It was 2017, I had just had my make up done at Nordstrom (again) for another first date (again). I remember sitting at dinner with him, my mind fast forwarding to our potential life together. Flooded by all the thoughts that "he could be the one". That this could be my last first date. I was smitten. We had a great night and closed the bar.
He never asked me out again. It hurt.
Until, I got excited about another guy, and found myself back in the make up chair getting ready for our first date. And the cycle would repeat.
Truly, I was shut down to the idea of a relationship, because I was shut down to being loved. Cycling from unavailable man to unavailable man with so much hope that he could “be the one” and found myself settling for crumbs left and right.
I was letting alcohol make decisions for me instead of my body.
I was sourcing my glow up from external factors like the glam make up on my face and the handbag on my shoulder. I didn't know how to source it internally. I remember slivers of hope that there was something better out there for me. But I had absolutely no line of sight to it.
This diet of crumbs trickled over to my work too. I was burnt out in a job that didn't spark joy and had so much anxiety checking email all the time. Merely walking into the office every day was a small feat where I'd proceed to learn what dumpster fire I’d be putting out that day.
I had zero boundaries with my work and would burn the midnight until 11pm then back for an 8am meeting the next day.
I took others' advice more than my own because I didn't have a trusting relationship with my own inner voice. This time period took me down unfulfilling paths and made me feel lonely.
I tried to get help in all those parts of my life in isolation, but all roads led to one place. A place I’d been avoiding at all costs. They led me to the pain I wasn’t allowing myself to feel.
For me it was unattended grief. Clogged up grief from my dad's death. Old grief I'd been pushing down.
Whatever your story line might be, you know what I’m talking about. It’s the stuff that’s easier to sweep under the rug than face.
I finally got sick of my own antics. They weren’t working.
So I went for it. I dug into the thing I was most scared of. My mom’s journal (that she gifted me) on the day of my dad’s death when I was just 4. I darted toward it. I knew it would hurt. But I knew I was ready to face my fears because the alternative was already hurting enough.
I read the day of his death. I read how my 4 year old self reacted. How I demanded to see my daddy one last time and my mom took me to the funeral home where I kissed his head.
This was not a pretty night of reading. It was messy AF. I emptied a box of tissues that night but I felt more connected to (and terrified of) my truth than I ever had. And that’s how it started. That step was the first of many in facing my fears and untangling my grief.
I met myself for the first time that night.✨❤️