From 19 to 29, I was never single for longer than three months. I serial-dated my way through my twenties, jumping from one relationship to the next because being alone terrified me. When my last relationship ended right before my 30th birthday, I made a decision: one full year, no dating, no apps, no situationships. Just me.
The first three months were awful. I didn't know what to do with myself on Friday nights. I didn't know what I liked to eat when I wasn't compromising. I didn't know who I was when I wasn't someone's girlfriend. That realization was devastating and necessary. I'd spent a decade defining myself through relationships and I had no idea who I was alone.
By month nine, I liked being alone. I traveled by myself, ate dinner at restaurants solo, made decisions without consulting anyone. The woman who came out of that year was someone I actually liked — which, it turns out, is a prerequisite for being someone worth dating. You can't offer a whole person to someone else until you've been a whole person by yourself.
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In my twenties I dated potential. In my thirties I date reality. The difference is everything.
The real work of marriage starts after the wedding. Nobody photographs that part.
I went from a group chat of twenty to a contact list of five. It hurt until I realized it was supposed to happen.