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“I am out with lanterns looking for myself.” —Emily Dickinson, personal correspondence
That’s not to say I won’t ever date again or have a relationship, but when I do, it will be in addition to the love I have for myself, not replacing it.”
“I have a lot of love to give. I know I do because I’ve given it to everyone else in abundance my whole life. In this phase, I’m asking myself this question.”
No one is on the way to rescue you. No one is on the way to save you and your girls. At the end of the day, it’s up to you.
My desire for a meaningful, passionate connection with someone doesn’t go away while I’m “dating myself.”
“Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.” —bell hooks, All About Love: New Visions
When conversing with the heart, expect it to talk back, to revisit the pains and disappointments that left the deepest dents and scratches.
The fundamental question becomes not Can I trust another man again?, but Can I trust myself? He was a bad man, yes, but was I a bad judge of character? And would I be again? What will I accept in my next relationship? Will there be another? What are my boundaries? My desires? My limits?
There’s something bold about eating alone, enjoying your own company and not waiting for nobody.
“But I want myself more than I want to fuck you.”
“I want what I’m learning about myself, what I’m fixing about myself, how I’m standing on my own,” I say in a rush. “I want that more than anything. Even you.”
“I want to know that if I am alone, it doesn’t mean I have to be lonely. That I can be content. I’m taking time to know and understand myself better. To converse with my heart. To listen to it.”
“I’ve come to realize that a woman who wants more and realizes she deserves it is a dangerous thing.”
She loves an undeserving man. It’s a sorrow most women experience at some point in their lives, whether it’s a father who neglects or a son who forgets or a husband who betrays. These men let us down and we pull ourselves back up, hopefully with the help of other women who love us in ways that heal.
There are so many ways to break a woman’s heart. Her children. Her lover. Her body when it betrays her. Life is clever that way, devising plans for our demise from the moment we’re born. Death by a million heartbreaks, a thousand regrets, a hundred goodbyes.
It’s the only way I have enough love for everyone who needs it—to love myself. No one can love me like I do. No one knows me like I know
