Are you going to talk me afterwards if we have sex?
I felt his breath on my neck, his naked skin against mine.
Of course, I just can’t stay the night.
That answer was good enough for me, even thought it really wasn’t.
The door shuts behind him after he leaves my dorm.
I wait for a text that never arrives.
Why don’t you want me?
I never thought my life as a 19 year old would be eerily similar to my life mid-way to thirty. Over the years, I have lessened my expectations — with men, at least. Expecting radio silence after the fact yet still holding on to the glimmer of hope that this one might be different.
I didn’t think I’d still be asking, What’s wrong with me? rather than, What’s wrong with you?
Yet, I digress. I don’t really want this one to be all about my very active, yet consistently disappointing sex life.
It’s been a common theme in my life as of late.
Why don’t you want me?
I started asking this question more often than not the past six or so months. At first, it was in relation to my love life — searching for intimacy in the wrong places leading to yet another dude to simply “add to the list.” Not really wanting a boyfriend, but a companion at least. Maybe, I don’t know.
That question, why don’t you want me? started trickling into other areas of my life. At first it was slow but quickly snowballed, leading to fog of anxiety and an avalanche I couldn’t dig myself out of.
They say the easiest part of starting a business is just that — starting a business.
I can remember the adrenaline bursting through my veins — organizing a business plan, emailing potential clients with a high response rate & internally flipping off societal expectations.
I was a business owner!! I’m so fucking cool!
It’s felt like the standard honeymoon phase. You know, when you first start dating someone and everything is sunshine and rainbows and you’re convinced you’ll spend the rest of your life with this person.
What could go wrong?
Lots of shit!
“You’ve only been in business for year?! That’s nothing! Keep pushing!”
Nah, it is something.
It’s 365 days of hustling every day to convince people of your worth while simultaneously trying to convince yourself the same thing. It’s picking up extra shifts when you don’t want to because your client could no longer afford you and you have to figure out how the hell you’re going to pay rent that month. It’s being your own boss, your own cheerleader, your own EVERYTHING to make sure that your visions come to life…if they ever do.
It’s constantly asking yourself, what’s wrong with me? when you work for days on a pitch deck only to watch your competition come out on top.
I got fucking tired of it.
I got tired of people negotiating to discount my packages. Tired of late payments, tired of updating Quickbooks, knowing what food holiday to post about.
I was simply tired.
Tired of people (sex-partners included) not wanting to invest in me.
So, in turn, I stopped investing in my life. I turned to food to solve my emotional problems, put my health and self-care in the back burner — a mistake that nearly took my life back in August. But don’t worry, Insta never so that side of my life!
I was living life in this fog of un-dealt with emotions, setting myself up for failure in all areas of my life — my career, choices in men, the whole nine yards. I dated toxic men, drank more, exercised less.
What happened to the adrenaline bursting through my veins? The excitement that I had about this new chapter of my life? It all got lost the moment I hit a plateau.
My entire life, I’ve had this never ending fear of being mediocre. I’m a smart gal, I’ve always known this about myself. So I set expectations — some higher than others. They are always sitting in my brain knowing that I’ll get to them…eventually.
But, why not now? Why am I getting in my own damn way?
In the midst of attempting to dig myself out of this avalanche I had constructed for myself, I saw a light. Well, two.
What better to deal with your own insecurities than finding something or someone else to make you feel better about yourself? Well, a lot of things. But I’ll get to that later.
I found not one, but TWO jobs that had my name written all over it. Two social media director positions with extremely reputable companies in DC. Tbh, I wasn’t even looking for another “9-5” but these were practically screaming my name.
Four-five years of experience? Ehhh, don’t have that. But, I’m still DEF the most qualified candidate for this position. It was like I bumped a line of cocaine, a sudden burst of energy and eagerness.
THIS IS BREAK I NEEEEED!!!!
Within 24 hours, I had been invited to hop on a call for both positions. Nailed it. Landed the next interview. Nailed it. Breezed through round three and made it to the 4th and final round without a worry in the world.
This was some line of cocaine, man. The high lasted the entire month of November. I walked on water, envisioning the Facebook post I would write announcing my new position when both companies would give me an offer and I had to choose one.
I waited…and waited some more. I was on the come down — anxiously refreshing my email for a “congrats!” email with an offer letter attached.
The first rejection stung a bit. It arrived on a Wednesday in the middle of a personal training session. I decided to remain positive because I had convinced myself I had the second job in the bag.
Thursday at 3pm rolls around.
“Beth, after much deliberation, we have decided to move forward with another candidate who we feel fits closest with the job requirements. We would love to keep your resume on file for future positions as your skillset is very impressive.”
Man, that was a punch in the gut. Well, not one punch, more like a pummeling of the gut until I felt numb.
I crawled into bed as the tears rolled down my face. Emphasis on the plural version of tear. Waterfalls, if you will.
I’ve never done cocaine, but if this is what the comedown feels like, I’m all set.
I stopped seeking new clients weeks ago, let some of my contracts expire and I had no plan B.
Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
I pretended as if no one told me that.
I allowed myself to feel sorry for myself for a day…because ya girl’s gotta eat.
Back to the drawing board.
I opened up my laptop — the light I wasn’t expecting through my avalanche of shitty decisions. I closed all of the Indeed and DCJobs.com tabs that I had been scrolling through the past couple of weeks.
I made a decision to start investing in myself again. I fucking hate shoveling, but it was time to shovel myself out instead of waiting for it to melt.
I decided there is no such thing is a “dream job.” If there was, I decided to take control of that term and slap the label wherever I please.
I can be a “dream job” if I want. I can be a dream girlfriend, a dream Instagrammer, a dream WHATEVER THE DAMN I WANT.
I actually hate the term, “Dreams only work if you do.” It’s true, I guess. But it leaves out what “work” actually means — the anxiety attacks, the self-doubt, the dozens of fuckboys to get through to find the ~one~. I can’t blame them, because TJ Maxx most certainly wouldn’t purchase the signage to sell to millennials like myself if it did.
Asking the question, why don’t you want me? is the easy one to ask. You’re placing the blame on others, pushing your self-insecurities into the depths of the universe without actually dealing with them yourself.
People aren’t going to want you. Jobs, the dude you slept with on the first date, whatever and whoever. It’s a simple fact. There’s always going to be that (more than likely) chance that there’s something or someone else they want more.
And that fucking sucks.
But then you find out that there are people who want you. Friends who invest in you. Business owners who chase you instead of you chasing them.
There’s plenty of things “wrong” with me. Man, I feel like my life is one big, “WTF is wrong with me?”
The past week I’ve done a lot of self-reflection — reevaluating a bunch of shit and starting digging myself out to what is, hopefully, a kickass start to 2019.
I stopped waiting and started doing. And, maybe it’s been luck, but my success rate has been astronomically higher the past seven days than it has been in over a month.
I started investing in myself, in things I can control. Waking up 630am, sweating my ass off at the gym to get my endorphins up. Finding joy in the little things. Working smarter, not harder. Asking for help and admitting my faults.
I simply started taking control. And, yeah, a week is next to nothing, but it’s a start.
So, what’s next? Well, thank God I love my bartending gig and it’s busy season lol.
Other than that, I’m continuing to grind. I’ve landed some awesome new projects recently which I’m so excited about. Socially Attractive is still very much my brainchild and I will work my ass off to continue to grow it in any way that I can.
I’ve packed my days with meetings, business development and finding new ways to build out the foundation I’ve worked so hard to create.
I’ve come to the conclusion that my “sex-capades” are a direct reflection of my own personal insecurities. Casual sex is cool, but I want something more than that. THERE, I SAID IT!
thank u, chad, next.
It’s quite fascinating what shitty things about yourself come to light when you’ve metaphorically been pummeled in the gut.
As Eric Matthews taught me once upon a time, “Life sucks, get a helmet!!!”
Thanks for reading.