This past summer I went on a trip to Jasper, AB with my friend Monika.
I had just ended the ultimate off again, on again, mind-fuck of a relationship and while the trip had originally been planned as a getaway for him and I, my tolerance for “narcissistic-douche-canoe” had hit its limit. So, I finally flipped the switch and ended it.
Monika asked me if I was still going to Jasper and I said,
“Hell yeah, I’m going. I have days off. I have hotels booked. I have mountains to climb and beers to drink. You wanna come?”
She agreed to join me and what transpired was game changing and transformative, ironically for both of us.
We kicked the trip off by hiking Folding Mountain, a 16km, 1000 ft elevation trek. This hike is incredible. Exposed and untethered from the security of familiarity, there’s an easily accessible sense of overwhelm in the mountains. After a challenging climb, we made our descent from the top as the day shifted into evening, when the sun is still warm as it starts to set but the air has a slight coolness to it. My body was sore and tired in the best way. Hiking is something so simple that a few years ago, I didn’t have the confidence to try. There is nothing like the calm and accomplished feeling of having done a thing you didn’t think you were capable of doing.
I’ve finally come to understand that I alone determine the adventures and the experiences of my life. And when things don’t go as planned, my response dictates my own accountability to my life. I could have cancelled the trip and spent the weekend upset about an idiot that disappointed me. OR, I could revise the plan and go. Of those two options, the latter seemed like a much better way to spend my time. At the end of the day, the memory of faulty expectations will be a tiny blip or a funny story about a shitty dating experience. Conversely, the memory of climbing Folding Mountain and the freedom and satisfaction I felt, significantly marks my life as character defining and meaningful.
Throughout our trip Monika and I discussed relationships. We’ve spoken openly about marriage and we both understand the difficulty and loss experienced in divorce. We’ve shared with one another what it was like in those initial months alone – the discomfort, the uncertainty, and the transition to solitude. We talked about the lessons we’d learned thus far including all of the pain, growth and experience that comes from dating people that don’t fit and the uncompromising choice to no longer bend.
After my husband left, it didn’t matter what my friends and family told me, I felt like rejected, undesirable, garbage.
I shrunk.
The first time someone hit on me, I looked behind me to make sure they weren’t talking to someone else. I had forgotten that anyone could find me attractive or interesting. When I realized they were talking to me, I melted. It felt so damn good that I leaned into it until I bent.
I failed to set solid boundaries and I let really shitty behaviour slide. I spent so many anxious nights wondering if I had said the right things, at the right time to keep his attention. I compromised on what I stood for, I compromised on how I wanted to feel. I slipped into the downward spiral of inauthentic, placating, desperation. I was so intoxicated by affection, that I became willing to accept anything he’d give me as long as it was something and not nothing.
Lord Jesus, just writing that is nauseating. But it happened.
It can be a gross miscalculation to believe that receiving something is better than nothing, especially when the something is bullshit. This is a lie born out of fear that perpetuates itself, your own self-sabotage and lousy relationships.
If you’re settling for crumbs of affection and a sprinkling of attention amidst dumps of disrespect and overall disregard, you are getting fucked and not in a good way.
I’ve told myself a thousand times that I’ll be fine on my own because I wanted to marinate my brain in the idea of it. I’ve reasoned that if I conditioned myself to accept it, then if it happens, I’ll be less disappointed, maybe even okay with it. While I’ve proven that I can manage on my own and I’ve learned that being single is not the worst circumstance, the TRUTH is that I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life. I’m willing to wait to find the right fit, but I do want a relationship and companionship someday.
When I admitted this to Monika, we both got very quiet.
The truth can be terrifying, uncomfortable and liberating all at the same time. It often highlights the most vulnerable and sensitive parts of ourselves that we prefer to keep covered up. But, even small, seemingly confidence-boosting misrepresentations of who we are and what we want can hurt us in the long run. Because, a misleading narrative about ourselves and what we want, MISLEADS us. When we lie to ourselves, we alter the trajectory of our life enough that we can end up in a place that isn’t where we ever really wanted to be.
When we are honest with ourselves about what we are most afraid of, we have a chance at facing it. When we are honest about what we long for, we have a chance to shift ourselves in the direction of those desires. When we are honest about what really matters to us, we have a chance at prioritizing our day in a way that makes us feel content when we fall asleep. And when we are honest about the way we want to live our life, we have a chance at existing in a meaningful way. It takes courage to be truthful with yourself about your greatest fears and deepest insecurities. It’s difficult and awkward and sometimes painful but it’s CRUCIAL.
So, when I admit that yes, I do eventually want to have love and companionship in my life, it comes at a cost.
It means being super clear about what I want and don’t want which means that there will be more of the awkward, “I don’t think this is the right fit” conversations than the fun, “I really like you” make-out session conversations.
It means standing by my values, particularly with how I want to be treated even if it means acknowledging annoying behavior that makes me embarrassed for the other person.
It means leaning in but not so much that I lose my head and can’t spot a clear red flag.
It means, calling myself out when I’m trying to talk myself into why a relationship is good for me, when it really isn’t.
These are extremely difficult things to do, especially when you’re riding the initial high of attraction but being honest about each of these steps is game-changing.
We set out on this trip with a couple hikes, a nice meal and several beers in mind. We had beautiful, honest conversation, laughs that left my face aching, and moments of the purest freedom and gratitude I’ve ever experienced. And I came away, empowered and shifted just a few simple degrees in the right direction all because of one climb and one honest admission.
xo,
Jen
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MSMAMACHIC 