This Isn’t A Disney Movie
You know those articles everyone posts on Facebook with catchy titles like: “When You Know You’ve Met The One”, “How to Date an Alpha Female” or “Dating as a Millennial”…? This isn’t one of those articles.
Is it too honest to admit that I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to dating?
And when I say I have “no idea” I mean I literally haven’t been on a date in over five years. I’m clueless. Not only am I clueless, I’m terrified. The thought of dating shoves me out of comfort zone, pushes me up against a locker, and takes my lunch money like a schoolyard bully.
The last guy I “dated” (i.e. Netflix & Chilled with) took my self-esteem and put it through a Ninja Blender. I went through a tumultuous two years of feeling like the red-headed step-child (my apologies to all of you red-headed step-children, I’m sure you’re wonderful). For two ridiculously long years I allowed myself to be a back-up plan. The girl that was good enough to hang out with, but never to date. And I allowed it. Pause on that statement. I ALLOWED IT.
Cue instant feelings of self-disgust rising up and self-esteem swirling down the toilet. I never felt “good enough”, “thin enough”, “fit enough”, “pretty enough”, “funny enough”. I was convinced I was very simply not enough. It took one poorly captioned social media post by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named that made me realize more than half of this problem was me. How could I expect this man, or any man, to treat me with the respect and love that I deserved if I wasn’t treating myself that way? I was done, and I never looked back. Hello, self-reflection.
And now here we are, two years later, slightly less confident, significantly more confused. Don’t get me wrong, I WANT to meet someone and fall in love. I just don’t know how. It’s hard to visualize putting myself out there, when the very thought of doing so sends my insecurities to the surface.
The list of questions I have in regards to “dating as a Millennial” is as long as the Mississippi River, and continues to grow the longer I think about it. How will someone love me when there are days that I feel uncomfortable in my own body? How will I meet someone if I prefer hanging out at home with my dog instead of going out for a night at the bar or club? How can I trust myself to make smarter decisions after spending two years in a twisted chess game that I didn’t even know I was playing? How do I convey my personality on a dating app that asks for 10 pictures of myself and 1 little sentence to describe myself?
Slowly – slower than a snail traveling through molasses – I’ll figure out what I’m doing. With each question comes more answers. I’m discovering what matters most to me in a significant other. I’m facing my demons. I’m learning to love myself first before I allow anyone else to have that privilege.
There isn’t an article on Facebook or BuzzFeed with the answers. There isn’t a magic Genie, a Fairy Godmother, or a Frog Prince to help me win the dating game. Only I can figure out what my fairytale ending will be.
This isn’t a Disney movie.
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