As a mental health professional, I highly value western doctors that get that health is not just about the body.
“Okay, take a deep breath and cough for me,” the white-haired doctor said as he pressed a cool metal stethoscope onto my bareback.
“Hmmm, no signs of wheezing at all. And you said this has been going on for a month?”
He invited me to step off the high check-up table. “Why don’t you sit beside me in this chair?” He was facing his computer, but quickly spun around and looked me in the eyes with all the sincerity in the world.
I will admit, I was hesitant when this much older, rather brusk mannered fill-in for my regular MD walked into the room. I judged him for his age. I feared that he would be too old-school. That was until his hazel eyes stared into mine with empathy and compassion I didn’t know I was so hungry for. His eyes reminded me I wasn’t just hungry — I was starving.
I sought him out because I wanted to work on my trust issues with men.
The first time I sat down on the couch in his plant-filled office, I sobbed. His doughy body and cherub-like face were warm and inviting. I took comfort in the fact that I wasn’t at all attracted to him. He felt like a father-figure to me. I was able to open up with him the way I wanted to be able to open with my own father.
It was in the quiet moments between my emotional unraveling that he inserted his desires. “Maybe you should try not having sex right now. What we have here is intimacy. This relationship we are fostering in this room is authentic. You don’t need sex for real intimacy.”
His words elicited mixed feelings. They were soothing to my ears but stirred up a deep discomfort in my soul.
Why the break-up of a family is one of the most painful losses.
I wept on my yoga mat. Deep, heaving sobs that wouldn’t stop. The song the yoga instructor played about unraveling your ego only adding to the deluge of my tears.
I’ve wanted to be a mother for as long as I could remember.
When I was 29 I had a dream about a blonde, curly-haired girl. She was sitting at the foot of my bed, looking at me with her big crystal blue eyes. “I’m your daughter,” she said to me. I remember waking up confused. My daughter? Other than her blue eyes, she looked nothing like me.
Three years later I gave birth to a blue-eyed baby girl. It took three years for her blonde curls to grow in. In quiet moments, when she sat in the living room reading books or playing with toys, her blonde ringlets rippling around her eyes, I remembered that dream and felt a wave of comfort wash over my soul. The daughter of my dreams had become real.
I’m swiping left to six-pack abs and beer slinging selfies.
I want a man who tells me he is in therapy on our first date.
I spent my 20s dating the man who was too cool to work on his childhood issues. He smoked a joint or drank a beer or tried to turn me on when memories from his past haunted his psyche. This man thought disengaging from his emotions made him super strong. He was strong, even sexy when he fought off his emotions with fleeting pleasures. But eventually his rock hard ego cracked, and instead of showing me his vulnerability, he became detached and pushed me away.
It can be heart-wrenching to witness someone is dissociating from deep pain. I desperately wanted to heal this man. The more I tried to help him, the more he pushed me away. Eventually, he left for someone who cared less about his self growth and more about the pleasures of the moment. I walked away from our relationship feeling confused, used, and even emotionally abused. I grieved the emptiness I felt during our time together and the hopes I had for him to show up as his whole self. The man of my 20s left me with a gaping hole of longing for real emotional connection.
4 reasons why being solo is uber-chic.
Notice I didn’t use the word single?
There is a reason for that.
I don’t consider myself single. At all. I’m partnerless, yes, but single? No.
You could say I have a polyamorous soul when it comes to romantic affairs. I’m monogamous when it comes to a lover, but not when it comes to romantic love.
Confused? Let me explain.
Because a good man is hard to find.
“A good man is hard to find.”
I remember my mom saying these words to me when I wanted to start dating. The words pressed pause in my psyche and made me question my heart. Was the guy who asked me out not good? Was my mom giving me this warning for a reason? Did she not trust my judgment? Or, were good men really as rare as my mom said they were?
Get emotionally naked.
Six years ago, I chose to leave a man who wouldn’t talk. When things got emotional, he would work and work and work. I didn’t pester him to talk. I thought if I let him be, he would emerge with words and we would feel connected once again.
But he never emerged.
Not everyone deserves your vulnerability.
I recently got naked with a lover. Not the physical kind. We actually never met in real life. But we had more intimacy than I’d had with some past lovers, which is proof that emotional nudity is way more revealing than the physical parts we keep hidden from most of the world.
I actually haven’t gotten physically naked with someone in over 6 months. It’s been a conscious choice. In the past, the physical always made feelings develop more quickly and perhaps inorganically. The oxytocin released during sex and physical connection isn’t real love — at least not for me.
Well, his ghost is.
I can’t go a day without being bothered by him. His face leers at me when I’m in the bathroom or washing dishes, disrupting my ho-hum calm. I’m walking out of my house and his car passes by — 20 times.
I can’t be alone for too long without his memory flooding in. Memories that somehow seem skewed. He’s always the good guy. He’s so attentive and so understanding. He’s always doing the right thing, making me feel like my perception was twisted up the whole time we were together. Did I get it all wrong? Was he really the perfect mate?
Perhaps the deepest loneliness is the wrong relationship.
On the journey to get to know Self, I have experienced the dark night of the soul where I was alone and lonely at the same time. I have had long drawn out moments, turned into days, turned into weeks of feeling like I’m swimming in a dark hole. Groundless. Without a sentient being in sight. To me that groundless, connectionless state is loneliness.
Soul Writer. Single Mama. Life ponderer. Nature Lover. Therapist. Introvert. HSP & Empath. Life is my playground and each day a blank canvas.