Confessions of the Girl Next Door

Drinks, Dance, and Beer Pong

May 30, 2012

Three things you should know about me before reading this; I have an unusually tender heart, I love dancing, and after a few beers all my emotional walls begun to crumble. Now that you have some kind of idea as to where this could go let’s begin…

After a few texts and a dozen outfit changes later, I was driving with the windows down, radio blaring, and having a dance party of one as the night steadily grew upon the world surrounding me. I had a smile on my face as the wind blew my curls from my face, something told me the night that lay before me was going to be a good one. Beautiful friends, wonderful family, and plenty of drinks- how could it be any less than perfect? This last month wasn’t exactly what I would describe as easy (don’t worry, one of these days we’ll talk about why) but it was real, as was I. But now I was ready for a night of careless fun and these were just the people to have that with.

A shot of whiskey, some good ol catching up convo, and impatiently waiting for two of the guys later we were all jammed into a car and headed to a house party. Granted we got lost multiple times due to misled gps and all of us yelling at the poor driver the wrong directions, but we finally got there in one piece. I learned many things that night, the first of which, I am terrible at beer pong… er, let me rephrase that- I have terrible aim. Sure I may have made the first shot because I was paying more attention to trying to figure out which beer was mine than attempting to be any good at what I was doing, but for 90 percent of the game my poor partner had to carry more than his weight on our little team of two. Thankfully he was a good shot and my naivety created just enough entertainment to make the ordeal bearable. Until the very end, two cups remained on each teams side, my partner had sunk his ping pong ball into one of the opposing teams cups (there is just no proper way to say that) and he encouragement rang out into the air as we both realized I could quite possibly tank the game. With one last pitiful look at him, I sincerely apologized in advance for missing and half heartily tossed the ball. I don’t know if it was skill, luck, or the entire universe smiling down upon me.. but by god I made the shot. Although half the garage might have went deaf with my shrieking, I was determined to let the room know what had just happened. The girl who spent half the game cheering for one of her best friends even though she was playing on the other team had just made the winning shot. That ladies and gentlemen is the moment, somewhere out there, a pig flew for the first time.

The night went on- someone cried, someone threw up, and someone fought (and to save reputations and just keep you wondering we’re going to go ahead and keep those identities concealed from the rest of the world). Somewhere between laughs, unsuccessful games of pool/beer pong, and countless drinks my friend and her father (the man who so graciously offered his garage to our enjoyment) started showing off their dance skills. Now as I mentioned at the beginning of the post, I love dance. Anytime it is near (in person or even on tv) I am instantly captivated by it. There is just something about two people in motion to a melody that not only is being heard, is being felt. A man offering his hand to his partner willing to take the lead and the female being venerable enough to follow, accepts his gesture. Now a fact not known to many before this moment is that I have never danced before. Sure I’ve gone to ‘the clubs’ with my friends and we shake what our momma’s gave us in good fun, but I have never danced with a man. Growing up in a more conservative home where school dances were off limit (sorry mom and dad I learned bad things without donning on a prom dress) and seeing as none of the guys who came in and out of my life didn’t seem to have the same dancing desires pressing at their heart, I had never had a man extend his hand and ask me to dance. Nonetheless I still never gave up the fantasy. So many times over the years I have closed my eyes and let visions of being drawn into a man’s presence as one hand is slipped around my back and the other is offered as a guide as he leads me around the dance floor. I often find myself imagining this scenario over and over as I drift off to sleep, letting my heart dare to believe that one day my vision will come true. One day I’ll be asked to dance.

My friend’s attention was soon caught by something other than dancing with her father and off she fluttered, her eyes full of light. He turned to me, hand extended, and said “What about you Andy?” Somehow, in the middle of the evening when we were all at our peek my friend’s father had pointed out that I had a striking resemblance to Andie MacDowell (just slightly younger) so the name seemed to stick for those around who heard his comparison. My head shook as laughter escaped from my lips, I tried to protest saying how I had never danced with anyone before, yet my feet and the few beers I had consumed moved me froward to accept his offer. He started me off with a simple two step to the music we could barely hear over the hum of the room and soon introduced in the three step until something in my body feel into the rhythm my heart had been dreaming of all those years. Some stopped and watched, challenging my statement that I had never danced before. Blushing, I said it was just in my blood. Someone in the room demanded country music be played and if you know anything about me, strip off my surroundings and my heart is that of a homegrown country girl. We quickly changed our pace to match that of what was coming through the radio and I’m not sure my eyes could have shown any brighter than they were in that moment. Looking around the room I saw the faces of my best friends, heard the music that makes my heart happiest and I was dancing…. I felt top of the world and my laughter let everyone know it.

Our movement slowed down as a slower song began to play and everything else faded away. I closed my eyes to let my mind shut off and for my body to move without first thinking. To let what was in my blood take over. I suddenly became aware of the warm tears that were streaming down my face. No thought sparked the emotion, no mental buildup, nothing happened but me letting my heart take over. “Why are you crying?” This gentle father asked me, clearly surprised at the sudden change. “My heart hurts” I whispered back. I wanted to tell him everything, about my heartache, my pain, my confusion, my family. I wanted to tell him everything so badly, but the words just got caught in my throat. Pulling me in and holding me like only a man with a father’s heart could, he softly told me “You’ll be ok Andy, I promise”. “I know I will be,” I breathed as we transitioned into the next song, “it just hurts. It’s all so heavy”. With those words I felt my entire world every so gently kiss my war torn shoulders, the pain almost unbearable. In the safety of a strangers arms I let my walls down as he guided my feet in a circle around the cement floor. He listened as I let a few words spill out about a broken heart, a love lost, a past I was trying to over come, and a future I couldn’t quite figure out. And just when I thought my heart couldn’t take any more Hunter Haye’s ‘Wanted’ came on and with each note that played through the radio I let our dancing once more take me away. With every step we took I found myself letting go of everything once more. The words of the song reminding me of a love I’ve dreamt of for many years. Letting all disappointment, shame, pain, misplaced hope slide off my back until both my head and my heart were clear. Love clouded my vision, love for my friends, my family. Love for myself, my future.

The music finally changed back and I timidly thanked him, slightly embarrassed at the tender place my heart had gone to while dancing with someone I had met only hours before. Patting me gently on the cheek he repeated, “You’ll be alright Andy, I promise”. “I know” I replied, this time with a smile as I was pulled off by my best friend to another round of terribly played beer pong, my words more of a reminder to myself than my friend’s father. Even many hours later as I drove home at 6 o’clock in the morning after taking all of my friends home (we know how to make an evening last let me tell you) and tears once more found their way down my face those words rang inside my heard. Sorrow and joy swirled around until all I felt was the here and now of the moment. I took everything- my heart, my future, my family and laid them at the feet of someone much bigger than my own and walked away.

I have my faith and my hope and if I am who I say I am, I know I will be just fine. I am a tender-hearted girl who is naive and has hopes as high as the tallest tree. Yet I am a woman who has a fire burning so fiercely within her she believes she can change the world. I might be just the right mix of chaos that’s needed to guide my my heart through this spinning thing we call life, and make something absolutely beautiful out of it.
Stay tuned… you just might be able to come along for the ride. One dance at a time………….

Enough is Enough… Isn’t It?

January 28, 2012

“Are you happy?” My words lingered in the air between us, the darkness of the room creeping into the subconscious of my thoughts. With a gentle sigh his arms tightened around me, pulling me closer, his nose softly grazing my cheek. His voice dripped with exhaustion as he whispered, “So much”. The ache in my heart grew more than I thought one should be able to handle. Though he said the right answer to what I had asked, the bigger question remained unanswered. My lips had asked, ‘are you happy’ but everything in my heart was crying out- ‘am I enough?‘ It was everything I could do to hold back the tears until moments later I headed down the stairs of his apartment and into the cold Colorado night. Stepping into the safety of my own car, I turning the key and the engine came to life as the sound of his voice filled my every sense as the music poured from my stereo speakers. I wrapped my arms around the steering wheel as the sobs begun to erupt from deep within, one question fueling the fire that had become my demise. ‘Am I enough?’

I wish I could say this was the first time I’ve had to ask that question, that this was a rather unusual occurrence in my life. But it wasn’t. In fact, this is a question that has plagued my life for as far back as I could remember. It’s a question that has infiltrated every possible area of my life that I operated in. My relationship with my father. School. My job. And now in the last few years, the thought of what my worth was in what a man could see in me.
As a young girl my family housed foster children for short amount of times until they could be found more permeant homes, and each time their stay with us was coming to an end a certain dread would fill my entire being. I was terrified that my parents would like whatever child was staying with us at the time more than they did me, decide to keep said child, and send me away in their place. Where this fear came from I might never know, but I do know that was the beginning when I started questioning whether or not who I was would ever be enough.

Now, many years later, I am faced with a new relationship and my dear old friend self doubt is rearing his ugly head, louder than ever. As a little girl I didn’t dream of becoming a ballerina, or the first female president I dreamt of one thing- being a wife. I spent my whole life mentally trying to prepare myself to be the ‘ideal woman’ for a man one day, striving to become as low-maintenance as possible, even to the point of being a little too accommodating , making sure my emotional baggage was a light as possible (that one didn’t quite work), and attempting to be as aware of other’s needs and desires before my own. I strived to create perfection. Yet there came time some months ago where I simply gave up, or perhaps I simply grew tired of the constant holding of my breath. Letting a reassurance settle in my heart that one day a man could actually love me for who I was, that perfection would not be a requirement for him to want me.

Months after this new found confidence took place, he came into my life. I wasn’t looking for anything at the time so when he approached me I was caught off guard in the way that my heart didn’t have time to put up it’s usual walls. I fell for him with my confidence and self worth still in tact. Yet as the weeks go by and the process of getting to know one another continues I find it harder to suppress that twenty-three year old question that rings steadily in my ear- am I enough? For the first couple months I was able to ignore it, he had chosen me so why would I doubt that? But as I sat in my car with makeup filled tears streaming down my face I could no longer drown out the voice in my head. What had changed? Had he done/said something to trigger such a painful question to rise up in my mind? No, in fact over the past few weeks he had done nothing but gotten sweeter, treated me move lovingly, letting me know how special I was to him. This fault laid in my hands, and my hands alone.

So often as women we expect the men in our lives to ‘fix us’. No we would never admit to this in those exact words, we like to think of it as asking our significant other to cater to our insecurities, demanding they fix a part of our heart that someone else (dad, past boyfriend, etc.) broke.
‘One man told me I was ugly, so you have to make me believe I am beautiful’.
‘He cheated on me, therefore you don’t get to look at another woman, not even your sister’.
‘He broke me so badly, you can never say the wrong thing for fear I might freak out’.
We do all this subconsciously, not realizing that it is us alone that holds the power to heal our own hearts. No other human being can be responsible for my heart. Not my father, my teacher, my boss, my boyfriend, not even my husband (speaking future references of course). That’s my job, and my job alone. ‘Am I enough’ is not a question that his wrong doings has created in me, it’s comes from a lifetime of choosing to look at myself through the cracked lenses life gave me rather than rising above the breaks of my heart and saying goddamn it I’m worth something spectacular. Not because a man told me so, but because I know it to be true.

Yes, I could ask him the question ‘am I enough’ day after day, and yet no matter how perfect his response is, it will never fill the void that question leaves in me. It can put a bandage over the wound, but days, minutes, seconds later that voice will remind me of my bleeding heart and his perfect response would be forgotten. No this question can only be answered by the green-eyed girl looking back at me in the mirror. It is my responsibility to silence that voice that rings so loudly. To, if needed, sit in front of my reflection day after day and tell myself “You are beautiful. You are lovable. You are worth it… you are enough”. Because until I can fully believe this, I will never trust anyone else’s word. And when he tells me how cute he thinks I am, I can answer with a ‘thank you’ and not a ‘really??’. I’m not saying coming to that point is easy (I’m still wildly struggling with it myself) but I’m saying it’s worth the fight to become a whole person again. How could I not desire to look in the mirror and love who’s looking back?

A Wall-Full Heart

January 1, 2012

The lights dim and the music soft, giving the illusion of privacy set among the numerous other tables in the crowded restaurant. Around the table sat ten other people lost in a bustle of conversations traded in smiles and laughter, 9 of them which I had met mere hours before. My eyes lit up as they danced from face to face, taking in the importance of each one. Not to me exactly, but to the man that sat directly to my right. The man who’s hand rested gently on my knee, thumb tracing the satin hemline of the dress I had so carefully picked out the night before. Color embedded itself in my cheeks as laughter escaped my lips, someone was mid telling a sidesplitting story, lovingly at someone else’s expense. He turned to me to ask a question, head bent towards mine in the slightest of ways, his blue eyes catching the reflection of the overhead lighting. I lifted up my hand until my palm rested against the side of his face, fingers lightly brushing the facial hair that lay scattered across his jaw line and spread to his prominent cheekbones. And in that moment, time slowed down. Where moments before laughter rang in my ears, now it had all become a soft hum. All other faces other than his faded far into the background as my breath found itself caught within my chest. Though I do not remember the question asked nor my response, I knew the greater exchanged that had just happened within my heart.

The experiences I have had with men in that past have not been those of the good kind. I could share story after story of abuse, betrayal, and even some of simple heart aches, all that have time and time again left me holding the pieces of my heart shattered beyond what I could see how to repair. Over the years I learned one lesson- men will not protect me, therefore I must protect myself from them. I lived my life building a maze of walls around my heart, each brick laid with the tears of the freshest wound I had just received. They seem to come from everywhere, relationships, friendships, my father, my brother, the list goes on. All men that, in one way or another, told me that they loved me. Sowing into my subconscious the lie that I was worthless. Because if I was worth something, anything, all those men would not have hurt me in the ways that they did. How could you tell me you loved me, then hit me? Why would you say you loved me, and then you walk all over me. What makes you tell me you loved me, yet say as a woman I am not worth pursuing? But over time, the jury of men in my life had voted and the verdict was stated- I was simply not worth it.

After my last relationship had ended 2 years ago, I had just about had enough. It seemed everywhere I turned there were men with the right words, the pure actions were deeply lacking. I took on a new motto “If you want it, come and get it”. I didn’t think my heart could handle being put out there again, just to get broken by some man who never wanted it in the first place. Sure there were crushes at times, yet they faded quicker than they appeared. And as the months ticked into years, my eyes turned inward. For so long I had searched in the eyes of everyman that came across my path, looking for ‘the one’. My mind telling me if I found Mr. Right, he could undo what all the Mr. Wrongs had done. One man hurt me, so it would take another man to fix me, right? But as the seasons in my life changed so did my viewpoint. Rather than searching for Mr. Right, I begun a journey of becoming Mrs. Right. Not in the sense of trying to achieve perfection in any means, but in the way of stripping out every single thing in my life that was not my own, and learning exactly who it was that I wanted to become, and how to love her in the purest of ways. Taking the longest look in the mirror of my heart, so that I could see the girl peering back. I was tired of hiding behind a masquerade of masks, each one adding to the walls within the labyrinth leading to heart.

The days passed, each one bring a new wall to tare down. Until one day, a few months ago, I looked around to catch a glimpse of the final wall falling amidst the blood, sweat, and tears I had shed in ridding my heart of my past wounds. Time had now turned them into scars, scars that I had allowed to fade into nothing more than stories of a different life time. And for the first time in years, I could breathe. Fear was something my heart was filmier with, yet that too was fading. Still, despite the confidence I had gained, there was one final test that had to be taken. On my own I felt alive, strong, I was an independent woman who could not be shaken from her beliefs. And I believed I was worth it. Yet there was still that question that hung in the air of my every being- could I let a man close enough to have the opportunity to hurt me.. to love me? A few months ago, despite the multiple conversations with people in my life how I didn’t see a man coming into my life anytime soon, a man indeed came into my life. I welcomely ate the words I had spoken a short time before, allowing him to pursue me.

The more he entered into my life the more scared I became. What if he turned out to be like all the others? Demanding I pay the price he had set in his mind before leaving me just as broken as the others before him. For every step my heart took towards him, my mind took three back, searching for filmier patterns within the cracks of the chivalry he constantly showed me. But with each doubt I held was his assurance that came in the purest of forms. Yet my breath still held deep within my lungs as those old walls threatened to rebuild themselves into my mind. I just waited for that moment. So as I sat there with him in the midst of the crowded restaurant, feeling the warmth of his skin against the palm of my hand, a feeling overcame me to the point where I could not completely comprehend what was going on around me. My heart had made the choice to trust him. No walls, no expectations, no holding my breath waiting for him to break me. I no longer held over him what they had done. I did the one thing I couldn’t do for the past 23 years. I let it all go.

Letting my hand slip from his cheek and down to my knee where his still lay, I let our fingers intertwine as my lungs filled with the purest of air I believe I have ever tasted. It was a freedom I had fought for, a battle in that moment, I knew I had won. Sure, others might have broken me, but it was my faith in a greater Love that had put me back together. And it was only because of that, I could have that moment, and continue to have them, knowing that I can offer the man I care so deeply about a wall-less woman. And all the trust my heart has to give.

Things To Talk About

December 9, 2011

“Wanna chat tonight. I have some things I want to talk to you about.” The text of the boy I like shown for my little beating heart to see. Moments earlier I had text him, making sure our arrangement for him to pick me up from the airport the next day were getting set into concrete plans. I was flying on cloud nine, a lip-bitten smile sending color deep within my cheeks suddenly turned into a pounding heart and all the color draining from my face. My dear old friend insecurity had found me, alive and well. As the dramatic spirit being that I am, I placed each hand upon the arm of the two friends I was sitting with and barely whispered out, ‘he said there’s something he needs to talk to me about, what do you think it could be?’ So I quickly reread the last few exchanges we had leading up to ‘the text’, my eyes searching every nice of their own, hoping that somehow they could read the mind of this handsome boy, three states away. Obviously seeing as they just so happen to lack ESP, neither could come up with a plausible answer that could calm the dread welling up inside.

Each relationship I had, every crush I encountered was one large breath that was caught within the confines of my chest. Holding it there, waiting, just waiting for the moment where it all came crashing down. You see, I have grown quite accustomed to the “I like you, but….” scenario playing like a broken record around my heart, with each turn of the table the needle pushed the groove deeper. That was my thing. I’m the girl who gets her hopes up and heart crushed. That’s just who I’m destined to be, right? Every other man had said so. Every other man. And there, my friends, is where my problem lies… All the others did, why wouldn’t the next?

I have this theory about patterns. If there is a recurring problem in my life I take each one into consideration, trying to find the one thing that connects each one to the last- the common denominator. And 99.9 percent of the time that common denominator is me. Therefore, if a large majority of the men in my life has, in one way or another, let me know I am not good enough, then the problem must lie in me. Time and time again I have watched guys come into my life, whether they be friendships or something more, and leave soon there after, each one in his own way letting me know why I didn’t measure up. Now let me back pedal for just a moment and reiterate the fact that there has not been a man in my life (other than my father) for the past two years. In english- I haven’t had a good, decent interest in a man for 24 months (until now that is). So of course it’s been easy to not have to worry about a guy thinking I’m good enough to stick around for. THERE HAS BEEN NO GUY. Sure, there’s been a fleeting crush or two (mostly in my fanatical head) but no one that I’ve look and had my knees buckle ever so slightly, or had just the thought of their fingertips brushing my cheek send shivers down my spine (once again, until now). The fear of ‘will I be good enough’ went no further than my own mind. I had no one else to challenge my worth other than myself.

So as I sat there in Starbucks, my little heart fighting the dread of what this pressing matter could lie behind the text that still shone so brightly on my phone, rationally slowly creeped back in. Not to mention the smiley face emoticon at the end of the text also reminded me that maybe, just maybe I was reacting to something that was made up on my own thoughts. Nothing this boy had done previously had in any way lead me to believe that doom waited on the other side of this message. It was simply the ghosts of disappointer’s pasts. I have countless examples of my past to remind me why I wasn’t enough, while he had done nothing but show genuine interest. So in all my irrationality I had projected upon this budding… well I’m not even sure I can call it a relationship yet, this budding.. something, my past dooms. And with that, I took a deep breath and returned to sanity. As my head cleared and the insecurities faded I forced my past to stay exactly where it needed, behind me. For I know if I focus on my past hurts, it’ll only cause me sit around waiting for them to be repeated. And it’s not fair to this guy in my life, and isn’t not fare to myself to walk forward to whatever we could be possibly creating with my eyes constantly on the rearview mirror, not giving him the possibility to change the pattern in which I have been treated.

And let me just state I say all this still from the point of not know what these ‘things’ are then he needs to talk to me about. Dare I say… I’m growing up? Maturing and maybe even gaining a bit of trust to the male species (at least this one ). Let’s just face it, that in itself is a big deal to little ol’ me. Or maybe I just really like this one.
Then again wait until I find out this illusive information and you might be reading a whole other blog.

Once Upon A Homeless Time

December 5, 2011

Home. This is a concept that I have struggled with for years now. Wait no, let me take that back, for my entire life. Growing up my family moved around from town to town, state to state quite often, going with the ebb and flow of where my father felt his heart leading his family’s journey to go. I loved it, it allowed me to see so much and experiences things I wouldn’t have had the chance to other wise. Yet somewhere in-between all the moves I began to grow up and a spirt of searching settled into my heart. Never staying in the same place for more than a handful of years somehow drove it into my head that I didn’t belong anywhere and I couldn’t be happy until I found that exact place. Home. Being the good girl that I am I used my multiple relocations over the years to blame for the loneliness that gripped at my heart each night as I pulled the covers over my head to swallow myself in darkness. Standing in a crowded room was even worse. I would look around at all those faces that were supposed to bring me so much security and companionship brought me nothing but an ache in my heart, a longing for more. I needed to find my people. Those who simply ‘got me‘. For a misunderstood girl, my greatest wish was for someone to see me. The last leg of my family led journey took me to a small town in California. Just when my life was on the edge of completely and utterly falling apart in Oregon (the state we previously lived in) California reached out her hand of health and I grasped on. And while I can look back on my so far short life and see that those 5 years I resided within those city walls were the years that I ‘grew up’. I had just walked through hell and California offered me a land of serenity. Yet I still was searching for more. My heart still wouldn’t unpack my bags and call it home.

5 years into living there I heard the wind whispering so softly to be on my way again. By this time my parents had moved to Denver and I knew I was supposed to join them. But to my heart it was more than just a move, it was yet another chance to seek this place I had convinced myself existed. A place where once I stepped into the town, all my worries would fall away and something deep inside would sigh from relief knowing it was exactly where I was supposed to be. But it wasn’t. I was a little girl frantically searching for security. A security that didn’t exist. But what I discovered was myself.

All my life I was the quite one. The perfect ear to listen to all you had to say, never giving you back my own thoughts. My mouth was so sewn shut that I couldn’t open it to say something even if I wanted to. You needed someone to walk all over? Baby I’d be your freaking doormat. I’d but up with anyone’s bullshit, with a polite ‘please and thank you’ each time. The funny thing about uprooting your life to a new state where you know all of 4 people and not being the most out going person to walk this earth, I found myself with a lot of time to do nothing but to reflect upon my own life. For the first time I looked in the mirror and saw someone I recognized from all the visions I had once had of who I wanted to be. Over time I ripped out the stitches that held my lips so tightly in place and I found my own two feet standing on solid ground. I became confident, sure of what I wanted, who I was. And damn it, I’d hate to be the person who tried to tell me other wise. Away from my past I formed my opinions, unaffected by the ones that had so influenced my silence before. I stood with my eyes wide open and a heart that would never back down from what she believed. Everyone I encountered knew the new me, so of course it was easy it operate out of the rebirthed women inside me. When I try and explain to the people at work how I used to be quite and passive, they so often scoff at the thought. For I had done a complete 180. It was easy, there was nothing left to shut me back into the box I had so uncomfortably lived most of my life in.

Nothing until now. For the first time in over a year of being gone, I sit thousands of miles up in the air in a metal plane, taking me mile by mile back to my old stomping grounds. I cannot help but let my mind race wondering how my trip will play out. I know I will be walking into a lot of the same situations I left a year ago, some of the same people in the same ruts. From hundreds of miles away I can already feel their expectations pushing upon me, they’re the same, why shouldn’t I be? I resist the urge to grit my teeth in preparation for the battle that might lie ahead of me. But every couple of minutes I have to remind myself to put my weapons down, this battle is not my responsibility to fight. In fact, there is no battle at all. I have fought for the rights of my own thoughts and opinions and not ever my past can take them from me. Sure, I’m guessing some people might be surprised, for the same girl who left them a year ago is not the one returning to them today. But I am her, and she is I. Perhaps the battle is found no further than my own head.

I have found my home, and it is located no further than the confines of my own heart. My confidence is not something I’ve found, it’s what I’ve fought for. And won. And no one can take that from me, not even the ghosts of my past. So you better fucking buckle up California, baby girl’s back. And a little bit more improved feisty than the last round.

Crushingly Awkward

December 4, 2011

Annnnnd big sigh. Here we go again. I know I have said this before and yet I just feel the need to say it yet again- I hate having a crush. Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing quite like the feeling of 5 million butterflies fluttering around in the pit of my stomach, somehow managing to push my heart straight into my throat. The subconscious smile that crosses your face as they enter the room. And sure, if I were somewhat of a normal girl, I would thrive off of getting crushes. Let them be my emotional cocaine, going from high to spinning high, just to feel my heart pound. But no, I just can’t be one of those girls can I? No of course not, that’d mean being somewhat mentally graceful (and that kids, I cannot seem to be).
I get tongue tied, what my brain is so eloquently telling my mouth to say seems to come out in a spillage of backwards, misspoken words. I blush, my goodness do I blush. I can’t seem to, for the life of me, keep eye contact for more than 2.5 seconds. And if I make it that long, I take it as a personal victory. So let me spell it out for you- if I find myself attracted to you I become very, very awkward.

Having this knowledge of myself I tend to stay away from getting a crush on someone as if they were a runaway car on fire. This usually consists of avoiding any single guy who I find myself attracted to, and/or (and this is my usual go-to plan) I become a complete and utter bitch (there, I said it). If I find myself getting a crush on you- I will avoid you at all costs. But sometimes, when I’m walking out of the restroom and am caught off guard by the one person I happen to find myself terribly attracted to standing right there in the hallway and my face lights up like the freaking rockefeller christmas tree as I squeak out “hi” then realize my face is turning bright red and hurry past him. I love having fair skin, but moments like this is when I hate it, because any color that embeds itself into my cheeks when I blush gets magnified. To the point of my coworker yelling out, “why are you red?!”. Because I’m an idiot and can’t function like a normal human being around my crush, that’s why. Meet me on any other day and I can chat it up like no one you’ve ever met before, bubby, loud, extroverted, I will converse with you until the cows come home. But put me in the presence of someone I am attracted to and I become the shyest introvert alive as my twelve-year-old-girl insecurities rise up.

So maybe I should take this moment to come clean on something.. I don’t hate crushes, I hate the insecurities they bring to light within me. I love who see myself to be when I stand alone, I am a strong, confident woman who nothing can phase, and no one can convince me other wise. Yet, place a man in my life and all that goes to the wind. Wondering how long it’s going to take this one to decide I’m not enough like so many before have let me know? Yes, I know through and through that this is simply a reaction to wounds caused by others and it isn’t the truth, their words should not define how I expect men to see me now. The truth is, (and I bet you didn’t know this) I’m not perfect. I sometimes believe the lies that whisper so gently into my ear, ignoring the screaming voice from within me letting me know I am worth a man’s attention, and even more so, his affections. Yet no matter how I’ve been treated in my past, or how many wounds I’ve acquired from those times, there is still a girl who believes in fairy tales. That likes seeing that guy walk into the room and having to bite my lip before a smile breaks across my face. That keeps hoping he’ll ask for my number, or at least that I can have a functioning conversation with him without repeating to myself over and over ‘don’t be shy, don’t be shy, don’t be shy’ as I train him on the registers (hypothetical situation of course).

Ok wow, that got deep there for a second didn’t it? Let’s pull this story plane back up before I have anymore emotional downward spirals (in this post at least) and spill some more embarrassing purging of the infinitive awkwardness of my pretty little self. So what am I trying to say here? Two things. I have a crush (scandalous right?). And I’m fighting hard to let my scars be just that, scars. And not reopening wounds that cause insecurity to shut me down. I’m a catch damn it, excuse me while I remind myself a few more times before I can fully function in the presence of someone cute.
Baby steps, I’m going for baby steps here. So mayyyyyybe I don’t hate crushes after all……

Excuse Me Ma’am But I Think Your Boyfriend’s Gay And Other Socially Unacceptable Things You Shouldn’t Say Part 1

August 19, 2011

I’ve found as I’ve gotten older I’ve become more… well honest. Growing up a home-schooled, preachers daughter with a astonishing lack of bff’s running in and out of my life, taught me one thing- you have to become what ‘they‘ want in order to be accepted. One of my personality’s biggest strengths became my biggest weakness (tale of everyone’s life I know, but I’m the one telling the story here). I have this innate ability to be dropped in any situation and in 2.5 seconds or less I’ll know exactly how to operate in a manor best fitting to be responsive to what’s going on. This can be both a good thing and a bad thing. Good thing as in if it comes down to sink or swim, honey I’m aiming for the shore. Bad thing, if I’m not feeling 100 percent confidant in who I am/where I’m at in my current daily life, I don’t adapt, but rather I conform. As a little girl my dad would call me a chameleon, because every time I would come home from a friend’s house I would be more ‘them‘ than ‘me‘. As much as I hated when he said it then, I now know he was right.

Being a child and having no sense of identity as well as having limited relationships beyond my immediate family left me somewhat handicapped in the area of leaning to stand on my own two feet in social interactions, so my best offenses became my defensive downfall. This wasn’t just a young girl trying her best to fit in, it was an experiment of how I could alter myself over and over until I got the result I thought they wanted. Most of this came though not how I acted, but by what I said. I learned to become a yes-girl. From my being able to read people’s emotion (we call that empathy- number 1 on my strengthfinder test) paired with my ‘always knowing what to say’ I verbally became your best friend. I never took sides, joined in your foe bashing, or egged you on, I simply listened and inserted little words of encouragement until I played your emotions like a finely tuned violin with my subtle words. Need a little encouragement? My god I’d give you the pep talk of the century. You’ll be believing you can take over the world after I’m done with you. Always agreeing, never seemed to play true to the peacemaker my heart really wanted to be. Natural instinct told me to give enlightenment to what they weren’t seeing. No, not tell them that they were wrong, just provide them with the necessary elements of both sides so they could come to a proper, well educated conclusion. But I couldn’t. I had a desire in me stronger than the that of telling the truth. I wanted friends. So with each nod of my head I could feel the bull shit rising.

I’m not sure when it was or what exactly caused my sudden change, perhaps it was picking up the life that I knew and replanting it in a state where I knew no one but my immediate yet again, maybe it was New Years Day when I decided that 2011 was going to be the year of honesty (day one started off with telling my long time crush I had feelings for him- see how well that worked out for me), maybe I had just grown up. But standing here looking back on these last 8 months I can’t help but to see a new pattern emerging from the rubble. I stopped caring about what I thought people thought of me and actually started caring about how I saw myself, and I just so happened to see myself as a rather truthful person. In this, my drastic side kicked in a little less graceful as I’d sometimes like it to, and most (if not all) my filters seems to have disappeared, sometimes in the most inconvenient of moments. There’s one line that seems to pop into my head at these times “why not?”. Let’s face it, I have one little life to live- why the freck would I spend it pretending I feel something that simply isn’t’ true. When airport boy asked me if our curbside kiss stirred up old feelings I figured what did I have to lose besides my humility. Working retail and people ask me if they look good in a shirt that is a terrible fit for them I’m guuna say yes. No way am I letting them leave my store looking that bad. When a guy friend asked me out on a date I had to have that potentially awkward conversation that I wanted nothing more than friendship from him. No it doesn’t always turn out perfectly (like telling one of your best friends who you’re going to see that you’re all but in love with him) but I’m learning. I just can’t be that person anymore, I have a LOT on my mind, and in my experience I’ve lost more in hiding the truth than telling it straight from the beginning.

Maybe it’s my desire to have the same be told to me that drives me. No I don’t want you to tell me the outfit that I’m wearing is hideous (more than likely I think I look amazing), but take a stab at this whole ‘open and honest friendship thing’. I just don’t get it, what exactly are you waiting for to happen before you are honest about how you feel with other’s in your life… with yourself? Hey-o there’s a key point. If nothing else, I know that I am brutally honest with myself. I, sometimes force myself to, look in the good ol’ internal mirror to see exactly what it is that I need to see. An attitude adjustment towards someone when it’s actually my ish. A reality check that a ‘potential crush’ is really only in my head. Or simply taking a look around my life to see what could use a little love-and-attention improvement. I don’t want to wait until I’m 85 before I start telling it how it is. I’ve had over 2 unsuccessful decades to tell the lies I thought they wanted to hear and it’s gotten me no where. At this point it’s either keep on putting up with the heartache of experiencing the disappointment of living behind a mask or taking the chance I just might get somewhere by telling the truth. I have the thoughts/feelings I do for a reason right? (Or I could turn out to be clinically insane). Beeesides, what’s the fun of life if you don’t rock the boat with something outrageous to say every once in a while. That’s why people like me are around for, give ya a little shocking from time to time.

Moral of the story- take the handsome John Mayer’s advice when he sang “Even if your hand are shaking, and your faith is broken, even if the eyes are closing, do it with a heart wide open and say what you need to say”. Take a stab at actually speaking your mind. You just might find out that your thoughts are what they need, not what they want. But rule number one when it comes to honesty- use tact. No one like a bitchy bully. Life goes by faster than we’d like to acknowledge, you’ve got to start looking fear dead in the eye. No one ever died from telling the truth (okay, that’s probably not true but I think you get the point).