How to Break-Up Like a Cult-Classic Superstar, Part 2
Some of the rules established by me and my girlfriends during my five and a half years of being single, which I broke that may or may not have influenced the seemingly premature end to the romantic portion of my relationship with B_ (that I’m sure was right on time):
- I lost my damn self again! How the fuck did this happen? I knew all the things I had to do to hold onto myself, and I let them go, one by one. I brought them up with B_, but he’d say, “We’re on a different timeline than everyone else,” and I’d agree, thinking he’d never take me for granted, all the while becoming a faded version of the woman he fell for in the first place. I can’t blame him for becoming unattracted.
- I gave too much of my damn overly accommodating self. I’m nowhere near as good at loving myself as I am at loving others, though I am trying to learn. It’s not a new lesson. I identified the issue during my first breakup over twenty years ago. But it’s a toughie for many women—we are nurturers. When I love, I love enormous.
- I stopped working out. Fitness is such a nuanced topic, and I could go in plenty of different directions when discussing how my size and shape effects my relationships, but at the end of the day, my weight is the least of it. My mental and emotional well-being are the most urgent reason I need to work out nearly every day for ever and ever, amen, whether I’m single or in a relationship. That said, I did make the blunder once, of saying, “It’s kind of weird how the media always makes such a big deal about Lena Dunham’s weight because, first of all, she’s of average weight and a slightly less average body-type. But it’s also weird, on a personal level, because I have a similar body-type to hers, so when there’s commentary on her body, it reinforces my negative thoughts about my body.” Here’s a tip, ladies: never compare your body to Lena Dunham’s to your lover—especially not if you want to watch Girls on his big screen TV after you break up because you don’t have HBO.
- I plucked in front of him. One day, while sitting in his recliner to catch the sunlight with my mirror at a prime plucking angle, B_ walked in the room and said, “I never want to see that again.” I said, “What’s the problem, so I pluck my eyebrows, it’s not a big deal.” He responded, “I’m fine with seeing you pluck your eyebrows. What I’m not fine with is walking around the corner to find you yanking a piano wire out of your chin.” Woops. The thing is, I had actually discussed not plucking in front of significant others with my sister prior to the incident! I had simply gotten mesmerized by the glow of my mirror.
- I stopped lookin’ so cute. Doin’ myself up is something I faze in and out of, and I always want to feel comfortable without make-up and done-up hair, but how I look is part of my personal expression, and it’s a reflection of how I’m doing and how I feel about myself.
- I stopped singing and dancing around my apartment. I can gauge how well I’m doing emotionally by how much I sing and dance around my apartment. Historically, both actions come to a halt when I get into a relationship—especially if we live together. Now, B_ and I knew we never wanted to live together, but once I got together with B_, my apartment became, more or less, my closet and dressing room. It was messy and consumed by a lack of Brooklyn, and I preferred watching TV at his place, even when he wasn’t there, to facing my dogless disaster of an apartment. He lives not even a few blocks walking distance from me, and you can actually see my apartment building from his windows—perfect zip wire or underground tunnel distance. When we initially discussed the potential effect of living so nearby, B_ said, “What could possibly go wrong?”
More revelations in part 3, dear reader…