through romantic partners…they gave me the motivation to try different types of therapy? I don’t know…I’m grasping at straws here…
The big theme in every romantic relationship is feeling drained by the end; drained of energy, time, creativity, love, patience, freedom, sexuality, intelligence, confidence. I then slowly have to put myself back together before the next disappointment knocks me on my ass.
Long story short, thanks, but no thanks. Instead, I’ll be over here, excelling in my careers, taking myself on dates, sleeping alone in my bed, and eventually getting my own dog that only the grim reaper can take from me.
No idea where I’ll be living in the next month, and that’s okay.
So please- stay back. Stop asking if I’ve met anyone or if I’m dating. I don’t care about how old I am. I’m done. Good luck changing my mind.
*I take full responsibility for my part in all this, which is why I am healing and regaining my power so I can make better choices going forward*
THE SUSTENANCE SAGE 