Dating While Anxious: Lessons Learned

I’ve been through an entire relationship since the last time I wrote a blog post. Not sure what it says about my blogging or dating.

This space between serious relationships seems like a good time to reflect. Reflection is the carrier oil that works to mellow the intense feelings that sometimes come with the dating territory. Contemplation, however, is not the same as rumination. See, I’ve learned things!

I wonder will you recognize this person I’ve become
though it’s not about thick skin and scars and the damage that’s been done
and I know now about trust and shame and the luck that I have got
I will walk barefoot across those bridges whether they are burning or are not – Beth Amsel

I’m in a local-ish mom group, where I started a thread sharing my observations of online dating. Ten months later, it has turned into more than 1100 comments on my journey from my first profile until today. What started as funny observations of cliche male online dating profiles, has woven a thread through the highs and lows that followed. It traces a path that grows with each experience.

I have learned something from every single dating interaction. The good ones, the mediocre ones, and even the hilariously awful ones. The one-time dates, the two-month relationships. I’ve learned about me, I’ve learned about what I want and what I deserve. I’ve learned about other people, too. Interesting people who all have 37+ years of their own baggage.

I’ll be fine.

(note: I am bending my rule about not writing about specific dates or details or men — but I am very certain that these two examples won’t mind)

Each time something doesn’t work out, be it a promising first date or a longer relationship, it is exposure therapy for resilience. When my first post-marriage boyfriend broke up with me, I sat in my favorite bar and rehashed the details to my friend, Alicia. As we were walking back to our cars, she said, “But, you seem… good. I was expecting hot-mess-Rhiannon, which is fine, I can handle a hot mess. But you really seem like you’re doing ok.”

I stood by my car and thought for a moment. Was I fine? I mean, I didn’t feel fine. I felt heartbroken. Then I realized — it’s not that I was fine, it’s that I knew I would be. So, I answered, “In the grand scheme of my life, I know this won’t sink me. It hurts now, but I’ve survived many deeper lows in the past five years.” And you know what? I am. Five months later, he’s one of my best friends, few people make me laugh the way he does, and it turns out he was absolutely right to break it off when he did (Don’t you ever tell him I said that, though).

I’m very happy now
I don’t know what has made it so
I’m very happy now
And while I am, I think I’ll go
I wish the best for you
I wish the same for who you choose
I know you’re not for me
Was easier for you to see
That’s right!
I’m very happy now
I’m finally free of trying to try
To make our love work out
For making truth out of a lie
I know you’re not for me
Was easier for you to see
Was blinded by the hope
I thought I saw you saw in me – Grand Slambovians

Blind faith.

I have no control over other people’s narratives — I don’t get to be a 3rd party omniscient narrator to my love life. I can only control my part, and even that has limits. Steering a relationship with anything less than authenticity is just guiding it straight into an iceberg. That leaves me having to leap without looking, knowing there are no guarantees – at any point. As my therapist recently pointed out — you can marry someone and have it not work out. For someone with OCD/anxiety, this uncertainty feels like actual physical pain. I can’t fix this, but I can be aware of it as the base of some of my anxious feelings. It feels big and scary and uber-vulnerable and you have to be brave and do it anyhow.

I wrap my fear around me like a blanket
I sailed my ship of safety ’til I sank it – Indigo Girls

I am not responsible for other people’s feelings.

I am reminded of this frequently by friends and therapist alike, but I only partially agree.

While I am not directly responsible for other people’s feelings, I am responsible for handling them with care. There is an area between codependency and assholishness disregard where I try to live. I guess it’s the state of empathy and forethought.

I don’t need to feel guilt for politely saying this isn’t going to work for me. The important provision is that I am the most empathetic version of myself. I can care about someone’s feelings without either internalizing them as shame or being uncaring.

It’s not always about me.

As soon as I realize a relationship – romantic or platonic – or date is not working the way I hoped, I immediately begin to go through a litany of ways it is my fault. I catalogue my shortcomings into the Dewey Decimal system of my brain, cross referencing past experiences and failures.

I talk about myself too much

I’m too insecure

I said that thing I said

I’m not attractive enough

I overshared

I’m too weird

I am too needy

I am too clingy

I am, simply, too much

It is always difficult for me to let in the possibility that the other person may have their own neuroses, their own issues, and their own biases. But I heartell it’s true.  They have their own origin story that informs their actions and thoughts.

Supposedly, it may not be solely my fault.

Listen to my gut.

This has been true every. single. time. The hard part is differentiating gut feelings from anxiety. It doesn’t mean I should always act on my gut feelings – I may be just a pessimist with clear insight into potential pitfalls. But I should always pay attention. Even if it does mean I eventually berate myself with “see, I told me so.”

Shrinking boxes.

I have had to open up to the fact that just because I want something that I am not getting from someone does not mean that I am undeserving or unworthy. It’s up to me to draw my own lines in the sand, to decide what is tenable and where the deal breakers lie — because obviously, no relationship is perfect. But, at no point should I ever, ever fucking think, “well, I don’t deserve this thing I want.” I guess there was this underlying “be grateful for what you get” negative self-worth thing going on.

It’s ok to want to be with someone who demonstrates that they want to be with me. When I’m feeling needy, it’s rarely because I’m a needy person, it’s because my legitamate needs aren’t being met.

I should not fit myself in increasingly small boxes of my life to make something work that just doesn’t work. Because that’s only another negative view of what I deserve. It’s saying, “I’m asking for too much.” It’s saying, “nobody will like me for who I am, so I should fit myself into the limited offerings currently on the table.”

I need to pay attention to what insecurities are bubbling over because they give me valuable insight. What is missing? Can I get more fulfillment by having an open conversation about what I need? If I feel ashamed of that… why?

I don’t know how this feeling becomes so ingrained. I know I am not alone in these feelings. I suspect it’s some patriarchal bullshit. Like preschool teachers tell kids at lunch, “you get what you get, and you don’t fuss a bit.”

It’s learning to be comfortable with myself. To understand that this is who I am, and I can work with it or fight it, but only one way leads to forward movement. My therapist would start talking about acceptance right about now. I would, of course, roll my eyes and say something funny. But, fuck it, it’s true.

It’s ok to just have fun.

As long as everyone is on the same page, not every relationship has to have the makings of “the one.” It’s ok to enjoy dating for the sake of dating, even when you both know this isn’t forever. One of my favorite relationships is very casual. We literally just… date when it works for us. We’re happy to be “just” friends when I’m in a relationship, and he is happy for me, but he is also delighted to be there when I’m not. To hug me close when my heart hurts, to rub my back and tell me I deserve better, and to then make out with me in a bar like no one is watching.

The infinite forms of relationships are something that have really taken me by surprise. I have had to give myself active and explicit permission to have fun. Women get the opposite message drummed into them from birth. Guys get to have fun, women get to have shame. Turns out, we are all adults here, and all that matters is enthusiastic consent from all parties involved.

Sometimes it is about me.

None of this means I get to exonerate myself or let myself off the hook rather than grow and learn from my mistakes and missteps. It’s just that I have to pick my battles of what needs attention and what is shrinking boxes.

I make a lot of declarations about myself, good and bad, and they are frequently contradictory. My friends are used to this and just roll their eyes, but people who don’t know me might take me at face value and believe I am someone I’m not. Or that I am just plain confusing.

Sometimes I am just plain confusing.

I ramble and talk about myself way too much when I’m nervous.

I completely freeze up and don’t talk at all when I’m nervous.

I’m always nervous.

Sometimes I’m shockingly insecure.

I have really terrible eye contact.

I deflect with sarcasm that sometimes comes off as dismissive.

I can be really intense with affection.

I can seem really aloof.

My processing speed isn’t always the greatest. I try to be a good listener, but the “active” part falls short — It’s not until I get home that I realize all the questions I wish I’d asked in response to their stories. I can come across as way more self-absorbed than I intend to be. At least some portion of any relationship is going to have to take place online because that’s the only place I can really dig in and process. It’s the reason this blog exists.

Acknowledgement doesn’t excuse and acceptance isn’t the same as stagnation. Gotta work on these things, grow and be an ever better version of the anxious, insecure person I will always be.

We grew and still we grow – The Nields