Everyone Is A Little Bit Broken

When I got back into the dating world, I had really high expectations. I wanted someone I was attracted to, who I could talk to, someone who’d make me laugh and listen to me and ground me. I wanted someone successful, stable, and financially secure. I wanted someone who wanted to spend time with me, was passionate about me, liked deep kisses and snuggling on the couch, who’d travel with me or stay home with me. I wanted a love that was warm and expansive and honest and true and safe.

Now, after dating for a while, I’ve adjusted my expectations.

I just want…

a human.

 ***

I’m kidding, of course, but there is some truth to that. Dating is fucking hard. There are days when it feels impossible. And I’m still struggling because I’d thought I’d found the one meant for me, only to find out he didn’t want me back. 

What crazy, fucked up magic needs to happen so that you can meet someone who you’re attracted to, like, feel at home with, want to plan a future with, and can laugh and share and cry with? And if you happen to get lucky enough to find the person that has all those qualities, you need another level of fucked up magic where they feel the same way about you. 

I mean, this isn’t possible! It doesn’t feel possible. It makes me so sad.

I’m learning a lot about life through dating. I’m learning we’re all kind of broken, and we’re all kind of lonely, and we’re all doing the very best we can. We’ve made bad choices and we continue to make bad choices, but sometimes we learn and make better choices, and somehow, even with all that, we keep going and keep trying, because when true connection happens, it’s such a balm on the everyday struggle of life. When you’re with someone who anchors you, who feels safe and warm, who lights you up…the world becomes a little less hostile. It might still be hostile, but it’s like hostile with Christmas lights. It starts to look pretty.

 ***

When I started dating again after my divorce, I was terrified. Nauseous. And really suspect. Why did this guy agree to meet me? What could he possibly see in me? Is this really how you date now, through apps and scrolling pictures? 

And then when I met the man I’ve blogged about, something happened in me. I dropped all the fear, all the anxiety and I was open and vulnerable. It was a beautiful thing, to be fragile like that. You know how lovely a flower is in the morning when there’s a little dew on it and it seems to tremble in the breeze? I felt like that. I felt dew kissed. I felt beautiful and tender. I trembled with the excitement of simply being.

Now, though, I’m back to being guarded. I’ve learned that people don’t always tell you the truth. They can have fake names and occupations. They can date and say they’re single and they can be married. They can be polyamorous and have an agreement with their partner, or they can just be sleeping around. They can be addicts just out of rehab. 

I’m so unprepared for all the variables of this, and the worst part of it is, I don’t trust my gut anymore. How on earth do I try to be open and vulnerable again when I tried that, and I was crushed?

Why keep trying?

Right now, I have more questions than answers. That’s okay. It’s okay to not know. 

I try to remind myself to be grateful. To stay active with my friends. To write my tiny love poems which are now more wishes than reality. I’m thinking of planning some travel. I’ll keep working on my next book. And I’m still trying with the dating apps. 

Why?

Because there’s something in me, somewhere deep where I still believe that true connection is possible. If the timing is right, two people can meet and acknowledge that they’re flawed, and hurt, and imperfect, not ready, and terrified…and they can decide they’re going to try anyway. They’re going to try anyway because love, when you find it, is a gift. It is worth searching for.

ABOUT TANYA EBY

Tanya is a narrator, blogger, good cook, terrible baker, and awkward at socializing. If you like her blog, please share it on social media…or leave her a tip on Venmo at @Tanya-Eby. You don’t actually have to leave her a tip. She just put that in here because that’s what all the cool kids seem to do nowadays. She’s also learned that cool kids tuck their shirts in. Tanya is constantly surprised. By everything. 

The Beauty In Things

Before I start this, I will tell you I just made dinner. I made tacos and taquitos and it is the best meal I have ever had IN MY ENTORE LIFE.

Also, I have been drinking. 

Some wine. Just a little. Just enough.

***

I’ve been wanting to blog but didn’t really know what to write about where I didn’t sound whiny or grumpy or lonely. Because I am all those things. 

A friend suggested I blog about what I’m grateful for. I told him to fuck off. 

Then I said “Okay.”

***

Here’s the weird thing. And maybe this is TMI, but that’s okay. I overshare. I’m an oversharer. But I had this weird experience in the shower this morning. (ahem.) 

First, I took my time. I didn’t rush to save the hot water for the kids. I didn’t try to be conscious of the environment and all the wrong choices I make. I just took a long hot shower. And I noticed a thing that was very strange: I like my body.

It’s not a perfect body, but it’s mine. I’m not a petite or skinny woman. I’m a woman with curves. Full breasts. Hips. Legs with weight. But in the shower (and I’ll save some of those details for my Tiny Poems) I just thought, “I am glad I am in this body. I love these curves.”

I’ve worked hard over the last six months to lose weight, and it feels good to be able to recognize myself again. To see the ‘me’ that I used to be. 

I’m grateful for this body. There is beauty to it. 

And when I got out of the shower, I thought about a few other things I’m grateful for. 

I love a good glass of wine paired with the perfect cheese. I love rainy fall days where it’s cold and dark and the rain is a steady patter on the windows, and all you want to do is snuggle in, and you actually do is snuggle in, and it’s just so lovely. I love watching shows with someone I care about, and how when they put their arm around me, I can lean into the curve of them, rest my head on their shoulder. I love the magic that somehow, I fit there. I love putting the final three pieces into a puzzle because you can feel your success, the inevitability of it. I love walking with my friend Amy and how when we start walking, we are tense and anxious, and by the end of the walk, we are laughing and our bodies are limber. I love mornings when I wake up and have my cup of coffee with cinnamon and the dogs snuggle in next to me and everything is so quiet, that it’s like I’m a part of some wonderful secret. I love kissing. I love first kisses. I’ve even loved last kisses, because I tend to like the dramatic. I love the sound of my kids in their rooms, listening to music, talking to their friends online. I love the mumble of the happy every-day-ness that happens. The things I won’t remember, but that make up the song of my life. 

There are good things in this world. There are good people. There are things that brings us comfort and joy…and even there is beauty, too, in the things that bring us pain. Pain, sometimes, reminds us that we can feel. That we are achingly alive. 

I’m grateful for this body, this life, this glass of wine, the ability to sit at my computer and write these words. 

And I am grateful, even in the sorrow and the struggle, that I don’t know what is going to happen next. That not-knowing is exciting. I’s beautiful.

It’s ripe. 

***

So. 

That’s what on my mind today. That’s where I’m at. Good wine, tacos and taquitos, a lovely body, and a growing awareness that there is beauty in the now. Whatever it is. However simple it is. There is wonder in this moment. 

###

ABOUT TANYA EBY

Tanya Eby is a writer, a tiny poet (she’s not tiny. She writes tiny poems), a narrator, a cook, a mom, a friend. She is also tipsy while writing this. She’d love to know what you are thankful for…what lights you up. Share your thoughts here, share the blog, what have you.

Reader, I Let Him Go

Yesterday, I finally did the thing I needed to do but didn’t want to: I let him go.

I’ve been seeing someone since April (I’ve blogged about him occasionally), but he was never fully into me. We had a deep, almost instant connection. I could not only see a future with him, but FEEL a future with him. We laughed, we had great conversations, we had similar values and goals. We had chemistry. That kind of magic chemistry that is hard to describe. We had all the things…only…he wasn’t ready.

We’d been honest with each other from the start. I told him that I was looking for a monogamous relationship that would one day become a partnership. I wanted to see someone once or twice a week with occasional trips/travel. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but all of that sounded good to him. And as things started to progress, as that initial connection deepened, he said “I’m just not ready yet.”

I didn’t listen. 

Well, I listened, but I didn’t HEAR it. What I heard was: “Go slow with me. We will need to take our time. Be patient with me.”

It was that damned word “Yet”. I’m not ready YET in my mind meant I will be ready SOON. 

***

In struggling with the relationship, I started seeing a counselor. When you’ve grown up in a dysfunctional family, it’s really hard to build healthy relationships as you grow older (I’m finding) because you don’t really KNOW what healthy is. How do you recognize it? I have a mushroom manual for identifying mushrooms and it’s so fucking complicated, I wouldn’t trust that I could safely identify an edible mushroom from a kill-you-right-now mushroom. Healthy or poisonous relationships are just as complicated for me to identify and there is no manual.

In the conversation with my therapist, I told her the things I loved about him: how when he looked at me, I felt my whole body calm; how I could feel a future with him; how there was so much potential between us. And she said the thing that has stuck with me: “You can’t have a relationship with potential. You need to look at what IS.”

This idea really threw me. 

So I opened my eyes and, like looking at mushrooms in the woods, I tried to look at the aspects of the relationship and identify it for what it was. He wouldn’t make plans with me; everything was last minute. When I said “I miss you” in a text, he’d say “I appreciate that”. We took no pictures together. He didn’t introduce me to any of his friends. When we were together things were fun, but we were together so rarely that the fun after a while, seemed sort of sad. 

That was the IS of the relationship. I was in love with a man who didn’t really care about me, or cared about me enough to keep me around, but not really care for me or treat me kindly. 

That realization sucked. Still, I thought, maybe I’m reading too much into it. He cares about me. He’s just not ready YET. 

***

We broke up. I started seeing other people. He said his life was better with me in it and could we try again. So we tried. A week later, he told me, again, he wasn’t sure if he was ready yet. But by that point, I was so IN it, so besotted, that I didn’t register his words at all.

We had some good times. We had a few weeks where I felt listened to and cherished, and maybe even loved a bit. But then…

The final eye-opener this week happened this way: he was in a play and we’d made plans that I’d see it the final weekend on Saturday. He didn’t want me to see it opening night, because of the stress of that, he said, but I questioned if that was the real reason. And I had a thought that I didn’t know how he was going to greet me at the play. Would he kiss me, hug me? Would he shake my hand? Depending on who else was there, would he ignore me? 

This realization kicked me in the gut. It was a clear sign that something poisonous was happening here. 

I didn’t know if the man that I’d been seeing for six months would greet me as a girlfriend or a stranger.

And that not-knowing told me volumes.

***

I checked in with him yesterday. “Are you putting the brakes on us again? How will you greet me? What is happening here?”

He said he might be putting the brakes on, he wasn’t sure. He maybe really wasn’t ready. And maybe I could come on Friday instead of Saturday, because there was a cast party on Saturday, and wouldn’t Friday be better for me?

He didn’t invite me to the cast party.

I took some time with that. I registered it. I processed it.

I finally got it. 

He wasn’t ready yet. Not only wasn’t he ready YET, he wasn’t ready NOW. He wasn’t into me. He didn’t want what I wanted. He didn’t actually have the same goals as me. He didn’t feel a future with me. He didn’t want to take pictures with me or have me meet his friends. He didn’t want me to be his plus one. 

He didn’t want me.

It’s painful, this awareness. Of seeing it. And I feel humiliated, that I waited as long as I did, that I put so much effort into it, that I approached him with an open heart and spirit. 

Rejection hurts. Rejection makes you feel small and stupid and foolish.

But you know what would’ve made me feel smaller, and stupider, and foolish-er? 

If I had stayed.

Reader, I let him go. 

I think he doesn’t even realize how deeply he hurt me, but that’s okay. I know it.

And I learned some things from this.

I learned that there are things I can’t compromise with in a relationship. I want a committed relationship where we have great conversation and sex and we travel together. I want TIME with someone. I want an eventual partner. I want someone who looks at me and says “I’m so ready for this. I’m so ready for you.”

And the next man that says to me “I’m not ready yet,” or “I’m not sure what I want” or “I just want something casual”—I’m going to hear it. I’m going to know it. And I’ll know what to do. I will thank him for telling me, wish him well on his journey, and I will back the fuck away.

Because I am ready.

And I deserve love, and passion, and future plans. I deserve a healthy relationship that we both tend to and care for. I deserve an actual future, and not an imagined one. 

You deserve that too. 

###

ABOUT TANYA EBY

Tanya is a passionate person who lives and experiences life deeply. She writes novels and tiny love poems. She loves to cook and go out to restaurants. She appreciates a good cocktail and a glass of wine (not at the same time). She narrates, produces audiobooks, and does quirky paint by numbers. She watches scary movies. She loves her kiddos, her friends, her two cat-like dogs.

If you like her work in this blog, please heart this post, comment, or share this blog on social media.

Out Of My Head and Into The World

I’ve spent so much time over the last year in a space of self-reflection, growth, change, etc. and I realized something really important: I’m fucking exhausted. I’m so tired of analyzing my thoughts and experiences, of turning over things in my mind over and over until I process what’s happening or at least try to understand it a teeny bit.  

So, I decided to take a little vacation. 

From my mind.

Soaking in the outdoors (whilst looking for mushrooms)

Self-reflection is terrific and important, but I do think there are times when you’re SO in your head that you forget to, well, LIVE.

These last few weeks, I’ve been practicing living. I decided to get out of my dreams and into the…no…get out of my HEAD and into the WORLD.

Hello, World!

Practicing living sounds so dumb, but there’s some truth to it. I don’t know if it’s because of the pandemic, or my natural introvert tendencies, or being a writer/creative, but I spend a lot of time in my home. I work here, I rest here, I play here. I‘ve forgotten what it’s like to have a life outside of myself.

I decided to do an experiment, I would say YES to things for a while, to friends but also to myself.

Step One:

I’d do things with others and not wait for the man I’m seeing to ask me to spend time with him. If a friend asked me out to do something, I’d go. Walk around the lake? YES. Go to Art Prize? YES. Meet for cocktails? YES. Even if I was tired or overwhelmed, I’d practice saying yes and get into the habit of building a life outside of myself that didn’t depend on one single person. 

Step Two:

I’d do things for myself. I’d see if there were any classes I could take, or events I could attend on my own without feeling the need for a partner. 

Step Three:

When I’d feel myself getting into a loop of thoughts or super deep reflection, I’d try to sidetrack myself and take a walk, sing a song, watch a show…just to distract my mind a bit so I can rest from the self-reflection. Just to let my brain breathe.

I’ve been doing these things for three weeks and I can say the change is extraordinary. Suddenly, my life has expanded.

I went with a group of friends to see the show ONCE. We had a lovely dinner beforehand and talked and laughed, which fed not only my body, but my soul. Seeing the live theatrical performance inspired and lifted my spirit.

I walked around Art Prize with a friend. We had drinks and chatted. Pointed at things, laughed. Wandered.

I took a class on mushrooms to learn about what they are and how they’re beneficial. 

Mushroom class

I did yoga in the woods with a group of eccentrics, and then we sat quietly in the woods and just paid attention.

 I had a body masque an a mini facial at a salon. I walked a lot. I ran some.

Oh, friends!

I had dinner with my girlfriends. I went to my niece’s wedding without a plus one, and was able to connect more with my family because of it.

I had an amazing dinner/date night with the man I’ve been seeing. I dressed up, I wore heels, he held my hand as we walked. We had great food and conversation, and cocktails, and I just let that evening be what it was. I just felt grateful to be with him and to be held by him. I didn’t talk about where we were or where we were going (well, I tried not to), I just tried to be in the moment and enjoy it. 

Over these few weeks, I’ve given my spirit a little time to rest. To not think or analyze or question, but to just BE.

Whew. I didn’t know how much I needed this until I gave myself a little space.

Family

It’s important to think about things, to analyze, to process, to feel, to understand, but I think it’s also important to connect with others and to connect with yourself. It’s important to LIVE. It’s a hand-to-heart kind of thing, I guess. Hand on your heart, deep breath, eyes closed, and just listen. Be still. Be thankful. Be. 

I hope wherever you’re at with life and love, that you can give yourself a little time and space to have fun, to go out, to tell your brain “I’ll come back to you, but right now, I’m going outside to play.”

 ###

ABOUT TANYA EBY

Tanya is a writer and narrator. You can find her on Instagram (Tanya-Eby), Twitter (@Blunder_Woman) and FB.  She is still practicing this idea of saying yes to things, as long as those things aren’t creepy or put her in danger. When not narrating or writing, she watches a lot of scary movies, Netflix series, and coking shows. She walks her dogs and praises them for doing their business.

The Tuesday Girl

This is a blog I’ve written a number of times, but didn’t feel ready to post it. I’m ready now. And since writing this, I’ve been doing some reading. Currently, I’m reading ATTACHED by Amir Levine, and it’s blowing my mind. You’ll see in this blog that I clearly have an anxious attachment style. Now that I know, I can work on it.

The Tuesday Girl 

(Take 4)

When I lived in New York, shortly after 9/11, I met a man that I fell head over heels for. Maybe I was extra vulnerable after that terrible day or because I was still new to the city, or maybe it was just that I was in my twenties and healed enough from my childhood to be ready to love. I was heart-open ready to love. I fell for him pretty instantly. 

It didn’t last long. 

He wasn’t into me or ready for me or whatever. I believed though, that if I were just patient enough, loving enough, understanding enough, he’d see me as a great partner. He’d change his mind.

I remember one night when we were supposed to meet after he had an event, at like 8 o’clock. He didn’t show. And I can’t remember the exact phone call or text, but he said he was on his way and to just wait.

So I did. Outside his apartment in the dark in Brooklyn. It was November, and I waited. And then it started to rain. It was cold. And I waited. I was drenched, but he said he was coming, and I couldn’t let him down. The doorman watched me and after a half hour or so, he asked if I wanted to come inside and wait. I said no, don’t worry, he’ll be here any minute.

He did show up. Around ten. He felt terrible. He didn’t realize he was so late, or that it was raining. He forgot I’d been waiting for him. 

The point here is, though, that he wasn’t thinking of me at all. And that’s the part I didn’t understand. I wasn’t important to him. I didn’t even cross his mind. 

I still think about that night. The length I was willing to go to, to get the man I was in love with to show up and be there for me. I’d go through anything for him. Even standing in the rain for over an hour, wet and bone chilled. It’s still humiliating. 

I’d like to say this was a one-time thing, but I’m afraid it’s become a pattern.

***

After my first divorce, I connected with a man I’d known for ages. 

He invited me over to his house to watch shows. He invited a lot of women over to watch movies and shows, and I suspect he still does, but for some reason I thought I was special.

And naturally, our movie watching evolved. We never slept together…but there was an intensity and a growing bond. Only he could never see me on the weekends. Only on Tuesdays. He was super busy with work and his family and there just wasn’t time to get together then, but there would be soon, maybe, and he’d see me on the next Tuesday. And weren’t our Tuesdays great?

I agreed because I could empathize with work and family and obligations. 

Until I realized that it wasn’t true. 

There was a weekend he was out of town to a family reunion, and he’d been tagged on Facebook in the pictures from the weekend. Only it wasn’t a family reunion. They were pictures of him and the woman he was living with, or marrying or whatever, and her two kids. 

I was dumbfounded. I had no idea. None at all. 

I felt duped and embarrassed and then it got worse.

He invited me out for cocktails. I was thrilled because we never went out, and I thought that he was going to explain those pictures, and maybe he was starting to love me because he’d finally asked me out. I got dressed up and met him at a local restaurant, so excited and happy to be out with him on a date. An actual date! And he said that the woman he was involved with had told him he couldn’t see anyone else so he was sorry, but we weren’t going to have our Tuesdays anymore.

He asked me how I was. I looked at my half empty martini and I literally did not know what to say. I’d dressed up for this. I’d had this foolish kind of hope that I was special. This wasn’t a date at all. The reason we were in a restaurant was because he didn’t want me to cause a scene. He didn’t want to deal with my emotions. So I left. The drink. Him. The situation.

AND THEN IT GOT WORSE. 

I saw the woman at Target the next weekend. She was there with her two kids and they were getting supplies for a barbeque. I was there with my two kids, who were about the same age as hers. I heard her talking to her kids in the aisle saying the things they were getting to bring home to the man I’d been seeing. I had this surreal moment of a soft kind of anger. An awareness that we were the same age, with two kids the same age. Both of us artists. So why was I the Tuesday Girl? Why wasn’t I good enough to be the Forever Girl?

(And what made this guy so special that he was allowed to decide who was worthy?)

It’s something that’s followed me around, this curse of feeling somehow that I am never quite enough, or I’m always a bit much. 

I vowed I’d never be a Tuesday Girl again.

***

Of course, it’s happened again. 

I’ve been seeing a man on and off who I feel a deep connection with, but who, ultimately, isn’t ready or willing or enamored enough to really want me. He sees me maybe once a week. He texts me, he’s kind to me, but he’s so distant, and there are so many rules to the relationship. He tells me he’s not ready yet, and what I hear is “Just give me more time. Be patient.” But what he’s really saying is: “I don’t want you to be my girlfriend.” 

I’ve seen him on other days besides Tuesdays, but it may as well be just Tuesdays. We’ve tried so hard to make it work, but when I look at the relationship AS IT IS, the truth is, he just doesn’t want me. I’m not a Forever Girl for him.

Worse than that, though, is that I allowed myself to be a Tuesday Girl again. I allowed it. And this isn’t going to change, until I change it.

***
WHO IS A TUESDAY GIRL?

A Tuesday Girl never takes priority. She’s not worth enough to spend a weekend with, or make plans with. She’s the person a man calls when they have space in their schedule, or down time, or they’re bored, and usually it’s last minute. A Tuesday Girl is on the outskirts of the week and priorities and plans. A Tuesday Girl doesn’t complain and she’s always available and compliant and understanding. She supports. She dreams. She’s always available. A Tuesday Girl doesn’t express her own needs, because they aren’t important. He is the only one who is important. His needs matter. 

And a Tuesday Girl shrinks her own needs until those needs are small enough that she can convince herself that what she receives is enough. 

***

I’ve been standing in the rain, on a Tuesday, thinking if I’m patient enough, or supportive enough, or loving enough, he will think I’m worthy enough of loving.

And of course, I am worthy enough of loving. 

I shouldn’t have to prove it.

***

I started seeing a therapist who asked me challenging questions. “What is it that draws you to him?” 

I said the way we can talk, how I feel around him, and though there are problems, I see so much potential and that I’m hanging on because that potential is so amazing, it’s hard to let go. “But that potential isn’t real, right?” She asked. “That’s not reality. What is reality is he isn’t meeting your needs.”

She told me I should consider seeing other people. If this man isn’t ready to make space in his life for me, if he doesn’t make plans with me without being pushed, I shouldn’t stand around waiting for him. 

She recommended I read the book WOMEN WHO LOVE TOO MUCH. She went on to tell me that people who were raised in chaos (abuse, neglect, etc.) had to make choices when they were growing up. They could either be authentic (expressing their own needs, which in a dysfunctional family comes at great personal risk) or they can choose safety (and do the things they need to in the family system to stay safe.) Over and over, they make the choice to choose safety and set their own wants and needs aside. There isn’t time or space for that. And when they grow up and enter relationships, they have a high tolerance for bullshit. They’ll take a lot of bullshit because it’s familiar, they’ve been through worse, and they’ll give chance after chance in an effort to reach that potential day where they are safe and loved.

That sort of hit me in the gut. 

I don’t know how to break this pattern. I like be loving and supportive. I like being empathetic, but I’m realizing that if it has a price…if I have to stand in the rain waiting, if I have to be satisfied with only a Tuesday night and no commitment, if I am not courted with enthusiasm and passion, then I lose a little more of my self-respect and self-esteem. I continue the pattern set in my childhood of giving up my authenticity for the potential of something wonderful, that doesn’t exist in the now, and may never happen in the future. 

I don’t want to be a Tuesday Girl anymore.

I’m worth more than that. 

We are all worth more than that. We deserve to be loved, and honored, and treated with tenderness. We deserve to be romanced, to have the people we’re dating excited to see us. We shouldn’t have to convince a potential partner that we’re interesting and worth spending time with; it should be a given. We should be treated kindly and passionately. 

We should hear from people we’re dating, “I love spending time with you. Let’s plan the next time we can see each other.”

We deserve to be loved and to be safe and if we are standing out in the rain, waiting for potential to show up, we deserve to say to ourselves “Fuck this shit. This is ridiculous. I’m not waiting here.” 

But it’s hard.

It’s really hard.

I think what’s different now is that I’m finally seeing the pattern, instead of simply existing IN the pattern. And this gives me the power to change it. 

I’m not a Tuesday Girl.

And I’m not waiting anymore. 

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ABOUT TANYA EBY

Tanya is a narrator, mom, writer, cook, and walker of many many miles. Find her on IG at Tanya-Eby, on Twitter and at @Blunder_Woman. She’s looking for an agent for her thriller novel and is hoping to sell the horror-comedy screenplay she co-wrote with Amy Landon. If you know of any leads, please let Tanya know. :)

Living in the WHAT IS

I haven’t blogged in a few weeks. Actually, I have. I have a really long blog but I haven’t posted it yet, and I think it’s because I’ve been plagued by a thought of being too self-centered. I had this thought after reading one of my blogs that what I write about, struggling with relationships, who I want to be, etc., is so…privileged. There are so many other problems in the world that I could focus in on that it seems really silly sometimes to blog about who I go out to coffee with, or if my needs are being met in a relationship. So my current writing crisis is: “Aw, come on! Who CARES?”

And yet.

And yet…

I take some breaths. I go for a walk. And I think: “But it’s the little things we don’t talk about that I want to keep exploring.” So, yes, there are bigger more important things happening in the world. But there’s plenty of talk about that. What I want to keep exploring is what’s happening internally. And I hope even though my blogs are specific to me, there’s something in that specificity that applies to YOU. Where you’re at, where you want to be, how hard it is to be heard sometimes, how hard it is to figure out just what it is that you want.

This is all to say, I’m going to keep writing these posts, I think.

***

I will post my long blog soon, as soon as I get over that it’s so long. Ha! But before that…a little something I’ve been thinking about these last couple of weeks.

***

I met with a therapist a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been in and out of therapy most of my life, and I think talking with someone about your every-day, about your thoughts and struggles, is so important. I’ve done a lot of work on healing from my childhood, and becoming a strong and confident person. But personal relationships are still confusing to me. 

I talked with her about dating and how confused I am almost all the time. I have a pattern* of being attracted to men who don’t really want me and trying so hard to prove to them I am worthy of being loved. And of course I’m worthy of being loved. We’re all worthy of being loved! 

So that’s a pattern. But it’s also a pattern for me to meet someone who isn’t quite into me, and in my head, I create a relationship. I think of all the amazing things we could do together, the conversations we’ll have, the wonderful trips we’ll go on. I can feel it, see it, and I wait for it to happen. But when you’re living in the potential of a relationship, you tend to ignore the reality.

The therapist encouraged me to begin to look at WHAT IS in a dating relationship I’m in, instead of living in the WHAT COULD BE. It’s a mind shift, to close the door on all the potential of what could be, and just live in the moment and what’s actually happening. When I live in the WHAT COULD BE, I excuse all sorts of bad behavior: not having time for me, fitting me into gaps in a schedule and not honoring my schedule, not treating me with kindness or consideration, etc. etc. 

I’ve been trying to now look at WHAT IS instead of WHAT COULD BE, and honestly, it makes me a little sad. I’m realizing that the WHAT IS isn’t as shiny as the land of WHAT COULD BE. Focusing on What Is takes the glimmer off, but it also helps me see how I’m actually treated, and it helps me set boundaries and to say when needed “This isn’t good enough for me.” This is important work. I need this. 

It’s an exercise in seeing and paying attention and being aware.

Is it enough for me to see someone once a week without looking to the time when we’ll spend weekends together? Is once a week—enough? Is staying close to home and not going out enough for me, without planning the amazing dinners and trips we’ll have once we do go out? Is not going out—enough?

I was walking with my friend and we talked about things we want, and I realized how deeply confused I am. I think I know what I want, but do I? Do I want to be a girlfriend in my late 40s, and do I want to stay a girlfriend for the next decades? Seeing someone occasionally, not being a permanent part of their life; them not being a permanent part of mine? Do I want to live with someone eventually? Do I want to get married ever again? Some of these questions make me curl up in the fetal position, because I just don’t know, and I feel some pressure to know as I meet people and try to figure out if we fit.

And then I remember to breathe. I don’t have to know everything right now. All I have to know is if things are good RIGHT NOW. Do I like the way I’m being treated? Do I enjoy time with the man I’m seeing? Are things enough right now?

Right now, they are. I’m not waiting like I was for all my space to be filled by one person. I’m making plans with friends to go out, I signed up for a hiking class and a mushroom identification class, and I’m making new friends. Adding more to my life is fulfilling, and probably a lot healthier. 

I do miss the glimmer a little, but there is a tiny magic that swirls around me and whomever I’m dating so that when we are with each other I feel excited and happy and the WHAT IS…is pretty damn good. 

***

*The therapist also encouraged me to read WOMEN WHO LOVE TO MUCH, which was pretty mind-blowing in its accuracy of how women who come from traumatic backgrounds can get trapped in a loop of bad relationships and bad patterns. Though a little dated, the stories really resonated with me. Check it out.

ABOUT TANYA EBY

Tanya Eby is an audiobok narrator, essayist, and tiny poem writer. If you like her blog, please give it a heart and/or share it with someone.

Comments are great too and gives Tanya a little reassurance that what she posts matters a little to others.

She’s a little needy that way. Ha!

A Love Letter That Is Not A Love Letter

My darling,

It was never about the apples.

We sat together, sharing dinner. The candles half melted. Outside the world was dark and snow pelted the windows. No power, just us, wrapped in blankets, sitting in the living room, the fireplace flickering. We ripped stale bread with our bare hands and tried to chew it like the wild animals we thought we still were. 

You poured us both another glass of wine and I’d lost count of how many that would make, but the empty bottles on the coffee table, the spilled chutney, the softening cheese before us reminded me that we had been there for an eternity.

And you were talking about apples.

Maybe because we’d sliced the last one in the fridge and it had stood, naked and glistening in front of us, ignored, and it had begun to brown.

I was that naked apple. Sitting there, unnoticed and wanting. 

You talked about varieties or some such nonsense. You talked about the apple tree your neighbor had and your overwhelming desire to steal one of those apples and eat it secretly, and I have never in my life so much wanted to be an apple. You said the word a hundred times and each time you said it, I shivered, imagining your mouth on the letters, the kiss of the Ps, your tongue against your teeth. You licked that word, rolled it in your mouth. I imagined my breasts as that word, how your tongue would roll over me, pluck at my nipples, tease with tongue to teeth. Your teeth just grazing me as I arched my back.

In the gold flickering of candlelight and firelight and my inner light, I watched you sip your wine, the last of it. You were so animated, so alive. You talked about the apples and orchards and lush green valleys and I thought, what about my valley, you idiot, what about my lush hills in front of you, this mound of ripe fruit just waiting for you to make a move, to push aside the stale bread and soft cheese and the thinly sliced apples, and to rip off the warm blankets, the sweater, the long johns, and leave me in front of you cold and naked and shivering, the hairs on my body raised, my nipples just waiting for you to taste.

And then the moment passed. The fire cracked and hissed. You took your last swig of wine and sat back on the couch and then there was a flicker, and the power came back on, and all the magic we’d been cocooned in was lost, and I was still wrapped in a hundred layers of material to keep me warm when really, all I’d needed was your body against me to keep me aglow.

The moment was gone. You lost so much connection and love by staying in your mind, and I lost so much by waiting for you to see me. If only one of us had been brave enough and strong enough to stop the conversation and just for once focus on what we could give to each other, on the pleasure to be had in sharing a simple fruit, maybe things would’ve turned out differently. 

So no, my darling. It wasn’t about the fucking apples. It was about the fucking, and how much I missed your body wanting mine, and how, still, even now, I sometimes think of your lips and tongue, and the pleasure they could have given me if you would only have treated me as precious and glorious as one of your many, many words.  

XXOO

Tanya

####

ABOUT TANYA EBY

This is not, of course, a real love letter. It is not a real letter at all. I’m just playing here, with poetry and heat and humor. I actually loves writing letters, though I rarely do it. There is something so exciting about receiving something in the mail that someone wrote just for you. So, sometimes, I write love letters to imaginary people. Some day, I’ll have someone to send them to. Maybe not this one though. If I was in this situation with a storm, a blackout, charcuterie, and someone sexy with me drinking wine, I don’t think there’d ever be time to utter the word APPLE, let alone talk about varieties. Fingers crossed.

*

Tanya is a writer, narrator, audiobook mentor, dreamer, mom, and lover of snow storms and wine. If you like this blog, please share it with a friend. Or better yet, print it out and send it to them.

What I Learned From My NonBinary Kiddo

 Before I start, I just want to let you know that I talked to my kiddo about writing this blog. When I blog, there are times when my experiences cross with someone else’s, but I try very hard to write from my point of view only. To tell my story, and only my story.

I try to take responsibility for my choices and my understanding of life. This is especially important with my kids. I don’t post online about them really, because their lives are their own.

However, there were things about this experience that I wanted to share. Not my kiddo’s journey. That’s their story if they ever want to share that. I wanted to talk about this from my experience: the mistakes I’ve made, and what I’ve learned. My kiddo gave me the okay.

So…Here we go. I write this with permission. 

***

This summer my kiddo let me know that they were nonbinary and wanted to step into who they are, including changing their name and their pronouns. 

I thought I was prepared for anything my kids would throw at me. I’m a pretty liberal person and I thought if they were transgender or gay, I’d be fine, but I had a stronger reaction to this than I anticipated. It wasn’t the question of my kiddo’s sexuality and who they will choose for partner(s) in the future. It was something more fundamental. I didn’t understand why declaring themselves nonbinary was important. Dress how you want, act how you want, why does it matter? Why do you have to declare it? 

I just didn’t understand.

And changing the pronouns was okay, but awkward. As a writer, it’s hard for me to think of a singular person as a ‘they/them’ but I’m trying. 

What I struggled with most was the name, and the loss of that name. When my kiddo was growing in my belly, I can remember rubbing my hand along the swell of my stomach and whispering their name. “Hello, Little One (their name). I love you. I can’t wait to meet you.” And when they were born, I looked into their deep blue eyes, impossibly bright and open and said “Why, hi, Little One. There you are.”

When I imagined them getting older and growing, it was always connected to their name, and it hurt to let that go. That was their name. Their identity. Their name tied them to me. It was who they were to me. How could I change that? How could I let that go?

So I bargained, “Couldn’t we just keep your name the same, you know, just for family?” I saw that the comment hurt, but I didn’t understand why. 

“Sure,” they said. “It’s fine.”

And even though I knew what “It’s fine” meant (anything but NOT fine), I thought that it was okay.

***

My kiddo pulled away from me. I saw them pull into themselves. A light went out. They had trusted me with who they were, and I had betrayed that trust.

***

I tried to repair things. I apologized. I tried to explain that while they’d been living with this transformation for a while, it would take me some time to catch up, but I could do it. I would do it. They just might have to be a little patient with me, and I might need some time (and educating) to understand. 

Right before school started, they asked me if I could update their name and pronouns through the school system. We’d just picked up school supplies and clothes and I’d pulled into our house. The car was still running but I could feel the air in the car had changed. I looked at my kiddo and saw that they were crying. The pain was so raw and real I could feel it. “Honey, why are you crying?” I asked, because I really wanted to know. I still didn’t understand. 

And they looked at me with those bright blue eyes and said, “Because when I go to school, they’re going to call me by who I was, and not who I am.” 

That’s when I finally understood. 

It was more painful for my kiddo to live the lie of who everyone wanted them to be, than to step into their true identity and become who they already were.

It was harder to live a lie, than to live a truth. It was harder to live the ‘safe’ lie than to live the ‘dangerous’ truth. The truth challenged everyone around them to change their perceptions. That truth shook the foundation of what was known. That truth risked bullying and ridicule, and it was easier to do that than to live a lie. 

Hadn’t I spent years trying to teach my kids to be who they are? To be real? Authentic? To walk a life that was true? Isn’t that how I’ve been actively living these past few years? No more tiptoeing. No more justifying. No more saying “I’m sorry for being who I am and wanting what I want”. Hadn’t I taught them that there was poetry in being the exact person you were, even if it made others uncomfortable?

And wasn’t that exactly what my kiddo was doing?

***

I also realized, sitting in the car with my crying kiddo, that haven’t we all had these profound moments of when it was harder to live the life we had, than the life we were meant to have? Isn’t there a moment where you decide to lie or be true? It can be with identity, or wants, or work, or dreams. It can be anything. But isn’t there a time when you must make a choice to live boldly and do what you are called to, or to live quietly and do what others expect of you?

And in that moment, I got it. 

I understood.

***

My kiddo was stepping into who they were. They didn’t need to make it easier for me, for their family, for their friends. It’s not about that. And ultimately, it doesn’t matter how others process that. It’s not my kiddo’s responsibility to make who they are easier for others to understand. My kiddo’s greatest achievement….is simply to be. 

What courage. What beauty. What strength.

What a lesson my child has taught me. 

***

I asked the school to update their paperwork and call my kiddo by their right name. It’s not the name I chose for them, and while that is hard to let go, I respect that this is the name they feel belongs to them. At the doctor’s office, we let them know that my kiddo was nonbinary. They didn’t even blink. They updated everything. When my kiddo goes to school, there is a lightness about them that glows from the inside out and I know it’s because they don’t have to live a lie anymore. It’s the lie that dims you and destroys you.

They are who they are, and I love them with all my heart.

And, really, it wasn’t that I said their name while they grew in my belly, or I held them in my arms, or put them on my hip, or caught their puke with my bare hands, or cried with them or laughed with them or grew with them. It’s not the name that tied me to them. The name isn’t important.

It’s the love that matters most.

 ***

Now I can see them for who they really are. 

I can see, too, that I still have a lot to learn in life. I can see that I can learn a thing or two about living authentically and not trying to please others. I’m trying to learn. I am learning.

And I’m grateful to have this kiddo be able to teach me. 

ABOUT TANYA EBY

Tanya is a single parent, an LGBTQIA+ ally, a narrator, a tiny poem writer, and a flawed human doing the very best she can. 

The Homing

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want in my life. I’m trying to make conscious choices, you know, instead of just letting life happen. Life will happen whether I make a conscious choice about it or not, but I’m trying to be more aware. I’m trying to be rooted in what’s important to me.

For much of my life, I’ve been reactive. Things happened to me, and I responded. But how does your life change if you instead begin to make choices? It’s a pretty interesting mind shift, though sometimes exhausting.

I was talking to a friend last week about relationships. Of course about relationships, because this is an area I’m trying to figure out. They had seen their therapist that week and the therapist told them about the idea of Homing. 

This idea resonated so strongly with me I could actually feel it in my body.

We all know what a homing pigeon is: a bird that no matter where it flies to, has a magnetic pull to return home.

But what does this mean in relationships?

The therapist explained it to my friend that it was a sense you had after being with someone for a long time—no matter how good or bad the relationship was, if you outgrew that relationship or not, even if you left that relationship and actively didn’t want to return—there is a draw and a pull to return to that person because the many years and experiences and memories created in you a sense of home. That relationship becomes a place where everything is familiar, known, safe. And you have an urge to return to that home. It makes accepting new things harder, because new things aren’t home. New things are scary. 

Long after my friend left, I thought about this idea. I’m still thinking about it. 

This is what I want. I want a home.

The best way I can describe how I feel in my life right now is unmoored. I feel like I’m bobbing in some wide expanse of ocean with nowhere really to return to. 

In my marriage, I loved the sense of being known and I loved the sense of knowing. I knew his likes and dislikes, and he knew mine. He knew that I love to have my hair played with, that if I was low on energy, I’d probably want a burger for dinner; that if I was energetic, a burger would turn my stomach. He knew I’d need a nap around 1 or 2, and that if I wanted to listen to music, it would be some mix of Chet Baker, Frank Sinatra, and Ella Fitzgerald. He knew what angered me and what soothed me. He knew if I could choose anything to watch it would be the British Baking Show or a horror movie.

There’s a sense of home in being known like that.

And I think, above all, that’s what I miss most right now. I miss being known.

I saw another friend recently and we were talking about what we want. We’d been joking the previous week about winning the lottery so we could quit our jobs and focus on our health, our creative lives, and travel. I told her I was going to win the lottery and the next day, I did. I won $2.00. 

I told my friend, “Hey, remember I said I was going to win the lottery? Well, I did.”

 She said I should have been more specific with my intention.

 Instead of saying, I’m going to win the lottery, I should’ve said, “I’m going to win 2 million dollars.” (I’ll try this on the next lottery draw.) 

It occurred to me that maybe in my focus on living actively (instead of reactively) I needed to be more specific about my wants.

Here’s what I want, then, besides the 2 million dollars:

• I want to be wanted

• I want someone who is delighted to spend time with me and eagerly makes space to do so

• I want to travel (on my own, with friends, and eventually with someone I love)

• I want kindness, in my approach to life, and the people I bring into my heart

• I want safety (to know I am loved, that I’m valued, that I matter)

• I want physical intimacy (good sex, yes, but also, snuggling on the couch, being wrapped in someone’s arms)

• I want time and shared experiences with someone who is important to me

• I want security that my job brings in enough income to support me and my kids

• I want to feel like the person I am now, the person I’ve become, has a place where she belongs

On my friend’s back porch, we watched a hundred black birds swirl in and out of the trees. I said what I wanted most was a sense of home in dating. “Maybe you just don’t get to have that right now,” she said. Not to be mean, but to be truthful. “You are so ready and open to loving someone. You’re not good at dating. But you have to do the dating part, before you get to have the home.”

What I want, ultimately, comes with time and experience. Home isn’t a place you arrive to; it’s a place you make. 

And maybe, that sense of safety and belonging, shouldn’t be made with another person. It’s a bonus if it is, but maybe that sense of home is something you create within yourself.

I’m not quite sure how to create a sense of home within myself, but I’m willing to try. 

So then, maybe my list of wants in creating a sense of home within myself, looks a little different:

• I want deep and meaningful connection with friends

• I want to listen to and honor myself

• I want to take care of my body

• I want to soothe anxiety when it peaks 

• I want to trust that I’m savvy enough to support my kids and our life

• I want to travel and meet new people and consider new ideas

• I want to feel like the person I am now, the person I’ve become, IS the place where I belong

Also, I still want to win the lottery.

###

ABOUT TANYA EBY

Tanya is a narrator and writer. She likes hazelnut coffee, caramelized mushrooms, head rubs, and takeout of every kind.

If you like this blog, please comment and/or share it with a friend.

How Do You Trust Yourself When You Have Been So Wrong?

I’ve had a rough couple of weeks, and I finally figured out why it’s been so hard.

I’ve been struggling over letting go of the man I was seeing. (I think this blog will be the last time I write about him. I think this will close the chapter.)

I didn’t want to let him go. I wanted to be in his life. The hard truth was, he didn’t want me there. I decided, okay, I don’t want to fucking do it, but I have to move on. So I downloaded the dating apps and put up the profiles. 

On Tinder (ugh) I looked at my Top Picks, thinking maybe the algorithms would show me someone really cool…and who did I see? The man I just ended things with. My Top Pick. I looked at his profile, because of course I did. He was looking for someone who practices mindfulness, who likes travel, who can be silly, who wants connection.

I sat back and thought “But that’s me. He wants me.” The truth is, though, he doesn’t.

And then the app glitched and his picture appeared three times in my Top Picks. I couldn’t stop seeing him. So I deleted the app. Fuck that app. 

I spoke to him this week and it was so great to hear his voice, especially because there were some things happening in my life with parenting that I really wanted his insight on. He was kind enough to talk to me. I left the conversation hearing about all the things he’s doing, and how full his life is, and I remembered his profile and that he might want someone who is just like me, but who isn’t actually me. It was gutting.

***

And then there’s the other thing that happened. 

I’d turned in my new novel to an agent I had really high hopes for. It took just a few days to get the email that said “I can’t sell it in this form. If you re-write it, I’ll take another look.” The thing is, I had re-written it. The book is where I want it. And it was still rejected. 

It felt personal. It felt like I was rejected.

And I don’t know what is wrong with the novel, because I thought, I trusted, I felt, that it was good. 

***

It took a little soul searching and some really long walks and talking to my dear friend, and I finally figured out why I was struggling and so hurt with the rejection from this man and the rejection from this agent. It’s kinda about both of these things, but the struggle I’m having is also about something bigger. 

In my deep and tender heart, I had thought the man I was seeing would become my person. Not right away, but over time. We clicked that well. I saw a future with him. I saw travel, and late nights and early mornings in bed, I saw breakfast at a dive, and him accompanying me to a gala in New York. I saw us getting to know each other’s kids and sharing holidays and all of that. I thought he could be my person. And I was wrong.

 In the same way, I thought my book was done. That this was the agent. That my never-ending search to find one person who would believe in my creative work had finally ended. They’d read the book, represent me, and then the wild adventure of book writing and selling could start. I felt it in my bones that it would happen. And I was wrong.

So in my love life and my creative life, I felt two things very strongly, I believed them, and I was wrong. And the reason why I’m struggling so hard with this is that because I was so wrong, I feel like I can’t trust myself anymore. I can’t trust my gut, my feelings, my thoughts. I saw the world in a certain way, but it wasn’t the real way.

That’s what hurts so badly. And that is what is so deeply embarrassing.  

I feel foolish because I believed that the future I wanted, the future I’d dreamed about, had arrived. 

Here is the struggle then:

How do you trust yourself when you’ve been so wrong? How do you trust that the future you believed in is still possible?

For me, this means how do I open my heart to meeting and dating a man who will love me and want to be with me if my ability to detect a genuine connection is wrong?

How do I keep trying to send my work out there to find an agent if I firmly believe the work I’m doing is good, and I’m wrong?

Fuck.

Really. Fuuuuuuuuccccckkkk.

***

I went for a walk/run this morning. It was 6am and the world was dark. I passed sprinklers sputtering in the quiet. Houses were in shadows. A street light flickered above me and I thought for a moment it was lightening flashing.

I ran.

It hurt.

My legs hurt. My brain hurt. My soul hurt.

I listened to music and the pounding of my feet and I asked myself “How do I trust myself again?”

Eventually, things started to brighten. The world started to wake up. The dark sky faded from black to purple to blue, to streaks of pink.

My body thrummed with the run and with thoughts. I heard a little answer that said:

“How do you trust yourself?

It doesn’t matter. You just keep going,

whether you trust yourself or not.

You keep going because you have to,

and it’s the right thing to do.

You keep going because you must.”

That wasn’t the answer I wanted or was looking for, but it’s the answer I got. 

You keep going because you must. 

***

I feel a little bit like I’m whining right now, but I’m really trying not to. I think there’s a lesson in here for me, and maybe it’s something you can relate to. We all fuck up. We misinterpret. We make mistakes. We have setbacks. We get sad. We get hurt.

But it’s not forever. It’s just for now.

***

I’m a little lost right now, and that’s okay.

I don’t know what my heart wants or what my heart trusts. And that’s okay.

I don’t know if anyone will ever want to pick up this book and represent me. And that’s okay.

I don’t know everything. In fact, I feel like I don’t know anything right now, and that’s okay too.

Maybe there are times in life where you don’t need to trust, or know, or control. Maybe there are times where you just DO.  You just keep doing. You just keep going.  

So. 

Okay. 

I’ll keep doing. I’ll keep going. I’ll continue running in the morning (three times a week). I’ll put my profile back up and I’ll start dating. I’ll send out three agent queries next week, and then I’ll send out more the following week. I’ll try to be a better person. A more connected and rooted person. I’ll remain open to the idea that the book I’ve written can be even better than I imagined.

I’ll keep trying.

I’ll let the muscle memory of trust carry me, and maybe, for now, that’s enough. 

###

ABOUT TANYA EBY

Tanya Eby is an award winning narrator who likes to write, cook, grow oyster mushrooms, go for walks, and do paint-by-numbers. She really really really wants to go on a trip somewhere.

She is also an expert napper.

The Rope Swing and Letting Go

There’s a memory that’s been popping up a lot lately. I think I finally figured out why. 

When I was little, my grandparents had a bomb shelter on a tiny lake. The shelter was built in the 60s, and by the time we were using it, it was in the 80s, and the whole thing was overgrown and falling apart. Inside the concrete structure built into a hill, there were old tomatoes in glass jars stacked on a corner shelf. And that was all that was left in preparation to survive a nuclear blast. The roof had overgrown and over the years, trees sprouted and then grew tall on top of the shelter.

There was also a rope swing. 

This rope swing (in my mind) was a grand and glorious thing. It hung from a giant tree and there was a handle made from a tree branch that hung from the rope’s end. You could grab ahold of this, climb the hill, run down the hill while holding on, and you would swing way out over the lake and then drop into the water. I watched my brother and cousins (even my uncles) do this and I was in awe. It seemed so dangerous, and also wildly fun.

It took forever to work up the courage, but I remember grabbing that handle, walking to the top of the hill, running, and then hanging on. And hanging on. And hanging on. I swung out over the lake and realized that there was a dead tree in the water that marked the drop off. It had sharp branches and broken limbs. You could see the tree in perfect clarity, but only when you were swinging over it. It wasn’t visible from the hill. You could see the clear water before the drop off and the water dark and sparkling after it.

I wanted to land in the dark and sparkling water, but I was terrified if I let go too soon, if I didn’t have enough power in my run and I didn’t swing out far enough, instead of dropping into that shimmering water, I’d land straight on that broken tree, its limbs surely piercing me like a row of swords. And that fear kept me from ever letting go. And the fear kept me from knowing what swimming in the middle of the lake would be like. 

***

There’s been a lot of leaping in my life. Ten years ago, I leapt from a secure job in teaching, to the scary unknown of a freelance narrator. Recently, I leapt from a marriage, to the other side as a single woman. Right now, I’m leaping from giving time to production work (with a paycheck) to giving time to writing (which may or may not have a paycheck). And I’m also leaping from being in a relationship where my needs weren’t met, to hopefully, something in the future that will be wild and wonderful, and at the same time safe and satisfying. It will be a relationship that shimmers. 

It isn’t the leaping I have a problem with.

It’s the letting go of the rope swing. It’s the fucking FEAR.

To leap into that water from the rope swing, to make it beyond the drop off and the danger of the tree, I had to first let go of the handle, of everything that kept me safe and grounded. 

It’s the letting go I’m terrified of, because how do you know when the right time to let go is? How do you say goodbye to the things you know, the things that are comfortable, and how can you trust when there is no guarantee of what is waiting for you? How do you time it just right so that you land safely after the drop off, and not in the shallow water where you might get hurt?

It takes faith. Courage. And I think, a fair amount of preparation. And then when you’ve done all of that, there’s a moment where you just have to say, “Okay. Fuck it.” Maybe you’re ready. Maybe you’re just sick of waiting. 

And you let go…and the letting go becomes the leap.

You have to make sure you’re strong enough to hold on long enough while your body is in the air, you have to make sure that the ground beneath you is solid so that when you run, you’ll be fast enough, and then you have to trust that you timed things perfectly, and let go of your grasp of everything solid and firm. You have to go from someone rooted, to someone flying. 

***

I’ve watched my family make that jump a hundred times, in many ways.

I’m only learning now how to do it. Line everything up. Be prepared. Be smart about it. And then, when you’re ready, release. Release everything that held you to earth, everything that held you in the location that you’ve grown to know so well that there is a groove to the path of your footsteps. Let go of that groove. Let go of the known, the memories, the pain and regret, and then run, leap, and FLY. 

I’m not particularly good or graceful at this, and the letting go is so hard. It’s heartbreaking sometimes to know and acknowledge that the place you’re in…is no longer the place you’re meant to be.

But every day, I let go of the old a little more as I fly a little further out and beyond that tree and the drop-off.

Every day, I’m learning a bit more how to fly, and how to land safely, in a new world. 

I think this is why I keep thinking of this memory. It’s to encourage me to keep trying. Keep going. Keep letting go. Keep flying.  

The memory is to remind me that I might not have been able to do this as a kid (or even six months ago), but I can do this now. I can get there. I just have to let go of the fear first, to say fuck it, I’ve done enough to get ready for this, and trust that I’m strong enough to make it over that dangerous tree. And then, finally, I can reach whatever wonderful thing is waiting for me out in that deep and sparkling water.

.

.

.

Fingers crossed, the thing waiting for me is not a sea monster, because that shit is NOT funny. 

###

ABOUT TANYA EBY

Tanya is a narrator, writer and Comfy Mentor. She loves writing tiny poems, blogging, cooking, and day trips. Her dream is to have a cottage on a lake someday with a rope swing. She doesn’t really want the creepy tree at the bottom of the lake. 

How Do You Honor Someone Else And Also Honor Yourself

Usually, I write a blog and post it. It’s a pretty quick process. I might think about it a bit before writing, but once I’m ready, I sit down, write it, and send it off. 

But this blog hasn’t been like that. This is my third version of it. 

Why is this one so hard for me to put into words? 

I think because there’s a lot I want to say. And I’m struggling. I’m confused. I’m angry. I’m sad. And I don’t know how to make sense of it. To be honest, I’m lost. 

***

I’m seeing a man who I’m pretty crazy about, but he’s not really ready for me. Not yet. Or maybe he doesn’t really want me. I can’t tell for sure. Some days, I’m like, “That’s it. I’m out.” And other days I’m like, “He needs time. We’re both healing. He’s not ready. But there’s space for me in his life. Be patient. Be understanding. This has the potential to be amazing.” 

The next morning, I wake up and think “Tanya, what the fuck are you doing? You’ve told him there are things you need in a relationship and those things aren’t being met. He’s not willing to meet those needs. Your needs are valid. Get out.”

See? I’m confused. And there’s no one who can tell me what to do. I have to figure it out for myself.

***

Which way to go? Left? Right? Who do you honor? Who do you choose?

I read a book of parenting advice last week. One section was written to moms about sons, and another section to moms about daughters. And when I read the following, I became literally nauseous. (Not an exact quote. I’m summarizing.) 

            Mom, when your son cries, go to him! He needs your comfort.

He needs you to take care of him!

And then in the other section:

            Mom, when your daughter cries, make sure she really needs you

before you rush to comfort her. She may just be seeking attention. 

I wanted to throw up.

***

This is what I’m struggling with. My need to be heard, to have my wants and needs met, and my need to comfort and support him, to silence myself and lift him up. Because when a man needs something, you go to them and give them what they need. You honor those needs. When a woman needs something, you wait and make sure it’s really a need before you respond. Maybe you just ignore her. She’ll shut up eventually.

It’s the advice in that baby book that I’m fighting. It’s so hard to fight it because IT STARTS SO EARLY. Our conditioning to be caretakers starts with our birth. 

A baby girl can cry with all her might telling the world “I need you! I need comfort!” and you are supposed to ignore her, because she’s a girl, and girls don’t know what they really want or need. Girls are hysterical.

But when a boy tells the world “I need you!” you better drop everything you’re doing, everything about who you are and what you want, and you better go fucking comfort him.

This is what we’re fighting against.

I’ve thought about this a lot and I get angrier and angrier.

How long have we cried for what we want and need, and our partners haven’t heard us, or worse, ignored us? How clear have we been in stating our wants, only to have them not met? How long have we compromised what we want, and the man hasn’t compromised a thing?

We bend. We support. We soothe. We comfort.

We suffer.

 ***

The trouble is…the kind of person I want to be, the person I want to be in a relationship is patient, supportive, empathetic, loving. So I want to be this way with the man I’m seeing. I want to give him all the time and space he needs. I want us to breathe. 

But there’s the other part of me, the inner baby-girl who is crying to have her needs met, and they aren’t being met. Maybe they will be. Maybe they won’t be. I can’t know for sure. 

What do I do?

Right now…I don’t have a clue. 

 ***

Usually I try to end these blogs with some kind of realization, but the truth is, I’m really lost. How do you honor someone else while also honoring yourself?

Is that even possible?

Please tell me it is. Because I want to believe that we can be in relationships where one person cries, and the other comforts. And the next day, those roles switch. The comforter cries; the crier comforts. I want to believe in balance and support and an ability to meet in the middle. To say, I’m not ready yet, but I can take a tiny step toward you. And I want to be able to say, I know you’re not ready yet, so I’ll take a tiny step toward you until you can catch up, and then we’ll figure out the rest of the way together.

That’s what I want. That’s what I’m crying for. 

I just don’t know if anyone is listening. 

###

ABOUT TANYA EBY

Tanya is a narrator and writer. She is trying to raise 2 million dollars so she can quit all her jobs and focus on writing, and also get a new set of pottery dishes. You can Venmo 2 million dollars to her at Tanya-Eby.

I Have Been Married Twice and I’m Not A Failure

I’ve been married twice and I’m not a failure.

I’ve been really ruminating on this idea that the end of a marriage or partnership equals failure. It’s a concept I’ve fought against…the idea that somehow the end of a partnership means you are a loser. You failed.

It marks you, this idea. It’s a brand that hurts, and continues to hurt. When you move forward into your next relationship, because there will be a next relationship, you carry this brand with you. And it shouldn’t be that way. 

A relationship ends because the two people have lost the ability to communicate, or they’ve grown in different directions. The love they had isn’t the love they need anymore. It’s not a failure. It’s an awakening. 

When I was first dipping my toes in the dating pool and I’d tell someone I’d been married twice, their reaction was physical. A flinch. I could almost see their thoughts “RED FLAG ALERT!” 

But no, I wanted to say, let me explain, but I didn’t know how to put it into words. 

Last night, I was watching Ted Lasso Season One (Amazing. Watch it.) and there’s a part when he’s discussing divorce with his wife, and he says “I never wanted to give up on anything.” She responds, “You’re not giving up. You’re just letting go.”

It’s not a failure. You’re not giving up. You’re just releasing. You’re letting go. 

THIS. THIS IS THE TRUTH OF IT.

I have so many friends going through breakups right now. It’s such a painful thing to endure, this transformation from a couple to an individual, and it doesn’t help to carry the weight from our culture of embarrassment and shame. There’s no purpose for that, except to put you in a place of fear. In a place that makes you stay. 

Sometimes marriages end. Relationships end. They end for all sorts of reasons. Good reasons. Bad reasons. Painful reasons. 

What I wish is instead of judging others, instead of branding people as failures for the end of a relationship, I wish we could shift our thinking. I wish we could say something like this:

This path you’ve been on is so hard. How brave you are for trying all the ways you could to fix it. How brave of you for talking about things, requesting changes, for wanting a full life that is balanced and beautiful. How strong you must be to recognize that the life you’ve been living isn’t healthy anymore, and that your spirit requires something new so that you can continue to grow. How brave and beautiful that you tried for as long as you did, and when you realized that you aren’t sharing the same path with your partner, how amazing that you were able to love each other enough to let go. You were able to let your partner move on to the life that will fulfill them, whatever that means. You are able to let yourself move forward to the life that will fulfill you, whatever that means. Your wants and needs are valid, and you now have a new chance to honor yourself and your wants and needs and build the life that fits you. 

I wish we could all say to ourselves:

I am not a failure. I am a beautiful light. And it’s time to shine.

***

TANYA EBY is a writer and narrator. If you like her work, please share it with someone. Tanya lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan, with her two kids and two dogs. She’s currently looking for an agent for her new psychological thriller.

The Audacity Of Wanting More

I took a vacation this week and rented a cottage on Lake Michigan. It’s a little scary, to take time off from work, to pay for a cottage, but it felt important. I needed the time off. (We all need time off.)

A year ago, I had stayed at the same cottage and I had a weird sense of “Holy cow. A lot can happen in a year. Your whole life can change.” My whole life did change. Not a little change either, a complete and utter transformation.

Last year, I stumbled into the cottage exhausted and stressed out. Bone weary. We were still in lockdown from the pandemic, and that was a universe of stress on its own. But beyond that, I had the kind of stress that had been pumping steadily through me for years. And I had the additional fear and stress from just separating from my then-husband. We’d acknowledged that though we’d tried as hard as possible, our relationship wasn’t fixable. We put the house up for sale, and we’d start showing it the day after I arrived at my retreat. 

When I remember that stress, and all the unknowns of that week, it’s staggering. I’d found a dream home, but if we didn’t sell our house in four days, and if we didn’t sell it for a certain amount (that was way beyond what we paid for it), I’d lose everything. I didn’t know for sure where I’d end up living, how my kids would cope, would I have enough work to give us a good life, and I was terrified.

I was also ashamed.

Ashamed at my audacity for not only wanting more from life, but for trying to get it. Who was I to want more? I had a nice house, was married to a nice man, why couldn’t I just shut up and be happy?

 I don’t know where that thought came from. Society maybe, the culture we live in. Or maybe just from my own battered spirit that through experience had learned to only want tiny things. Small things. Not important things. If I wanted anything more than that, I was sure to be disappointed. 

There was also the inner thought that if in my marriage…if I just didn’t acknowledge what was wrong, if I just ‘put on a happy face’, then things would be fine. If you don’t acknowledge the monster in the room that’s sitting there drooling and dripping and heaving, then there’s no monster, just a weird problem with the airflow in the house. Just open some windows.

 It was my fault that things had gone so wrong, because I’d acknowledged the monster. Shame on me.

 Fuck that. That’s crazy making. You should be able to talk about the monsters, to talk about the things that are wrong before they become monsters. What I did wasn’t shameful.

What I did was brave. 

I dared to want more from my life.

 I thought life would knock me down; punish me for wanting.

 A year later, I walked into the same cottage. I needed to relax a bit from a strenuous year of work and change, but I wasn’t wounded like I was before. This was a normal fatigue. And I walked in with a different life entirely. We had sold our house in the four days for the price we needed, and I was able to buy my dream home. I’ve had steady work this year that’s provided safety for me and my kids. I’ve been able to tackle things on my own and have gained strength from my loved ones.

This year, at the cottage, my closest girlfriends spent a day with me where we shopped and drank and ate and laughed. We talked while the sun set before us and the world grew dark around us. I had a few days of intense writing to myself where I could feed that part of my soul without work interruptions. And then J (the man I’m seeing) came to spend time with me. My ex wasn’t a fan of cottages and I had to fight to get him to join me. He didn’t want to. So to have this wonderful man come and spend time with me willingly, was like some kind of waking dream. A reminder that it is possible to meet people who share your interests, who want to spend time with you, who enjoy the slight musty smell of a small cottage, and the magic of how a place by the water, in the woods, in the calm, can bring two people closer.  

I walked. I painted. I had time to think. The weather turned crummy, and I holed up inside away from the bugs and the humidity, and I felt a wave of gratitude, looking at the change that is possible over a single year.

 There has been such heartbreak this year. For me, but probably for others. I lost friends, and boundaries I set with family members meant I lost some of them too. There were concerns about money, and issues with the house that were expensive and scary. There were times I thought I couldn’t do it. Times I felt stupid for trying. I have risked things in business and had some failures, but also success. I wrote a screenplay and a novel and poems, because that part of myself that was always in a state of flight, is finally in a state of peace, and I can tap into all the words and feelings I’d been cut off from. 

 I guess my biggest realization this week is that it’s not audacious to hope. It’s beautiful. When you envision change, when you want it, it’s for a good reason. It’s valid. 

I’m so glad I was loud enough and bold enough to demand something different.

I have a new life that is richer, bigger, and more fulfilling than I allowed myself to hope for. It’s not always great. There are still struggles and worries about money and the future and all those What If’s. But now I can handle those things from a space of safety that I created by the simple act of wanting (and believing) I could have more. 

***

TANYA EBY is a narrator and writer. If you like her blog, please share it with friends.

The Things I Miss About Marriage

On my birthday this last week (which was a great few days of celebrating with the man I’ve been dating and then my best friends), I met a friend for a drink and the subject of marriage came up. He asked me if I’d ever want to be married again. Six months ago, I’d have had an immediate and strong response: NO FUCKING WAY. UH-UH. NOPE. NO. NEVER. FILL UP MY MARTINI GLASS, PLEASE. 

But something peculiar has been happening to my heart over these last few months. It’s a kind of healing, I think. For a long time, my marriage had gotten so bad, so broken, so lonely, that I stopped knowing how to love. I forgot how to be soft and open. I became scar tissue. Hard, unwieldy, protecting what had been a tender wound. 

These last few months, I’ve be re-learning what it feels like to be open-hearted while also terrified. Of risking while also knowing it could crush me. I’m learning how to love in a way that is kind and open and hopeful. I’m learning to not expect love in return, but to be grateful if it’s there.

There are things I don’t like about marriage. Marriage, in my opinion, began as a way to control women, to take away their power, their identity, and their autonomy over their lives and bodies. And it hasn’t changed much over the centuries. So I have a problem with the legal side of marriage, only enforced by my two divorces where I had to leave my first marriage with nothing financially, and my second with enough to put a down payment on a house, but not much more. 

Do I want to be married again and risk financial failure? Do I want to give up half of what I’ve worked so hard to attain? NO.

But that’s not really about marriage, is it? That’s about divorce. Do I want to be DIVORCED again? NO FUCKING WAY. 

But…then the question remains. I don’t want to be divorced again, but do I want to be married? 

This is what I’ve been thinking about lately. There are things I miss about marriage. I miss having a space in someone’s life that belonged to me. I knew we’d work our lives around each other and include each other without question. It just was. We’d check in with each other before making big decisions. We’d share joy and heartbreak. We’d share sandwiches, and cars, and plans for the future. I miss that bond. I miss that comfort and safety. And, honestly, I miss that feeling of control, of knowing that I had a partner who was with me, even when he wasn’t with me, if that makes sense.

I miss those lazy weekends where we were both doing things in the house, not even talking or interacting, but we were aware of each other’s presence. There was a comfort and beauty in that kind of dance. We didn’t have to align our schedules, coordinate, or plan, because we were together. A given.

I miss that so much there are times I cry about it. I miss being a part of a whole.

But I don’t miss when a marriage goes bad. When you don’t talk to each other, when things are so broken, you don’t even fight, you just say “Sure. Okay. Things are fine.” You make do. You give up what’s important to you. You dim yourself, dull your edges, deny what’s important. I don’t miss the resentment, the lack of physical connection, the absence of a spiritual bond.

But I do miss being married, sometimes.

My kids will be done with high school in three years and I’m now trying to envision what my life will look like when they are on their own, becoming the people they need to be. 

What story do I want my life to be? Do I want to be fiercely independent, travelling at the drop of a hat, having multiple physical relationships with people that is fun in the moment, but never quite fulfilling?

That’s an easy answer for me. I don’t want that. 

I want, eventually, a second half. I want Sunday mornings with a partner. I want to watch stupid things on Netflix when we are so exhausted, we just can’t think of anything else to do. I want to know that when we talk about the calendar, we are talking about the calendar of our lives together, and not how to fit into the gaps of each other’s worlds.

I want to fight, to get angry, to talk about the hard stuff, and to love each other enough that we will do whatever it takes to find our way back to each other. Therapy. Couples’ retreat. Something. Anything that reminds us that we share a love that is deeper than resentment. 

I want someone who will love me fully, and someone that I, with wild abandon, can open my heart to, can be vulnerable with, someone I can love so much that that love becomes a ribbon that reaches out and gently wraps around my loved one’s hand, drawing us closer together. 

I’m not sure I want to be married in the traditional sense. But would I stand in front of my friends and family and tell the world that this one person is my chosen partner, that we will create a space for each other in our souls that belongs to our partner, that we will weather the years, and the disagreements, the heartache and the heart-joy together, come what may? Do I want that?

Fuck yes. 

I do. 

ABOUT TANYA EBY

This is Tanya. If you like her blog, please share it with others. Tweet it. Share it on Facebook. Text a friend. Leave a comment.

Also consider checking out her cookbook/memoir. It’s about food, but it’s also about life. And there’s A LOT of swearing in it. SWEET & SORROW.

Tanya is currently searching for an agent to represent her new thriller, and she’s started writing something else that is raw and (she hopes) beautiful.

Love Languages & The Fear Of Disappearing

My friend and I went on a walk last week. There’s something really freeing about walking together and just chatting away the miles. We were talking about love languages and how if you’re in a relationship and you and your partner have different love languages, it can be difficult. There are misunderstandings. Unmet wants and needs. Confusion. 

It helps, then, to know your language, and to know theirs. 

“I’m not exactly sure what my love language is,” I said. “I think it’s all of them. I mean, I like doing things for someone I care about, acts of service or whatever. I like receiving gifts. Quality time is important and essential. Physical touch, duh. Love that. Need it. So maybe I don’t have A love language. Maybe I have ALL the love languages.”

My friend started laughing. 

“What?” I said.

“You’re missing one of the love languages and it’s so obvious to me that THAT’S the one you are.”

I thought about it. I thought real hard. Real, real hard. 

What love language was I missing? There wasn’t one about sandwiches was there?

“What is it?” I asked. 

“Your love language is totally Words of Affirmation.”

And then I started laughing because, of course. OF COURSE. I like all the other things in a relationship, but what I need, what anchors me, is occasional affirmation. It soothes me. Grounds me. Connects me to the person. Quiets some of the constant anxiety and questions I have. 

The man I’m seeing was on a road trip for the past two weeks and I struggled a bit not to get too in my head with worry. But then he texted me: “I miss you.” And that was all I needed. “I’m good for a week now!” I told my friend. “You’re totally right. I need the words.”

I’m attracted to you. I see you. You’re important to me. I miss you. I want you. You’re funny. You’re talented. I’m glad you’re in my life. 

I’ve always been a words-girl, but those are the words that give me strength. 

Then something interesting happened this weekend. 

I had a housewarming party (and a party to welcome friends who might move here) and for the first time in years, my home was filled with people and food and laughter and music. I had all sorts of worries before the party started. Would people have fun? Would there be enough to talk about? Would people show up?

These are not me and my friends at my party. We are WAAAAAY prettier than these people.

But it was lovely. Better than I imagined.

After the party, I heard from three separate friends with questions like, “I’m sorry if I seemed distant. I haven’t felt myself lately and maybe I wasn’t fun enough.” 

“Was I too much? Was I too loud?” 

“Did I seem weird? Was I too out there?”  

I assured my separate friends that they were perfect. And in fact, the things they were worried about were the exact things I appreciated most about them. One was very grounded, the other brought energy and vitality, the other made us laugh and smile.

Then I realized, maybe after a year of being apart, maybe we all need some Words of Affirmation.

I see you. I’m glad you’re in my life. I feel good when I’m around you. You’re important to me.

This last year, or over a year really, has been so trying for us all. Romantic relationships were either strengthened, or their hairline fractures became breaks. We forgot how to connect with each other in person. And maybe there’s a little fear that our friends or loved ones have gotten used to us not being in their lives. Maybe it’s a fear of disappearing and no one really noticing that we’ve gone.

I do think my Love Language is Words of Affirmation. I don’t need them all the time, but I do need a little reassurance.

Right now, I think we all do.

Your weirdness, your grounded-ness, your creativity, your energy, your insight, your quirky spirit, your humor, your ability to ask hard questions, your fire…make my life brighter. You were missed during our time away. There was a space left empty, and it waited for you, and here you are. I am glad you are here. You matter. The world is better with you in it. 

I don’t know if you needed to hear those words, but I’ve needed to hear them. 

And…I also needed to say them.

I hope when you see your friends and family after this time apart, I hope you’ll hug them and tell them you missed them. Tell them you love them. Remind them that they matter.

And then, for the love of God, someone send me a sandwich. 

***

TANYA EBY is a narrator and writer. She’s looking for an agent to believe in her and say the affirming words: “Yes. I will represent you and we will sell your new book.”

Find her on Instagram at tanya_eby

It's Not Love I'm Afraid Of, It's Trust

I like to write tiny poems on occasion. Lately, I’ve been writing a lot of them. Maybe because I’m dating, or maybe it’s just because I feel a sort of blossoming of spirit that shows up in poetry. 

I like poetry that is easy. Small words, small thoughts, that maybe make you feel something for just a moment.

 I play with the poems for a while before I post them. Maybe I write the whole thing out and chop words or play with line breaks, or maybe I worry away at one line until I figure out what it is I’m trying to say. It’s a satisfying process.

This week, I started a poem with one line. I kept returning to it, wanting to build the weighty emotion I wanted to cling to its shoulders, but I couldn’t make it work.

It was just this:

Just that one line: I am afraid of loving you.

But I couldn’t go beyond that one thought. Why? I knew there was more to the poem but I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find what was next.

Until today. 

I woke up and I realized it’s not the loving I’m afraid of. Loving is easy. It’s something that just happens. It’s something that IS. Loving is breathing.

Love doesn’t scare me.

 It’s trusting someone that is terrifying. 

This is how trusting someone feels like to me:

I look you in the eyes and my wants and needs are on a pottery platter. The platter is filled with the most precious parts of my spirit: breakable, tender things. A pink flower petal, a tea cup so fragile it’s like looking through a cloud, a small stack of pebbles that are balanced into a tiny tower, glass beads strung together with spider silk. 

This is me, holding on to my platter, and then holding my platter out to you, in the hopes that you do not drop it, or even worse, that you don’t even notice it’s there.

I have held out a platter of fragile things to people I love, and they have dropped them, swept them aside, ignored them. But I keep trying, because I believe that one day, that friend, that family member, that loved one, will honor that platter, and hold it. If they drop it, I understand, it’s okay, but maybe the next time I reach out to them, there’s one less thing on the platter to make it easier to bear. And then there’s one less and one less and one less, until it’s just a platter, and nothing of importance is really offered at all.

This is a lengthy metaphor to say that I have trusted and I have been hurt. I know that trusting brings strength and foundation to any relationship, and I crave that. When you can trust someone, it’s more than a glue, it’s a magical bond. It’s comfort and safety.  It’s strength. 

But when that trust is violated, it can take a little of the love you have for the person with it. 

With the new relationships I’m forming (and it goes beyond dating, it’s friendships and family) I feel like I am openly holding out my fragile things to people because it’s in the trust of doing that where true connection is built. I can trust you with my fragile spirit; you can trust me with yours.

That’s the bit that’s terrifying. Because what if you can’t? What if the person you want a connection with, doesn’t really want that with you? What if they’re okay with dropping the platter, because it’s just a collection of things. 

 So the poem, then, begins with an acknowledgment:

I am afraid of trusting you

And maybe then it continues…

I am afraid of trusting you

with Me

(and my platter of fragile things)

but I love you enough

to try.

I love you enough

to believe. 

***

This poem, like me, is a work in progress. 

###

TANYA EBY is a writer and audiobook narrator. She’s currently looking for an agent for her new psychological suspense novel. She’s building a new life where she’s open and vulnerable. That’s why, in this picture, she’s drinking a martini. Building a new life can be scary AF, and a nice martini now and then is lovely.

The Anxiety Of An Echoing House

I’ve been feeling really anxious and emotional this week. Anxiety is common for me, and when I feel it, there is usually a cause. The cause wasn’t obvious to me and since my Life Coach isn’t available til July, I knew it was something I’d have to figure out on my own.

So I grabbed the air pods, put on some acoustic folk music and decided to walk. I walked quickly until I felt my body start to burn the anxiety away. It’s sort of like clearing a flower bed of winter debris. You can’t see what’s there until you clear the gunk away. 

When my body started to tire, a simple idea presented itself: “I know how to be a wife, but I don’t know how to be a girlfriend.” 

That was an interesting thought. What did it mean?

Honestly, I’m not sure I AM a girlfriend, not yet, but I am seeing someone wonderful and we’re having trouble, well, seeing each other. We have opposite parenting schedules so when he has his kids, I don’t have mine. When I have mine, he doesn’t have his. And we both have busy lives. He has some travel coming up and there just isn’t space to see me. It’s okay. It really is. I understand it.

Why the anxiety then? 

Because I don’t know how to be in this spot of dating-but-sorta-not, or rather,  I don’t know who to be. How much do people dating see each other? Once a week? Once a month? What’s the new normal I’m supposed to have right now? Are we dating if we don’t see each other for a month? What are the rules?

And then I walked some more and I realized it’s not really this new dating experience that’s causing these feelings of anxiety. It goes deeper than that. 

The real core of my anxiety is that I don’t know how to be in this life I’m creating. 

I remember when I bought this house and I finally had the keys. I brought over some boxes, and I just walked around the empty rooms, my footsteps echoing on the bare wooden floors. The walls free of pictures. No furniture. The fireplace cold. It was just an empty house. 

Walking around, I could see specters of what would be. Not ghosts of the past, but ghosts of the future: the Christmas tree by the window, my kids and I sitting down for dinner, my back porch at night with the fairy lights on, friends sitting around laughing and talking in that slow murmur that floats in the air. I could feel that this house would be filled with good things and good people and that I would be safe here and loved.

And that has come true. I have filled my house with color, stoked the fire in the fireplace, added comfy chairs, blankets, couches. My kids and I sit at a white table with pretty dishes and we have dinner. And the Christmas tree was just as I imagined. 

Now that I have the physical space I yearned for, I’m now filling my interior space. It’s like, right now, my inner house where my soul resides, is vast and still echoing. There is the space of crazy wonderful chaos where my kids are and where my love for them dances, and the flickering lights where a few close friends chat. There’s my warm kitchen where I cook and sing. There’s the interior space filled with lush green and growing things where I am creative, where I try new things, where I walk until my body trembles. 

There are spaces though that still echo. The place for more laughter, for more adventures, for more love. 

I want to fill my interior house and it’s the echoing that is scary to me.

The thing is, I can’t expect a single person to fill that space. It’s MY house. And while they can share some of my house with me, I have to fill it first with the things that matter to me. A house isn’t a home because of one thing or one person; a house is a home because of the many experiences within it.

Not so long ago, I was a wife and I knew what that was and what it meant. And now, I’m just… me. A mom sometimes. A friend sometimes. A lover sometimes. 

I am a house filled with many things.

When I finally got home after an hour or so of moving my body, my mind felt a little better. 

I don’t need to know how to be a girlfriend. There is no need for rules here. It is enough that I’m just me, in my house, filling my life with the things and people that matter to me. 

It takes time to make a house a home. 

I’m finally, slowly, learning how to be my own safe space.

 ****

TANYA EBY is a performer and a writer. She lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan with her two kids and two dogs. Her home is colorful, and comfortable, and sometimes messy. Her interior life is much the same. :)

I Met Someone Who Likes Lawrence Welk As Much As I Do

Here’s my update on the dating post-divorce-during-late-forties-during-pandemic situation.

I met someone recently who likes Lawrence Welk as much as I do AND I AM ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED. I’m terrified because we have a ton in common, and he’s adorable, and comfortable to be around, and funny, and kind, and what if I’m too much? I’m probably too much. I’m too new agey with my recent self-development and yogaspeak. I’m being way too open and vulnerable here and asking the questions I want to know the answers to instead of keeping the questions to myself where I make up some kind of answer to them because I really need to know. (Phew. That was a long sentence. I’m out of breath now.) 

I’m maybe too pushy too opinionated too whatever. And dating is hard. I’m not good at it. Maybe I should just go home. 

Wait a second though. 

 Am I too much? Is that true? Is it?

Or maybe, for the right person at the right time, I’m just enough. 

That’s possible, isn’t it. 

This is what I’m counting on. 

I am counting on the idea that you can 100% be fully and completely who you are and eventually, you will meet a person you can groove with, harmonize (badly) with, and laugh with while Lawrence Welk introduces yet another dancing family in matching polyester outfits highlighted with a rainbow of sequins. 

Here’s another thought I’m counting on: The right person at the right time is just as vulnerable and terrified as you are! Because being real is fucking scary. Because being real sometimes means being human. 

Trying to love someone, being open to love, is terrifying, because you could get hurt. Oh, the heart can hurt so deeply. 

 Okay. These are true things. Being real is hard. Asking to be loved can hurt. 

Onward…

I finished this online dating course with Mark Groves. It was really inspiring and helpful and went beyond dating. It was more of a course of Knowing. Knowing who you are, what you want in your life, what’s important to you, and what is something you’re not willing to compromise on. I looked at patterns in my life and why I chose to repeat them. And I had big revelations. I talked about the one about my dad when I realized that maybe he chose not to be in my life because HE wasn’t good enough for ME, and not the reverse.

That was a life-changer. That idea. I’ve been applying it to the men I’ve met…this idea that maybe they’re just not right for me. Not that I’m too broken, or too much, or not enough. That shit’s exhausting. That shit’s just a story. The truth is that connecting is hard. It’s a bit of magic. It’s timing: where you are in your life, where you want to go, who you are now, and who you want to be. And I know who I am and what I want. Why keep pretending I’m confused? I’m not. 

After that revelation, I rewrote my profile on Bumble. Instead of forcing anything, I was just honest: I said I wanted a deep connection with someone, but that takes time and probably a fair amount of awkwardness. I said I’ll know it’s meant to be if we both decide to keep going, keep exploring, keep growing. I said I was liberal, pro-charcuterie and I like takeout under the stars, if the stars are out by 7PM because I’m a morning person. 

Then I met someone pretty wonderful. He read my profile and liked it, in all that “Hey! Here I am!” ness. He is liberal minded. Pro-charcuterie. A morning person. Likes Lawrence Welk and the Muppets. Likes comedy. Likes expression. Likes that my second toe is freakishly long. 

I don’t know where it’s going. I don’t have to. I’m just grateful for this, for meeting him and for whatever happens because it taught me something big: there are men out there who will appreciate you for who you are, as you are now, in the body you are in now, with all your faults and cracks and brokenness because they are who they are, as they are, in the body they have now, and have just as many flaws and tender spots as you do. 

It’s called being alive. It’s called living a rich life. It’s called being real. I may get my heart broken, and if I do, I’ll write more love poems, and I’ll cry, and I’ll be grateful I had a connection with someone because that is a fucking gift. It’s a delight and worth the risk.

This is new to me, but that’s okay. I can work with new. And I can also work with the unknown. I don’t have to know everything right now. 

 Maybe in the not-knowing is where magic waits. 

 That’s another thing I’m counting on.

ABOUT TANYA:

Tanya Eby is a narrator, a writer, a cheese lover, a wine drinker, a passionate person, a poet, a mentor, a friend, a mom, a necklace wearer.

She lives in Michigan in a fairytale house that is filled with love, and things that need to be recycled--because taking that stuff outside to the bin is a lot of work. 

Now That I'm Not On Dating Apps I Can Do All The Things They Promise In Tampon Commercials

I’ve had a full week off of all the dating apps, and it’s sorta magical. I suddenly have all this time! Now I have times to do all the things that tampon commercials promised me: I can ride horses, I can swim, I can wear all white outfits and high-five my girlfriends!

Of course, I’m not doing any of those things. But I am doing stuff. 

I’m writing. 20k words on my next novel. (Not all this week, but I hit the 20k mark this week.)

I’m working out. 4 nice workouts this week.

 And I’m working on myself. By working on, I mean, I’m taking this online dating course from Mark Groves. It felt a little cheesy signing up for this, but I know I’ve got some patterns and unless I want to keep repeating the same relationships ad infinitum, then, girl, I’ve got some changing to do. 

I’ve had a few epiphanies this week that seem really helpful to know. Maybe it’ll help you too in some way. 

In my life, for most of my life, I’ve been in the role of a caretaker. When I was a teenager, of my mom and my step mom. Then kids. Then a husband who needed me to organize everything, be in command, tend to him. I didn’t want to do these things, but if I didn’t do them, then who would? I resisted with everything in me, but I still played the role.

 This year, I made some changes. I left the relationship where I wasn’t a partner but had become some kind of mother figure. Not good for the old self-esteem/libido, I’ll tell you. And I put up boundaries with my mom. I won’t rescue her financially or emotionally anymore. 

These are hard things, and they still make me feel like I’ve made cruel and selfish choices, but why is it so wrong to put your own well being first? And, man, it feels GOOD. 

I’m still drawn to that role as caretaker whether I want to be or not, because patterns suck you in. They’re comfortable. I seem to be most attracted to men who want nothing to do with me; and men who want me to take care of them seem most attracted to me. It’s kind of annoying, but I guess life has a sense of humor. 

How do I change this? I don’t know, but I think it starts with seeing the problem in the first place. Even going on dates, I’ve realized that I don’t trust that the guy can pick a restaurant or make a reservation. If they don’t step up to do it, I swoop in and take care of it.

And when I met that sculptor/handy man I really liked…looking back…I was super aggressive, but not in a positive I Am Woman way. In a broken way. I’ll control the conversation. I’ll order dinner. I’ll bulldoze my way through this. I’ll walk out of the restaurant first and you can follow me.

It’s not because I don’t want to be soft and tended to.

I just don’t trust that’s possible. 

When you are strong all the time, it takes a lot of trust to be soft. Even when ordering drinks. 

So I’m learning a little bit. And I’ve been thinking about my dad and that relationship and I wrote a little poem about it that kind of blew my mind.

And then I had two men over the last year who told me all the reasons they couldn’t love me. He wasn’t good at relationships, too much distance, if I moved he wouldn’t respect me, he was dating someone already who he didn’t really love but felt obligated to, that he could do a physical relationship, but not anything else and maybe for just a weekend here and there and would I be cool with that? So I wrote a poem about that too. 

I mean, what if all these years, I’ve been thinking of the men I wanted and lamenting because I wasn’t good enough for them. But what if the opposite is true? What if they haven’t been good enough for me?

Don’t want to go beyond the surface? Not good enough.

Want just a purely physical relationship but no emotions? Not good enough.

Need me to not be as successful or smart or opinionated or passionate as I am? Not good enough.

Is it possible, that for the right person, there’s a balance? That we, together, are good enough for each other? 

I’m nodding my head. 

This is my big realization for the the week. It feels good. It feels true. It feels like a really good place to start.

But I’m not ever going to wear a white outfit. EVER. My life is way too messy for that shit. 

This is TANYA EBY. She does a lot of things. Today she ate tacos, worked out, had a writers meeting, and wrote this blog.