I’M 36 AND IT’S TIME TO LET GO OF THIS STORY ABOUT MYSELF
When I had my birthday astrology reading with Dani Beinstein over the weekend, the first thing she wanted to talk to me about was what she described as “once-in-a-lifetime shifts that not every soul goes through in their lifetime,” that have been affecting my natal chart. Pluto (the planet of death and rebirth) has been sitting right on top of my natal moon in Capricorn for some time now, which has been a catalyst for massive upheaval in my career the last few years. And Uranus (the planet of liberation and rebellion, which takes 84 years to circulate all 12 signs) has been crossing over my Taurus ascendant. I’ve definitely been feeling the pressure, and I know there’s more to come.
She told me to think about the stories about myself that I’ve been holding on to—and actually, I was already in the midst of writing about it for this newsletter. We all have stories about ourselves that we hold tight to, and these stories often limit our personal development. I know I have had a particularly damaging one.
What’s a story about yourself that you need to let go of?
At the start of 2022, I knew there was something different about this year. I felt hopeful about the prospect of falling in love—and for the first time ever, I’ve felt ready to actually admit that I want to find someone to continue building my life with. It has never really been easy for me to sit with the idea of needing anybody (I blame it on my Capricorn moon). I’m hyper-independent, and I’ve always been able to provide and make shit happen for myself. Now, as I’m wading deeper into the dating waters, I’ve been confronted with some of the worst parts of myself. The parts that I’ve pushed away and avoided, the parts that have kept me single all these years.
Throughout my teens and twenties, long-term committed relationships escaped me. I always felt like maybe I was missing an instruction manual, or I just hadn’t found that missing piece to the puzzle. I think most of us like to believe that dating and relationships are very black and white. If you follow this formula, if you love yourself enough, you’ll be rewarded with the *perfect* relationship. It helps us feel like we have some sort of control in a situation where we don’t have a ton of control, because we’re not the only player involved.
If only working on yourself and loving yourself were all it took!
In reality, I couldn’t contain any of my relationships because I was avoiding real connection. A part of me always dreamed of that all consuming fairytale romance (I am a Pisces, after all), but there’s also a part of me that is deeply terrified of real intimacy and being hurt by someone. The idea that one day my significant other might wake up and decide they don't love me anymore, or want to find love with someone else, feels absolutely crushing to me.
So, I racked up a list of romantic experiences that I can only describe as intense, short-lived flings OR years-long drawn-out love affairs with guys who lived in different countries who I only saw when it was convenient for either of us. All these encounters felt magnetic and fatalistic—they were an adventure, and I was always along for the ride. I wasn’t necessarily attached to the outcome, but it was hard to shake the shame I felt around not being able to turn any of them into what others could acknowledge as a real relationship.
There’s something wrong with me, the little voice in the back of my head constantly told me. That became my story.
I still cherished these connections, though. They taught me a lot, I owned my sexuality and my pleasure—and they even pushed me to get on long-haul flights while I was working through my most intense flight anxiety. They were just never meant to be more than what they were. Even if I was hurt when they fizzled and ended, I always felt that they were meant to be in my life as part of my journey. But still, I thought, I must be doing something wrong, or there’s something wrong with me because nothing lasted.
Well, sure, I kept picking unavailable men, emotionally or physically, so that was an integral part of the story. But what wasI contributing to the dynamic? I was bringing my own flavor of emotional unavailability. I had (am still working through) a deeply rooted fear of abandonment that kept me locked in this pattern, thinking I was going to be able to fix it all by making one of these guys stay. I was incapable of speaking up about my emotional needs, I don’t think I had a real grasp on what my needs even were. When someone asked me what I was looking for in a relationship, I never had a real idea of what it could look like outside of my favorite romantic comedies. I was just chasing “connection” and the next dopamine rush, but I had to learn that not all connections were built to last. I kept my feelings close to the chest, and the only time I’d lay all my cards out on the table for a man was when I felt it was a lost cause, and I used it as my last-ditch effort to draw them back in.
Astrology played a huge role in helping me drop this narrative that there was something wrong with me. Through readings with my astrologer Rebecca Gordon, I began to understand just how much astrology plays a role in the timeline of our lives. It cleared up a lot of questions I had about my romantic dalliances that seemed to burn out just as quickly as they ignited. Also, so much of my life’s purpose is carried out through my work, and I think I had to really focus on that to be able to get to a place where I could begin to open up to the idea of true commitment. But the odds were most certainly stacked against me with Saturn (the planet of structure and discipline) in my 7th house (committed partnerships), which usually denotes someone who gets married later in life. It also signifies learning your greatest lessons in life through relationships. Yup, I can confirm.
However, I still forced myself into emotional hermit mode for a while (okay, maybe a few years), where I brushed off putting any ounce of effort into swiping on apps and dating. Sure, if someone naturally crossed my highly-selective path that seemed interesting, I’d entertain. Otherwise I kept to myself and enjoyed my very full life as a single woman in New York City. I transcended the need for random male attention because it felt empty. I don’t need someone to tell me I’m attractive, I already believed that about myself. I wasn’t interested in using sex to force false intimacy. And I didn’t want to deal with a man who wasn’t committed to their own evolution because I was deep in the trenches of my own. But I was also convinced that I could fix what was going on in my head with enough therapy and enough reading. Yes, these tools brought me a new point of view and greater awareness, but I wasn’t putting any of those learnings into actual practice until last fall when I got myself back on Hinge.
Finding acceptance for where we’re at instead of beating ourselves up for not being where we think we’re supposed to be is critical for our life’s journey.
Dating again has felt like an uphill battle for me and my anxious attachment in many ways—but I also feel energized to be going through this experience with a renewed outlook. I’ve let go of this idea that there’s something wrong with me—because there isn’t. Honestly, adults who haven’t been in serious long-term relationships are so much more common than we realize. But we’d still be quick to label them as a red flag. In reality, I’m just a complex individual with trauma and I’m walking the path that was intended for me with compassion, and trying to learn as much as I can along the way. Finding acceptance for where we’re at instead of beating ourselves up for not being where we think we’re supposed to be is critical for our life's journey.
I’ve always been a believer of the phrase, good things come to those who wait.
I wouldn’t say that I’ve been waiting patiently, but I am certain that there is a love out there for me. A love that will make me feel emotionally safe in a way I’ve never truly felt before. A love that will support me and ground me. Someone that will confidently embrace my full potential. Someone who will have bi-continental dreams just as I do. Someone who is ready and willing to receive all the love I know I have to give.
For now, I’m focusing on being patient with my trauma and attachment wounds, being patient with myself when I get scared about communicating my needs for fear that they might be “too much” for the other person, and being patient with the process of learning about another human being and not wanting to rush to some invisible finish line just to prove something. I’m thankful for these life lessons that have helped shape me into who I am today. It’s not easy to share these things about myself, but I do it because I know there are others who have also felt weighed down by shame and embarrassment around their life experiences. I do it to set us free. Most of all, I’m thankful for the mirror that relationships hold up to us—even when it’s hard to look at the reflection.