Manipulating someone I care about is as ridiculous as cheating at Wordle. Controlling the outcome ruins the whole thing. The whole point is that this is someone I can trust.
“You know, it’s funny,” I say to my friend. “Other people have been encouraging me to get out and do more, all fun things, but I haven’t wanted to. And they said this meant I was depressed, but I have to say… now that I have a few things off my plate, I feel so much relief. So much relief.”
Being left out and simply being different can feel so similar. Your emotions can be sloppy about recognizing the difference between others excluding you and isolating yourself.
There was a meme that got really popular a while back that advised people who were dating folks who had been abused in the past. They’ll be grateful for little things, the meme said. And they’ll try to thank you for that. You need to discourage that behavior, the meme advised.
Just because it’s taking me a while to get over this stuff, it doesn’t mean it’ll never happen. Time got really darn weird. And there’s no deadline on healing.
It has to be truly painful only to appreciate value in hindsight. To only want the things you’ve already lost.
One of the best things I ever did was create a folder full of stuff that’s aimed to make me happy on the dark days.
The fantasy of being a hinge — i.e., a person in two or more relationships with partners who are not involved with one another — is quite different than the reality.
People often assume that because I write every day in public for an audience that speaking my mind is really natural to me. That it’s something I’ve always done easily. And that I was supported for it when I was younger. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I’m burned out beyond compare. And I’ve reached a point where I have to retool my priorities. To take a second and think. About what matters to me, what doesn’t. What is necessary and what just feels like it’s necessary.
Prioritizing people who don’t care about you can doom your relationships.
I’m bad at telling the people in my life that I’m sad when I am. It’s something I’ve been working on. It’s hard for me.
I don’t want to be an actual person today. I’d rather be an abstract concept.
I have a confession I’d like to make: I’ve dated a lot of people who were just barely attracted to me. Most of them actually.
I love you. I’m pretty sure I always will. And I’m going to be here to support you. But I need to keep a bit of distance so I don’t get wrapped up in your chaos with them.
In today’s Advice Friend column, a reader asks, “Is selecting partners to be monogamous the same process as choosing them when you know you’re going to be polyamorous? If it’s different, how so?”
I can set firm boundaries when I need to, but if I’m expected to scream to get my point across, then that’s a relationship I want nothing to do with.
Maybe it sounds kind of cutthroat, but you can waste your whole life trying to impress people who don’t want to stick around. And I’m done with it.
I see it a lot in my line of work: Someone has a string of disappointing dating experiences and searches for a commonality to all of them. And once they do, they make a rule about it.
I thought I’d settle down young. Stick to my little country life. My boring job. Grow old in one place. I was happy to settle down after a rough adolescence. I was looking forward to nothing happening for a while. Because I’m easily amused. I can make my own fun.
“The trouble is that I’m always the lowest priority. Consistently. In every situation.”
Some people tear down the people around them so that they can look impressive in comparison. They’re willing to clear-cut the forest if it means they can be the tallest tree.
There’s something gratifying about taking the unwanted and making it into something wonderful. It makes me think there’s hope for me too.
Maybe on down days, I should start using that as a reframe: “Senpai, stop and notice yourself!”
“I hate how much time I wasted,” she says. “I spent all those years not knowing any better.”
I’ve learned that it’s much worse to be committed to someone who isn’t good for you than it is to be alone.
I learned early on to hide my notebooks. My mom would find them anyway and destroy them. One time, she even pitched one into the fireplace. I got called “devil spawn” if I wrote with profanity or anything that was considered out there in my strict religious home (spoiler: a lot was considered “out there” in my strict religious home).
I’ve learned that I count. I’m a person too. I should be on that list.
I’m so proud of myself today. Because I’m doing a good job living without you. Even though at first I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t see a way that I could make it without you.
They don’t realize I have these stunning moments where life is actually okay for two minutes, and I find myself crying because I’m so grateful that I have food to eat and a place to sleep.
It’s hard to find the right balance when you need to tell someone there’s an issue, but you don’t need help. But this time at least I managed.
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