You're on Your Own, Kid
Another day, another Taylor Swift inspired blog title. If you’re new here, you’ll get used to it.
I had a sort of … mini-breakdown last weekend. Less dramatic than it sounds, I promise. But it left my thoughts in a jumble and writing is my go-to de-tangler. So here we are, once again. It’s taken me a few days to write this, and each time I came back to it I considered not posting it. It’s not because it’s personal - most things I post on here are. It’s not because it’s highly revealing either - much of what you’re about to read you’ve probably heard me say before, if not in a different way. It’s certainly not revolutionary. It’s because it’s a topic that people want to fix. It’s a topic people have opinions on. It’s a topic every single person has experienced in some way, and therefore has very specific views on. Which makes it complicated to post, because I’m not looking for opinions or pity or advice or kudos or advice. I suppose that’s my disclaimer before we preceed with caution.
If you know me well, I don’t think you would describe me as an emotional person. I have an admirable amount of control over my feelings and how I choose to express them - if I choose to express them at all. I won’t cry for months. But then, when I do, I CRY. I cry for all of the things I haven’t cried about since the last time I gave it a go. Now to be clear - I am only self-aware of this control I have because it can be a problem. Therapists call it hyper-independence. Give that a Google, and down the rabbit hole you will go. My emotional control is both a great asset and a debilitating weakness for me - sometimes battling it out at the same time. Allowing myself to express emotions, particularly ones that I wrongly labeled to myself as weak, is something I am consciously working on. It’s me, Hi, I’m the problem, it’s me.
Anyway, back to my mini-breakdown. All my single ladies out there will know, holiday time can indeed bring out the ghosts of guys-past. Honestly, I get it. The holidays can be the most annoying time to be single with all the parties and family gatherings and couple-y social media posts - the romantic comedies convincing you that one day, someone is going to show up at your door with a declaration of love written out on poster boards, Christmas carols playing from a speaker. All this to say I’m not shocked when I start getting messages from guys I used to date, looking at me again through rose colored glasses, asking for another date. I am flattered, but, it’s usually a no from me (for all kinds of different reasons, that would probably require a therapist and multiple blog posts to get through). Moving along, this happened a couple times recently and in one of these circumstances, the guy was not thrilled with my polite no. For the protection of this poor unfortunate soul, I won’t reveal too many details, but to sum it up, he basically let me know I’d be alone forever acting the way I do. SO SWEET. In the moment, this did not bother me. I swear, I giggled. Like, okay, bro, looking at my options here that sounds great. And even now, HE doesn’t bother me. But in that moment, he made a tiny crack in a part of me.
Fast forward hours later. Picture me, trying to get my Christmas tree up a flight of stairs. It’s heavy. I have been a bit under the weather with a head cold, so physically I was already a bit weak. So there I am hauling this box up the flight of stairs with my “I can do anything myself” attitude finding it much harder than I originally thought. Halfway up the stairs I realize, actually, I may not be able to do this. This is a hard admittion for me. I climbed Kilimanjaro for god’s sake. I swim with sharks! Why can’t I get this stupid tree up this stupid staircase so I can enjoy the stupid holidays. At this exact moment, I glare down at this box, my enemy, and there’s a sticker slapped across the stop in WARNING RED that reads “Caution! Two person lift required.”
And I lose it. Immediately. Can’t see through my tears sobbing. I let go of the box and it slides. antagonizing me, back to the bottom of the stairs. All progress lost.
I find my way to my couch and I just cry. Not really sure for how long, but longer than I have in a really, really long time. Because all I could think about was “what if this guy is right and I’m always going to be alone, never able to get this stupid Christmas tree up my stairs?” You don’t need to be a therapist to recognize the Christmas tree represents something much bigger. I knew it, even in the moment.
Author’s Aside: Again, before all my family and friends, who I love dearly and I know love me, jump in here exclaiming “You are never alone! We are here! We can help you with the tree!” - I know. I know. But that is not the same as this. It’s not. After reading this, you send me messages about “You’ll find him when you’re not looking” “any guy would be lucky to have you” or anything along these lines #1 ) You are missing the point and #2) I will vomit and violently scream into the void.
Back to my mini-crisis. In an atypical-Alex move, I leaned into the emotions. I really said “okay, Alex, let’s spiral.” And spiral I did. I let my mind go to all the darkest thoughts that are usually so deep down I can’t even feel them. It’s possible you’ll be alone forever. It’s possible you’ll always be the single person at the table. It’s possible all the places you’ve “saved” on your bucket list for that “someone” will end up being visited by just you. It’s possible.
Now, what do you do faced with that possibility? Well, first, I cried some more. And then I allowed myself to admit - I don’t want that. I do want a partner to go through life with. I don’t like saying that because it’s possible I won’t. If I don’t admit I want it, maybe it won’t hurt when I don’t get it. You know that type of thinking - we’ve all done it.
So, here I am, very vulnerably admitting that I do want that. But I’m also here, from the bottom of my soul, fully comfortable knowing that don’t I need it. A tale as old as time, the subtle dance between want and need.
But it’s what calmed me down and centered me, this shift: FROM I don’t need anyone else TO It’s okay to want someone else, but I don’t need anyone else.
I’m boiling a lot of this down, but it’s taken me 32 years to get here, y’all. A lot of really hard lessons and hard work. I didn’t wake up one day and decide to be as independent as I am. Life molded, and some times beat, me into the person that I am. I am independent because life demanded it of me. I am independent because I had to be to protect myself from various people and circumstances growing up. I am independent because I had to carry things way earlier than I should have. All of this made me very adept, comfortable, and satisfied with being alone. But, as I wrote about back in 2016 (wise before I knew it), "How good at being alone do we really want to be? Isn't there a danger that you'll get so good at being single, so set in your ways, that you'll miss out on the chance to be with somebody great?" (How to be Single) Again, give hyper-independence a go on the Google.
I also think that pride is twisted up in here as well, the stubborn lioness fighting against showing her underbelly.
I hope 2023 is about learning how to allow my vulnerability and strength to coexist. They have both always been around, but not usually at the same time. And I think what I need now more than anything for my own growth is to allow them to support each other. For me to keep learning that vulnerability does not equal settling - which I is something I’m super scared of doing in any area of my life. Being soft doesn’t mean I’m not strong. And if I do want a partner, I have to understand this. I understand and love who I am as I am, which is not something everyone can say.
Hey … maybe that box was right in a way. “Two person lift required.” Vulnerability and Strength. My partners in crime.
Oh, before I forget, yes. I got the tree up the stairs, all by myself.
You’re on your own kid, you always have been.
Alex