Shapely thighs, strategically placed curves, definitively sexy lips; I love being me. All of the experiences, education, creativity, emotions, and relationships I have cultivated and collected over the years have shaped me in to a person I absolutely adore. I love me, I’m in love with me; but, I wouldn’t date me.
As much as I value time, I don’t seem to be able to make any for anyone else. I am a difficult person to get to know. It’s not just balancing three children, teaching at multiple colleges and writing that occupies my time. But it’s my selfish pursuit of ‘me’ time: time where I learn to be myself and what it is that makes me happy.
The more I consider dating again the more I struggle to answer the question: “what do you like to do in your free time?”
I don’t know when I lost the ability to think of myself as a separate entity with my own interests.
“Relax” the doctor advised.
I was relaxed. I was sitting in the office after racing, already late, to my appointment. I slid in to the parking lot, signed in at the desk, and waited—and waited.
“Lie down, close your eyes, and relax.”
I closed my eyes and thought about nothing. I tried to think of what people thought about when they thought about nothing. I counted clouds, then I counted words; words have a way of stringing themselves together and soon counting words or numbers slipped in to counting how long I was sitting in silence.
“How long do I have to relax?”
“Shhh…” she advised, the clicking of her laptop punctuating the silence.
My eyes closed, the room darkened, sounds muted, it paled in comparison to the feeling of spinning slowly then faster spiraling almost out of control.
She checked my blood pressure again. “Ok, don’t try to relax anymore” she laughed.
At some point I lost the ability to relax. Added to worrying about saving to meet upcoming Visa requirements and moving my children to the UK, I now have to worry about worrying.
I miss me.
I miss knowing myself so well that I don’t have to go to the doctor to find out I’m stressed or that I need to walk or be more active or ultimately, that I need to reacquaint myself with myself.
I’ve started in doses: arranging my kid-free music library. The next step is a restaurant of my own, a favorite meal, a favorite place.
I am falling in love with myself all over again. But I won’t date me, not until I know me better.