If Dating Apps Were People

In the last few weeks, I decided to give dating apps another chance, because how else do you meet people now? The more men I talked to, the more I noticed a persona on each app. So today, I give you If Dating Apps Were People:

Tinder He’s a 40 year old frat bro who still can’t find the clitoris, even after a YouTube tutorial. He drinks cheap beer and thinks it’s cool he can pound an entire six pack in less than an hour. He’s also the guy that takes you on a date to McDonalds or somewhere else with a dollar menu because he’s “in between jobs right now.” He always asks what you’re wearing, even at 2pm on a work day and gets offended when you tell him you’re looking for something more serious. 

Bumble This guy has no idea how he’s still single. His momma says he’s a catch. He loves that the woman sends the first message and can’t wait to find someone to continue making all the effort - cook, clean and raise his babies while he works in a call center for the next twenty years. He constantly complains about his job, but never makes an effort to find something else. He doesn’t have any real hobbies and there’s nothing really “bad” about him. He’s just vanilla. Eventually the conversation dies of natural causes, like lack of personality. 

Hinge Hello, Mr. Hella Metro. His hair looks better than yours, there’s not one stray piece out of place - he made sure before he winked goodbye at himself in the mirror. He lives with four other dudes in a house that’s falling apart and has no real furniture, but owns 4 different types of designer cologne. He’s a musician, which really means bartender and always has four other girls on speed dial. There’s a good chance he calls you one of their names at some point and then says something extra douchey like, “That’s my sister’s friend’s name. We were just talking. Stop making a big deal about it” - and continues to gaslight you until you aren’t sure which one of you is crazy. 

Facebook He types lyk dis n u dunno y. You have no mutual friends and have no idea how you got matched. You’ve heard two stories about him haulin stuff in his truck, about how he and his buddies from highschool sit in a field and burn stuff on the weekend drinking Bush Light, but he says it like you should be impressed. He hasn’t asked you one question about yourself. You’re now strongly considering deleting Facebook all together. 

Ego Boosters And then every dating app has the ones that you match with that never message you. They are collecting matches with no intention to meet up. They’re on a break with their girlfriend and “just seeing what’s out there.” 

And that, my sisters, is the joy of online dating. I felt great about deleting all of those apps this weekend and embracing being single AF. My dog is a better catch.

Bring Back The Bush

He’d run his hands across my leg and frown at the stubble - looking up, judgement heavy in his eyes, “Getting a little prickly aren’t we?”

At the time, I felt embarrassed, like having this microscopic amount of blonde hair on my legs made me unfeminine, almost manly. When you’re young and still learning your own body, someone pointing out any “imperfect” part of you can pull you into emotional fetal position. 

The same man pointing out my two day leg stubble wouldn’t think twice about the fact he went to the gym that day and hadn’t bothered to shower. You want your sweaty balls in my face, but I can’t have a little leg stubble?

Okay, bro.

It always seems to be the ones rocking the dad bod, gut solid - Miller Light turned dense protruding mass that finds it acceptable to make demands of the female body.

My most recent mediocre male wore an impressively disgusting fur turtleneck year round - there was no beard trimming, back shaving or manscaping that took place and certainly no apology for his “manliness.” His beard connected through a furry little landing strip that ran from his neck down to his chest where there’d often be lingering crumbs of snacks past.

He was constantly nitpicking my body at home and quietly pointing out other women’s flaws in public. He’d chastise his ex girlfriend to me openly, calling her a hippie and thanking me for shaving daily, rubbing my legs, petting me, like I was a ‘good girl.’ It didn’t seem particularly patronizing at the time. I was blinded by love and the illusion he valued the time I wasted to seem “attractive.”

As women, we feel pressured to please men. Work full time, cook, clean, birth the children, take care of the dogs AND stay in the same size jeans I wore at twenty? No problem! Right?

Wrong.

Looking back, by saying nothing about his behavior and continuing to date him, I was telling him that he had a right to pass judgement on my body and that he was the ultimate decider of what was desirable. Well, not anymore. I’m fed up with traditional beauty standards and I AM DONE starting with body hair.

I remember the first time I shaved the lady garden. I went from full bush to prepubescent in a matter of minutes. It was alarming, but supposedly more attractive.

I’m sorry, but this was attractive to who exactly? Mediocre white men, that’s who. 

I’ve never once looked in the mirror and thought I was more or less attractive with or without pubic hair. In fact, shaving is annoying and time consuming and for that reason, women turn to waxing. Apparently the average woman who gets waxed once to twice a month will spend over $23,000 on services in a lifetime. I don’t know about you, but there are way more exciting things I could with the twenty three thousand dollars then to pay a stranger to rip hot wax off my vagina solely because a man says the prepubescent look is attractive.

Do you see him running to make himself an appointment? Not hardly.

So, why are we constantly chasing this ideal that doesn’t exist? There’s no amount of waxing you can do, no patch of pube hair you can shave and no magazine article you can read that will make you sexy. You have to decide what makes YOU feel sexy.

And here’s what I’ve decided. I was an idiot to accept a man like that. I’m not about to waste hours of my life making myself look like a seal for someone whose dick I have to search three inches of brillow pad to locate. I will shave my armpits because I want to - they itch otherwise. I shave my legs when I feel like it, which is maybe biweekly at best and only because I love how it feels to slide into bed with freshly washed sheets and newly shaved legs. But lady town? She’s unapologetically back to basics. 

My body is not an apology. I won’t apologize for the natural things it does. Neither should you.

I Am Bringing Back the Bush. 

The First Time I Brought A Man Home After My Divorce - And Others Failures

In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, and as additional proof that my life is basically a romantic comedy- except no one gets laid and everyone is awkward, let me tell you about the first guy I brought home after my divorce.  

One random weekday night, I was feeling particularly down about my divorce, living alone and the miserable struggle that is relearning yourself.  A friend was over and we were nursing our second bottle of wine when she gets a text.

“I’m going to be at Elm Hill if you want to hang out.”

A super casual dive bar invitation from a new guy she’d just started talking to. Perfect timing. I hadn’t been to a bar in months thanks to the pandemic and I needed to kiss a stranger’s face immediately.

I make a mad dash to put on real pants and she yells from the bathroom asking if I have tampons. I say something about them being on the top shelf, as I change shirts, throw on some mascara and red lipstick. All before she opens the door. I am the fastest person I know at going from looking utterly homeless to socially acceptable enough to walk out the door.  

We get to the bar, a term I use loosely here, because it’s a total dump – blacked out windows, wood paneling, not a car in sight. Apparently, they weren’t “open to the public,” but regulars had a secret knock and could enter through the side door. Sounds like a speak easy, looks like where you’d go to score some drugs.

We grabbed a drink from the bar and found her fling of the week, looking like anti-social Jesus in the corner booth, a real hipster.  

We were making small talk with him when I spotted a hipster all my own near the pool tables. We’ll call him Bryan. Six foot, bearded, full head of hair and great teeth, basically a unicorn in the looks department. We spent the next several hours playing pool, pounding light beers and taking cheap shots of tequila like it was a college frat party. It was exactly the night I needed. I was remembering what it felt like to be happy, feel attracted to someone and hopeful.

He was pressing me against the wall outside near the trashcans with some heavy petting and hardcore making out when I decided I was going to take this one home. It had been months. It was time to get back on the metaphorical horse.

We headed back to my house around 3am once we’d sobered up. Dancing and singing at the top of our lungs to 90’s tunes, laughing at how ridiculous the other looked. We were really gelling. As we walked up my front stairs, the chat went a little something like this -

“Do we need to be quiet because of your roommates?”

“Uh, what roommates?”

“You don’t have roommates?”

“No. I’m 31.”

“I’m 36 and have 3 roommates. How long have you lived here”

“I bought it in March” I say opening the door.

“You own this house?!”

And just like that, I’m dry downstairs. His unicorn status is gone and I now remember what it’s like to date in Nashville.  

I’m giving myself a mental pep-talk to mask my current disappointment. “That’s okay. I mean, he’s a “musician”/bartender with three roommates and no goals, but at least he’s attractive. Not every connection is forever, right? It can still be fun.”

We sit on the couch snuggling, kissing and I assume we are about to get to the good stuff, so I excuse myself to the bathroom to freshen up.

My house was built in 1947. It’s basically a walk-in closet and has some seriously old copper pipes. You DO NOT flush anything down them other than toilet paper, for any reason, ever.

So, I finish using the bathroom and flush. The water is rising, and rising and rising. Then a tampon floats up. My friend had flushed her freaking tampon!

I’m hyperventilating a little, water is flowing over the side of the toilet, there’s a used tampon circling the bowl and there’s a hot guy on my couch I just met tonight. I grab the tampon by the string and toss it in the trashcan, lunge for the plunger and start plunging lightly, hoping he can’t hear me cursing and water hitting the tile.

Mid-plunge, I yell from the bathroom, “Bryan, can you please let my dog outside? Yeah, like now. She really has to go.”

Trying to get him farther than two feet from my bathroom door, praying Bryan isn’t hearing the suck and bubble of water in and out of the plunger.

“Uh, sure.”

I roll a towel up to block the bottom of the door. It’s a flood. I return to plunging, violently now that he is in the backyard. I am putting my whole body into it. By the time he closed the back door, water was successfully flowing down the toilet. Thank God. I reach for more towels, slip and ram my knee against the sink, hard.  

He definitely heard that.

I grab all of my gorgeous, fluffy, white Vera Wang towels I wanted so badly when I registered for the wedding to sop up my floors. I threw them all in the tub and closed the shower curtain. Hiding the evidence. 

I stepped out of the bathroom and he was standing there. “Um, are you okay?”  

“Yeah, great, so great.”

I grab his arm, pulling him into my bedroom. Clothes are flying, there’s biting, kissing, heavy petting and I’m getting excited I got away with flooding my bathroom and we are back in the mood. And then, of course, his dick doesn’t work. It’s this sad little puddle of play-dough flopping over on his thigh and he says the line all men say when they drink too much, “This never happens to me, I swear.”

Great. 

We pass out and two hours later, I wake up with a bruised knee, pounding head and blanketed in disappointment.

Unfortunately, it didn’t end there. I got out of bed and he didn’t.

I went into my office and continued to suffer all day. All I wanted was to take a giant poop, eat McDonalds to soak up the alcohol and lay on my couch in my sweats while attempting to work. But 10am rolled around and he was still there.  

I taunted my dog with treats so she’d start barking, hopeful it would wake him up and he’d leave. Instead, he woke up, said how relaxing my house was and WENT BACK TO SLEEP!

At noon, my butthole was puckering, waves of nausea were flowing over me and I’d had enough. I walked into my bedroom and started pulling clothes from the closet and drawers, being extra loud. He rolled over,  

“What are you doing?”

“I am meeting some friends for lunch, so sorry to wake you at noon.”

He started getting dressed while I pretended to look for more clothes, as if the five shirts I’d laid out already weren’t enough.

He finally left and I sprint to the bathroom. Sitting there, surrounded by wet toilet towels and in the trashcan, the villain from just hours before, I had to laugh.

And this is why they make vibrators.

What Would You Do If You Weren't Afraid?

I woke up on January 1st, 2020 after a knock-down, drag-out fight with my husband. A fight about what he believed was me being angry he “had to take a dump,” making us late for the opening of Hamilton on New Years Eve. Spoiler Alert, that wasn’t why I was upset. It was so many things, so many moments, so much neglect and loneliness that he never intended me to feel. It was carrying so much responsibility and decisiveness, wanting just one thing to make me feel like we were in this together – to feel like I wasn’t his parent.

There’s no one moment that leads you to change your life.

Or so I thought.

In true “New Year, New Me” fashion, I woke up on the first and decided to try a hot yoga class down the street from my house. There were only four people in the studio and they all looked fresh out of a Lululemon catalog – me, not so much. I spent the entire hour wheezing a little too loudly, taking breaks to chug water, pretending to “adjust” my leggings so I could breathe and trying not to fart while in weird positions like Warrior Squatting Tree Two.

The last ten minutes of the class were the hardest. The instructor asked us all to lay on our back, close our eyes and breathe. She said some of her greatest accomplishments come from a tradition she and her husband complete every New Year’s Eve. They make a fancy cocktail, sit in their living room and ask each other the same question, “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”

She then challenged us to ask ourselves the same question.  

The first thought that came to mind was “I would get divorced.”

The next few weeks kept showing me signs that the fear from yoga class was a terrifying truth. That the D word we had thrown around during fights the last two years may be what we both really wanted - to be free of pretending our marriage was working.

I know couples who I’ve never seen touch – they’ve been together ten years and I haven’t seen them so much as hug. I’ve asked friends about their sex lives and some admit, they don’t have much of an interest. Those women would be grateful for a man with a good job, who loved them and was happy coexisting.

For some people that would be enough. But for me, it wasn’t. I don’t ever want to schedule sex for the first Tuesday of the month at 7pm, or have to drink a bottle of wine to be “in the mood,” or even worse, give up completely.

And with the void in our sex life came the lack of kissing, then a lack of affection, then a complete lack of enjoyment spending any time together. Before you knew it, we were sitting on opposite sides of the couch, sleeping on opposite sides of the bed and having mostly silent dinners. Our differences became an ocean between us. And that ocean turned to resentment. At least it did for me.

The following week I was set to go on a weekend girl’s trip to Kentucky. I was looking forward to escaping the constant conversations about couples’ therapy, awkward silent dinners and the thick resentment that hovered like ghosts in our house. But, sometimes the things you run away from chase even faster.

The friend I went to visit was in a similar situation. She and her husband weren’t as comfortable throwing around the word divorce over fights about taking too long to poop. They weren’t openly accepting the truth to one another that they lived in a passionless marriage. But, there was an awkward tension that was obvious to everyone who sat in the same room.  

As we went out for our husbandless ladies night, I saw my friend desperate to be noticed. I saw her look alive, wanting to be desired, hopeful to have someone actually act like they wanted her.

Watching this person I love look so deflated at home and so alive away from him made me realize, I was her. I went home that next day and told him I wanted a divorce.  

Some will say I’m selfish or that I don’t take marriage seriously. And at times, I will admit, I was selfish. The truth is, this divorce hurt me too, but what would hurt me more is if we were ten years down the road with two kids when I realized I needed someone to touch me and no one had in a decade.

And that’s the thing I’m learning – it’s not that one of us was good and the other was bad. Part of me will always love him. But, I got divorced so we could stop pretending we wanted the same things out of life. I got divorced so we could be happy.  

When they asked in court what the reason for the divorce was, my lawyer stated ‘irreconcilable differences.” It felt like the perfect explanation. How else do you explain you don’t want to lose this person, but there’s really no other option?

This year, New Year’s Eve looked a little different. I lay on the floor of my living room, alone, and asked myself that same question – “What would I do if I wasn’t afraid?”

This time, my answer was to write. But to do it honestly, candidly and full of passion.

Turns out I wasn’t meant for a passionless life.

Grief Isn't Linear

I’ve been told there are five stages to grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I’ve been keeping track of them, constantly asking myself what stage I’m in, praying I’m getting closer to the end of the line. But, what I’m realizing is the “experts” are wrong.

Grief isn’t linear. 

There are hundreds of stages to grief and the path is so intertwined, emotional and exhausting that it’s nearly impossible to roadmap. I’m certainly no expert, but if you ask me, grief looks more like moments than stages.

• It’s feeling your chest tighten and running through a list of things it could be - the caffeine you drank, an allergic reaction, a heart attack, literally anything else, because that would be better than admitting you failed. 

• It’s sitting in your car, screaming at the top of your lungs, hoping all the pain will leave your body through your lips. 

• It’s going on with your daily life as if you don’t feel your ribcage crashing in with every breath.

• It’s writing down lists of what they did to break you so that you don’t forget. Because there are days you can only remember why you love them and desperately want to pick up the phone.

• It’s realizing they weren’t everything you thought they were and neither were you.

• It’s writing them a letter and burning it (maybe more than once, because there’s so much left unsaid).

• It’s donating everything that reminds you it’s over - praying that “out of sight out of mind” is real. 

• It’s getting hurt or sick and sitting in how incredibly alone you are.

• It’s offering to change your entire self, begging them to stay.

• It’s crying until you throw up.

• It’s avoiding mirrors because you don’t want to be seen.

• It’s feeling excited to change your life and to chase the goals you put on hold to help make their goals a reality.

• It’s not recognizing yourself and being completely ashamed of what you’ve let yourself become.

• It’s reaching out and reaching out and reaching out, again. Texting, calling, emailing, completely okay looking pathetic if it means not losing them.

• It’s stalking their social media ten pages deep - trying not to like any posts. Then stalking their friends, family, even second cousins you know they haven’t talked to in years for clues they might miss you too.

• It’s telling yourself things weren’t so bad and maybe you just didn’t try hard enough.

• It’s wishing you hadn’t gotten rid of everything that smelled like them and every nice word they wrote.

• It’s days where the simple act of breathing leaves you exhausted.

• It’s waking up in the middle of the night clawing at the pillow beside you, searching for their body, then sitting up, painfully awake.

• It’s not eating for days then eating everything.

• It’s drinking bottles of wine in your underwear on the couch unsure when the last time you showered was. 

• It’s laughing until you cry for the first time in as long as you can remember and feeling grateful. 

• It’s watching 90 Day Fiancé and wondering how they got someone to fly across the world when you can’t get someone to show up at your doorstep.

• It’s talking about it constantly to anyone who will listen - asking everyone if you did the right thing, or if you blew your life up.

• It’s questioning if you ever meant anything to them or if it was all a lie.

• It’s wondering what happened over and over and over.

• It’s finding out who your real friends are.

• It’s wondering what’s wrong with you - why you weren’t enough, why you’re never enough.

• It’s crying to the Aldi cashier, because they dared to ask how you are doing.

• It’s when your thoughts get dark and the idea of disappearing gives you peace. 

• It’s believing the lies they said about you.

• It’s telling yourself you’re fine, then driving to the grocery store just to sit in the car and cry for half an hour in the parking lot.

• It’s searching for the person you love in all the places you use to go – both hoping and dreading you’ll run into them.

• It’s hearing a car door slam, smiling, excited they are home. Then realizing it’s been months since they walked out

• It’s driving to your old house, because you forgot someone else lives there now.

• It’s mentally knitting a scarf of all the red flags you refused to believe.

• It’s hearing something hilarious you can’t wait to tell them, then remembering you won’t.

• It’s going to a party and crying in the bathroom. 

• It’s kissing someone new for the first time, feeling excited and full of hope.

• It’s doing something you always wanted to that they refused to do with you.

• It’s going through all the stages in one day just to start over the next morning.

Unfortunately, grief isn’t linear and there’s no specified end date. Sometimes, you’ll feel more yourself than you have in years just to be crying an hour later. That’s okay. But make no mistake, this is a season. You have to allow yourself to feel it all if you want to move forward. Feel it, but don’t live in it.

There’s no way to go through grief and not be forever changed. But, at some point in this equation, you have to choose. Will you build a foundation within yourself, learn, grow and come out stronger, better? Or, will you let the flames consume you, burn you alive, leaving only bitter ash of who you intended to be?

It’s not going to be easy. But I’m choosing to grow. I’m choosing to chase my dreams and set my own soul on fire. As for you, my beautiful, strong, capable friend, you are worthy of the life you desire - a life that has you smiling the moment your feet hit the floor.

And remember, even when it feels impossible, you are strong enough to survive this. We both are.

Stop Telling Yourself Lies About Who You Are

I’ve started five different letters to you in the last two weeks, but none of them felt right. They all felt insincere and forced. The truth is, I’m struggling to find anything lighthearted to say so I’m just going to be candid.

I’m in a rainy season. The storm has been hovering over me for months leaving momentarily and returning with hurricane force winds. And although it feels like I’m drowning daily, I know it’s just a season.

This year alone: I’ve been divorced. I had my personal possessions burned in a backyard bonfire by an angry ex. I’ve had all my choices judged and continuously scrutinized by friends and family alike. I’ve gained weight. I had to give my ex-husband two of our pups. I’ve been called every name in the book (and we’re not talking children’s stories here). I gave an old flame another chance and he burned me, burned me and then burned me some more. I’ve lost all self-confidence and decision-making skills. At one time it seemed like I was even losing my self-respect. I’ve cried until I’ve been sick. I’ve battled depression, anxiety and had to remind myself multiple times I do not have COVID, I just drank too much wine.

I’m walking through grief and it’s painful. But I want to feel it all. I don’t want to become numb to what life has to offer, because this storm WILL pass and what’s coming is so much sweeter. 

So, even though I want to sit on the couch – crying, pantless, and drinking wine from the bottle, I won’t (anymore).

Maybe this is just a letter to myself, but somehow, I think you needed to hear this too. It’s okay to not be okay. Sit in it, but don’t live in it. Don’t make yourself a home in your grief.

Today, I finally decorated my house. I’ve been moved in for five months and I had nothing hanging on the walls. Not one thing. Anyone who knows me, knows I usually have the entire house unpacked and decorated within a week. At first, I told myself it was in case the old flame and I worked out. Maybe he would want a say as to how we decorated so he felt at home – why decorate twice, right? 

But recently, I saw a picture of myself from the summer after I graduated high school. She was standing on a table, flexing, full body laughing in an outfit that didn’t match with no makeup on - painfully confident and truly happy. She was feeling herself. And I realized I didn’t recognize her. This girl with big dreams and actual self-esteem was now foreign to me.

Would she be proud of who I am right now? Hell no.

When did I stop asking myself what would make me happy? When did I start being reactive to my life rather than proactive? When did I start telling myself lies? 

Some lies I’ve told myself just this year:

• You’re not enough. Not for anyone.

• Maybe you deserve the way he treats you.

• You can’t be a writer – at least not a decent one.

• You are fat – you’ll never lose the weight. Don’t even try.

• You can’t do it. They’ll notice it doesn’t come easily to you. You’re a fake.

• Maybe he didn’t mean to hit you. You shouldn’t have provoked him.

• They will change. They just need another chance. And another. And another.

• Maybe this is as good as it gets.

And so many more. But that’s all they are – bald-faced lies.

We feed ourselves lies every day until we are so full we have failed ourselves before we’ve even started. Believing these fictions is partly why my year has been so stormy.

Not decorating was a lie I told myself, because hanging things felt like having to know myself. This is my house. These walls reflect me at Chapter 31: A newly single woman living on her own who has absolutely no idea who she is or what she loves. What do you put on walls when you feel bare? 

But here’s the truth, my friend. You and I are absolutely remarkable and capable of anything. 

Try everything. See what sets your soul on fire. Then chase it, unapologetically. 

I’m here, learning right beside you.

A Dangerous Confusion: Standards vs Expectations

When my dad was sixteen, he and my mom broke up. He’d lost her trust and she wasn’t putting up with him anymore. He showed up at her house ready to win her back and was told she had gone to the beach. Realizing he’d likely lost her for good this time, he got in the car, drove straight to the Gulf and spent hours cruising up and down the strip searching for her. Later, he found out she’d never gone to the beach, she just didn’t want to see him. 

I can’t even get a man to text me back within 4 hours much less search for me at a public beach. That’s when I realized, my standards were too low and expectations were too high.

My dad loves to tell me the story of him chasing after my mom to remind me that I’m a catch and any man who loves me will be so afraid to lose me that he’d chase me.  For a long time that’s what I took as the moral – if you put up with someone you love treating you like dirt for long enough, then eventually get fed up and disappear, they will realize how much they love you and chase you to win you back.

THAT’S ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS.

Even to this day, my dad thinks that’s the point of the story and recently revisited it with me when I had my heart broken. For a moment, I thought, that’s true, he should show up at my door saying, “I made a huge mistake and I can’t live without you!” I mean, come on, doesn’t he know what he’s missing? And maybe he could have done that, but that never should have been my expectation.

Now I see, the real moral of the story is to not ever lower your standards so that someone is treating you less than you deserve.

There’s a difference in high standards and high expectations.

Having expectations is like practicing your Spanish for months to visit Barcelona. Then canceling your trip last minute and going to Panama City instead. And the entire time you’re in Florida, you’re only speaking in Spanish and demanding that every restaurant you eat at makes you tapas, because that’s the vacation you wanted. And then freaking out and throwing a fit when they won’t make you tapas, because it’s Panama City. There’s nothing wrong with Panama City. Some people are dreaming of vacationing there, but you wanted Barcelona. If you’re looking for tapas, don’t go to Panama City.

That’s how you should view dating - expectations should be almost non-existent, because they will always, without a doubt disappoint you. When you’re sad after a date it means you had expectations. If you go in with no expectations you can have a great time with anyone. If, while on that date, you realize they don’t meet your standards and say, yell at the waitress because it took her too long to get his beer, then you say nice to meet you, adios.  It’s not anyone’s job to conform to your standards. It’s okay if everyone isn’t a match.

In the past, I allowed outside influences to convince me what my relationship requirements should be. It got to the point where I married someone I knew in my gut wasn’t right for me (that’s a story for another time). The point is, listening to everyone else about what should be important to you and who is and isn’t right for you will only lead you to be unable to trust yourself and you’ll feel the need to consult someone about every person you date. Set your standards and trust your gut.

It’s easy for us to determine what we like in the looks department, but we have a harder time narrowing down the traits that will actually give us a strong, healthy relationship.  I prefer tall men with beards, but it’s not a requirement. Being kind to me is a requirement.  It doesn’t make you shallow to have standards and preferences – it makes you self-aware.

Here are some of my non-negotiables:

• Treats me and others with respect and kindness.

• Follow through – if they tell me they are going to do something they do it unless they are hit by a truck.

• Honest to a fault.

• Actively shows me that I am a priority.

• Makes me laugh.

• Undeniable chemistry.

• Personal and professional drive

• Listens.

• Similar life goals.

It may seem like a long list, but if someone isn’t kind, respectful and honest with me then I don’t even want them as a friend, so I certainly wouldn’t want them as a life partner.

I dated someone long distance that I would ask to pay attention to me, to respond to my texts and to show me in some way that I was a priority. I use to think there was something wrong with me, because he didn’t do these things on his own. My first instinct was to think that I was asking too much or that I wasn’t good enough.

Now, I realize I was just asking for the bare minimum, him to text me back. If I was a priority, he could have sent me flowers. He could have written me a letter. He could Facetime me. There were so many simple ways I could have been shown love and none required begging.

 If someone can’t deliver and meet your standards then that’s on them. Then you aren’t a good match. It doesn’t mean you aren’t good enough or that you are asking too much.

Standards cannot disappoint you. They will empower you.

Fill up your own damn cup then decide who gets to drink.

Vulnerability Is Real Strength

Being vulnerable doesn’t come easily to me. I was raised in a “suck it up” and “no excuses” household. Vulnerability was almost seen as a weakness – it was something people used to control you and keep you in line.

The pressure for perfection has been great for my work ethic, but has weighed heavy on my relationships. I have a really difficult time feeling truly connected to people and I’ve spent years outrunning that discomfort. Now, looking back, there’s only one person I can ever remember being completely open with about my flaws, dreams and innermost desires. I gave them all of me and they used my vulnerabilities to manipulate me rather than protecting my heart. It was everything I grew up seeing and reinforced the idea that vulnerability is bad.

I thought opening up would make me weak so I would shove down my hurt and let people treat me less than I deserved. Then when I drank a few too many glasses of wine it came out in anger. How dare they treat me so badly? How could they take advantage of my heart? Why don’t they act like they love me? Well, the truth is they treated me that way, because I let them.

Do I regret being vulnerable and having my heart broken? Absolutely not. I only regret that I allowed them to continue to prey on my insecurities and hopefulness. I regret that I allowed their lack of respect for me to close myself off from love, friendships and true connections. I should have put boundaries in place from day one. I shouldn’t have given someone so much of me who had no issues seeing me cry. That is on me.

I learned that vulnerability shouldn’t be winning or losing in relationships. It should only intensify your connection and make you both feel grateful. You have a right to show up for yourself and to feel everything you feel without fear that someone will use it to hurt you.

I think I subconsciously built walls no one could ever scale after that. I’m realizing I never let those walls down, not even in my marriage. And to be honest, I’m not entirely sure how to. It’s terrifying to give people a piece of yourself, but it’s the only way to build true connection.

I’ve made a point lately to sit in the uncomfortable, to cry openly, to scream at the top of my lungs to an empty house and to remind myself that not holding it together all the time doesn’t mean I’m not strong. This year alone I’ve been so depressed I couldn’t get out of bed. I’ve been so in love I mourned the moment while I was still in it for fear it would end. I’ve laughed until I peed a little and wept openly to an Aldi cashier. I’ve felt everything - intensely.

I’m slowly opening up to people, reaching out and saying what I need, giving them a chance to show me that they value my vulnerability and realizing the right people won’t take advantage of my heart. It’s making me incredibly uncomfortable some days and immensely grateful others. 

I don’t want it to take 31 years for you to feel all of your feelings and be your truest self. What I want for you, from the day you are born throughout your entire life, is to know that strength is not measured in how well you fight back your emotions, but how authentically you honor and embrace them.

You’re strong enough to fight through rejection. We both are. And believe me, it’s better than you rejecting yourself. You’re not weak for crying, loving or giving people pieces of your heart. You, my dear, are courageous.

HPV, the Silent Killer

I know talking to your mom about sexually transmitted diseases is about as uncool as it gets. The only thing worse is telling your parents you have one. Right now we are going to turn the tables and I will be the irresponsible teenager.  

Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone finds themselves caught in the moment, feeling invincible. Once the infatuation wears off you may change your mind. You may realize a lapse in judgement was not worth the lifelong consequences. I know the older I get, the dumber I feel about the decisions I made. Why did I choose to make the mistakes I did? Was it love, infatuation, pressure to be someone I wasn't or was it young curiosity? I do not know the answer. Maybe it was a combination. I do know it was not worth it. 

I have found sex to be a little like prom, especially when you are young. You get dressed up, ready for an incredible life changing event and it ends rather anticlimactically. That is not to say sex cannot be fun or that I am naive enough to think you will completely abstain. It is incredibly special with the right person. I know all parents say this, but it is true. We learn the hard way. (Are you uncomfortable yet?) Sex is not something you should take as lightly as a hand shake. I say this because I love you. I say this because people are having sex younger and younger. I say this because I am selfish. Please, always use condoms. Make going to the gynecologist a priority. Refrain from being another statistic. 

I have battled HPV for years. It attacks your body in times of stress and is relentless when it comes to your long term health. Every six months I go to the gynecologist for a PAP and every six months the results are the same, You need a Colposcopy. A Colposcopy is what can best be described as taking a cheese grater to your cervix. It is about as pleasant as it sounds. They grate off samples to biopsy and a week later call to say it hasn't progressed and to come back in six months. That always happened until the last visit.

I had been under significant stress in every aspect of my life. Almost every day ended with severe chest pain and anxiety. The results came back, high grade lesions. It was concerning, but I assumed they would have me come back in six months to recheck. Not this time. This time it had progressed and was attacking my body full force. They found precancerous cells and it was determined I needed a LEEP procedure.  What is a LEEP Procedure? I know you probably were not going to ask, so I will tell you. It is an electrostatic current that removes the entire surface layer of your cervix while you are under anesthesia. My doctor described it as a kitten licking off the top layer of your skin. The smallest amount possible - relatively painless and wildly successful in resolving HPV. Nothing about the procedure was similar to a kitten. 

Not only was it incredibly uncomfortable, but it was also embarrassing. You cannot swim, wear tampons, or have sex for at least four weeks. Best of all you get to wear pads the entire time. You will continuously bleed, have discharge and be disgusted by the scabs that fall out of your vagina. You feel unsanitary and unattractive because you might as well be wearing a diaper. After all is said and done, you should be HPV free. I was not. Instead, it was found on my vaginal wall. This is incredibly rare. So rare no one really knew what to do. After meeting with numerous doctors, an oncologist and losing sleep to the concern of developing cancer, they decided it best for me to come back in six months. Unlike every other time they suggested this to be the best course of action, I was not relieved. I am not relieved. You see, the story is not over. HPV can cause you to lose so much. It can cause you to lose your life.

Would using a condom not have been simpler? 

You Are More Than One Noun

Hi Love. I know it has been a while since I last wrote. It is not that you have been absent of mind, but rather I have been conquering emotional hurdles of my own. One thing that's been on my heart lately is your dreams.

Growing up, I wanted to be a doctor. I attended medical internships, was premed starting college and assumed that is where my path would lead. It did not. That is for many reasons. Reasons called life.  I got distracted in college, too focused on having a good time, let my grades slip and lost sight of my dreams. I then realized there were things I enjoyed in addition to the medical field, such as writing, networking and the service industry. One thing was consistent; I got lost emotionally. I thought there were so many things I should be. I had trouble committing to the thought of being defined to one term forever - doctor, lawyer, chef, sales person, writer. I now realize you are so much more than one noun. 

I do not know that I ever made the decision not to become a doctor. Sometimes I still feel an emptiness in my heart, aching for something more. I tell myself it is too late now. I know I do not want additional debt or more time in school, but I also do not want a life of feeling unfulfilled. It can't be too late for me. I tell you this, because it is never too late for you to consider your own needs. You will be many nouns. 

Another hurdle I confronted after graduation and still face to some extent was feeling as if I let people down. To this day my parents will mention that I could have been a doctor, or my Dad will say I should push to be the CEO of a company. I can take this two ways and have in the past. When I was younger, I took it to mean - "Mikie, you let us down. We expected you to be something special. You are not living up to our dreams." The older I get I try to see it as flattering. I try to hear them saying, "Mikie we have a world of faith in you. If you wanted to be a Doctor, CEO or Astronaut you could be." I now realize the only person you let down when you don't chase your dreams is you. 

But here is what I want you to know, You can be anything. I know in my heart you are capable of greatness, but the greatness you choose to pursue is up to you. I may not always agree with the directions you choose in life, but I will always support you. I will always be proud of you and I will always help you chase your dreams. Try not to lose sight of your own dreams. Try not to infer from others who you should be. Even now, as I sit here in this quiet coffee shop south of Gainesville, I am learning myself. I think we always will be. 

How to Write a Maid of Honor Speech

Hi Love. I know I have not been around particularly often, but we recently left Nashville, TN for our new home in Gainesville, FL. Getting settled has been quite a process and I am missing my best friend terribly. For that reason, today's letter will be about writing an appropriate Maid of Honor Speech. 

There is a good chance you will one day have to write a Maid of Honor speech. If you are anything like me, you will Google "How to Write the Best Maid of Honor Speech, Ever!" Nothing will come up, besides a bunch of ridiculous videos and some mediocre toasts. 

1. Start by introducing yourself, remember, not everyone knows who you are. 

2. How did you come to hear about the couple? Were you involved in the meeting, did your friend call you immediately after the first date? 

3. My biggest piece of advice - do not forget the groom. Yes, this speech is suppose to be centered on your friend, the bride, however, this day is also about her best friend, the groom.

4. Tell a story that is appropriate about the bride and groom individually or together. Make sure it is amusing, but does not involve alcohol. If you would not tell your grandma, do not say it out loud here. 

5. In closing, offer up a "piece of advice" and most importantly, do not forget to actually toast. I cannot tell you how many weddings I have attended where they end the speech saying, love ya'll. That is sweet, but not the point. 

Below you will find my first Maid of Honor Speech for my best friend, the now Mrs. Alana Johns. 

"Hi Everyone – for those of you who don’t know me, my name is Mikie and I am Alana’s Maid of Honor. Thank you to everyone who made today possible. Alana and Josh, you truly are the best looking couple here, aside from Nick and I, of course. Writing this toast was so much harder than I anticipated. It can be hard to tell some people how much you love them in words so I spent this week trying to articulate a way to say, I already consider you both to be family.

I remember almost two years ago to the day, Josh invited Alana to a music festival with he and his friends. They had only been dating a few weeks, so of course she informed me I would also be attending the festival. I mean he could be a serial killer, look at him. A $300 music festival ticket to sleep in the dirt, so I can judge the new boyfriend? You betcha. We packed everything into my car and headed to Murfreesboro to meet the new man. That weekend I observed quite a bit, his friends are pretty weird, Oh, Hey Guys. He’s a complete fashionista – just ask about his Waldo shirt, and Josh is the only person I know that goes to a music festival to tailgate in the parking lot.

My first impression, who is the lanky, freckled guy with jean shorts? Josh. He has a very distinguishable laugh and even more recognizable hair. He definitely made it easy to find our campsite from afar. By the end of the weekend, he had won me over. He lets Alana be herself. He encourages her to experience life with and without him, he helps her chase her dreams and he knows she will break her phone every time they take a vacation. More importantly, Josh looks at Alana the way every girl dreams of being looked at by their husband, with unwavering love. I have watched the two of you grow together in love and in God. I have been there for the fights, tears, laughs, and awkward moments. I have zero doubts you found your other half.

Josh is the brother I never wanted. We give each other a hard time at every turn. I make fun of his freckles, volleyball skills, and neon tank tops, but I cannot tell you how happy I am you found him. I love him as if he were family. I will never forget Josh coming over to help me move on a Saturday when Alana had to work. He and I moved my entire apartment on our own then sat on my floor eating pizza and discussing his plans to propose. He is my friend separate of Alana and I am eternally grateful for that. I am happy to say that in a world of online dating, you found a keeper. Thank goodness you sent that first message, Josh.

Alana and I have known each other for eight years and liked one another for five of those. See, one thing Alana and I have in common is we do not play well with others. Originally, we met through a mutual friend and did not want to share. It wasn’t until I moved to Nashville years later that our lives collided again and finally we realized we couldn’t live without being best friends. Alana has become another sister to me, she has been there through the toughest times in my life, has shared in successes and cried with me in failure, she pushed me to date my now boyfriend and open myself up after a heartbreak. She wants what is best for me and keeps me in line – I’m sure Josh knows what I mean. I have no idea what I did before you.

There have been numerous times I thought to myself, how did I make it 22 years without you by my side? I wish I had the pleasure of knowing you my entire life, because everyone needs a friend like you. We are a dynamic duo. I will always have your back and you will always encourage me to follow my heart. Soulmates really are your girlfriends.

Josh, in my eight years of friendship with Alana, I have learned many things, so I am going to share one for every year I’ve known her with you today.

1.       She will never wake up and not want to go back to sleep. Embrace the fact that she’s a napper. In fact, invest in a really nice down comforter.

2.       She gets angry when she hasn’t eaten, but don’t ask her if she’s being mean because she’s hungry or you’re in trouble.

3.       Any woman other than your mom texts you, it’s best to say so, you know what, just go ahead and tell her about your mom too

4.       She’s going to complain – about work, about you, about the random woman that pissed her off at the grocery store. Do not offer advice unless you are asked. She doesn’t want to hear how to fix it, she wants you to listen, quietly.

5.       She is going to cry during puppy commercials, commercials of sick children and sometimes a particularly sad home depot one. Just keep tissues in the side table.

6.       She loves taco bell. Accept it now and it won’t disgust you so much later.

7.       She’s going to give you Too Much Information about everything, send you weird photos and ask what things are that have happened to her body. Just forward those to me. You’re welcome.

8.       And finally - She loves fiercely, so you are now trapped. You may get lucky enough to leave house arrest for good behavior.

Josh, today I am giving you the best friend I have ever had. Be patient with me, because I will likely continue to steal her from you. She will be loyal to you until her last day, she will love you fearlessly and without regret, she will be your biggest cheerleader and she will lift you up when you think you can’t make it through. She will be everything and more than she has been for me and I can’t lie, I am a little jealous. I am so thankful for you, Alana. You are my other half and I don’t know what I would do without you. No matter what happens, how old we get or how many miles divide us, I promise I will always ridicule Josh’s fashion sense with you.

As you sit side by side through this roller coaster of life, remember to scream from the peaks, hold hands through the dips, laugh through the loop the loops and enjoy every twist and turn for the ride is better because you share it together. Separately, you are two special, remarkable people, but together, you are complete. May you both continue to grow in love, not forgetting the importance of understanding, forgiveness and tolerance. Remember that today you loved one another to get married in the pouring rain and may it be the first of many beautiful days.

Now if you will raise your glass to Alana and Josh, Never go to bed angry, always kiss Goodnight and learn how to say, Alana you’re right."

Maybe you won't this is the best Maid of Honor speech you'v ever seen, but it gives you something solid to work from. All you can do is follow your heart, don't drink too much before your speech and speak with love; you will do great. No matter how many miles separate you from your best friend, never lose touch and always remind them how much you love them. I hope you find a best friend as wonderful as mine. 

xoxo - 

Love Isn't Always Glamorous

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My wish for you is that you fall into a quiet kind of love - one that doesn't boast or cling to artificial boundaries. It took me a long time to learn that this is the truest form. For the longest time, I wanted a crazy love story, one that would start a fire in my belly and radiate to those around me. I wanted the passionate fights, crazy make up sex and to somehow end up happily ever after. Romantic Comedies will truly skew your idea of love.

For five years, I had the relationship I thought I wanted - passionate, emotional and unpredictable. We were couple of the year when we were happy and America's Most Wanted otherwise. It wasn't realistic and it was completely exhausting. Looking back, was I in love?  It's hard to say. I resemble it closest to an addiction. The thing is, love shouldn't make you physically tired. It shouldn't exhaust you and make you yearn for the times you get to spend alone. You should not feel as if you will die without the other person or that your self worth is a direct reflection of how they view you. You are already a whole woman. All a significant other should do is make you the best version of yourself - not because they point out your flaws, but because they celebrate your value. 

What I wish for you is what I found when I finally learned what love is meant to be - what I saw when I pulled myself away from all the movie romances and trashy novels. Love is when he scrapes the ice off your windshield so you don't get your hands cold in the morning, it's when he gets up when the dog has to go outside and lets you sleep in, it's when he gives you the last piece of bacon. He knows your truest self and loves you anyway. He is completely aware that you get hangry and cannot be held accountable for what you say in a fit of hungry rage. He knows you are always cold and will be needing a sweatshirt in the middle of May (even though you say you don't). He knows dark chocolate is the way to your heart and you laugh at your own jokes.

When he is an awful cook, but he makes you canned soup when you're sick and watches Grey's Anatomy with you every Thursday then you may have found the one. Does it sound glamorous? Absolutely not. Will you occasionally wonder if it's too stable and if you want a glimpse back to the Romantic Comedy lifestyle? Probably. But, when you think of having a son just like him, are you proud? Would you want your son to treat women the way he treats you? For the first time, I can say yes. We have a silent love that makes my soul happy and its more than a Romantic Comedy could ever offer, because its real. I wish you the same. 

Your Body is More Than Beautiful

I want to tell you something, something about myself that embarrasses me immensely. Growing up, my mother had an abusive relationship with food. She allowed it to dictate who she was and how she felt about herself. I watched as she hid foods laden with sugar in the hall closet, stopped at Sonic on the way home to get ice cream or sneaked something out of the house she really wanted. This was all part of a bigger issue we will address later, but the moral is she dealt with emotions through food. Don't get me wrong, my mother is beautiful inside and out. She is an incredible woman, but to binge is a trait I learned. It is one she learned and it is one I will not pass on.  We will not fill your tears with cookies or celebrate your accomplishments with pizza. We will fuel your body and make you strong, emotionally and physically, 

It's true, your body is beautiful -no matter its shape or size. But it is so much more. It is strong, it is inspiring, it is a fortress. You will hear the value of your body in terms of beauty as you grow up. You will see it reflected in magazines, on social media, in movies and in whispers every day. You will see girls that are thinner than you, have bigger boobs, and who are so airbrushed on a magazine cover you actually think that is their real butt (it's not). You will see and hear all of these things, but never from me. From me you will learn the value of your body.  You will only hear how your body is capable and strong. Run that extra mile, dance until you can't breathe, backpack trails, give birth, make love, and live. Truly live.

It is one of my biggest regrets that I spent so many years judging other women, thinking  - if only I was her size, I would be happy. If my butt looked like hers I would rock those shorts; Girls like that don't eat cookies like I do; Her hair is perfect; Her teeth are so white - the list goes on and on. I have turned down invitations to places I had to wear a bathing suit, binged on thousands of calories as some sort of validation that my body is gross, and not allowed myself to thrive and grow as a person because I was busy being a shell. I have surveyed a room as I walked in and labeled myself the fat girl, I have called myself a whale before anyone else had a chance (not that they even were), and I have been shopping with friends and said, "You look beautiful, but that would look disgusting on me." I will not let you do that. I will not let you abuse yourself mentally for an idea of beauty. Here is a sad truth, I still do it, but I can promise you that by the time you know me, I will love my own body- every curve and stretch mark. I will own my flaws and celebrate them, so much so, that you will be shocked while reading this. 

I am learning to love myself, because I want more for you. I don't want you to have a battle in your head every time you try on a bathing suit or want ice cream. I want you to know moderation. I want you to stand proud in confidence no matter your body type. I want you to know you are beautiful. I am aware you will learn traits from me and this is one I will not pass on. The truth is that all girls eat cookies, all have insecurities, and all are fighting their own silent battle. So look at your body - the incredible fortress that it is, celebrate the scar from when you had chicken pox, the birth mark that is a little too visible, the stretch marks from bringing life into this world. You only get so many days on earth so you might as well celebrate your body and thank it for all it does. 

I will not let you be my insecurities. You are more. 

Your Girlfriends Are Your Soulmates

As you grow up, you will most likely find friends rotating, in and out, some never to cross your path again. Life is funny like that and horribly bittersweet. My best friend when I was young outgrew me - I wasn't "cool" enough. My best friend in high school and I lost touch - such is life. My best friend from college and I became completely different people. Everyone changes. But here is the secret my love, it was my fault.

The older I get, the more I realize that I did not do my best to glue those relationships together. I let bitterness, jealousy, boyfriends, parties, and the least important details of life get in my way from my true soulmates, my girlfriends. I chose to see where they hurt me instead of where I loved them. I missed all of their perfect imperfections. I regret that now and looking back things are so much clearer. I was quick to anger, and abused other people with my words. I was terribly insecure. That is not an excuse, but just the sad truth. Instead of focusing on loving myself, I was jealous of those that had qualities I deemed desirable. I have always wanted to be something else, someone else. I have severe grass is greener syndrome. (I really hope you know what that means. Also, # is a pound sign, not a hashtag. I will explain later.) I am working on myself every day, because I want you to see a strong, independent, creative, brave and loving woman. I want you to know it is okay to be who you are and to not have to apologize for that, but I also want you to lift other women up and never lose a friendship over self pity. 

Your girlfriends will be there - When a boy that was your world breaks your heart, when you lose a family member or a childhood pet passes away, when you and I inevitably have a disagreement and on days you're sad that your pants are just a little too tight. They will be there when you are feeling lonely, when you need to tell someone your darkest secrets in the middle of the night for fear you'll burst, and when you feel so low you don't know how you will ever get back up, they will help you remember. So here is my advice to you, never let a boy come between friends, never let another girls accomplishment make you feel unsuccessful, and always be radiantly you. 

You will need your soulmates, because life will get hard. I hope you always have the ones it took me years to find. I hope you are smarter than I was - never let jealousy get in your heart. Lift your girlfriends up; help them set the world on fire and I guarantee they will return the favor. 

*A formal apology to all the soulmates I destroyed while trying to be "cool."*

Do Small Things With Great Love

I am writing these letters to you, my daughter. I want you to know that I have struggled, just as you will. I have made the wrong choices, broke hearts that never deserved it, and broke my own a few times as well. 

Although I am not currently with child, nor do I have any intention to be in the near future, I think of you often. You fill my heart with so much joy and hope, Because of you, I do not fear as much for the future. Because of you, I work harder, I eat healthier, and I treat others as I would want them to treat you. Occasionally, I fail. In fact, I have a record of letting myself down, but never you. I will do my best to never let you down, I will be there even when you wish I weren't, because I am your mother. 

One day you will read this blog and feel embarrassment at the honesty in these pages, but part of you will also feel relief in knowing you were always in my heart. Even now, I am trying to save you from my mistakes. I know you too will walk your own path and learn lessons the hard way, but if I can save you from even one of them, my job will be complete. 

These are my letters to you.