Relationships are hard work? Only if you don't put yourself first.
Stop bending yourself out of shape to fit other people's needs.
Welcome to the first edition of Brain Worms!
As promised, over the course of this newsletter I’m going to dive into social norms, pick them apart, screw them up into little virtual balls of paper and throw them in a waste paper bin. Or maybe run them through the shredder. Some might even deserve burning. Some just need a bit of editing and reimagining into malleable concepts that suit everyone, rather than towing a well-established line.
Maybe you too are someone who thinks tradition and etiquette and associated concepts exist to be broken. Maybe you’re sort of interested in the inner workings of the minds of perpetual questioners and people who give very few fucks about what others think of them. I know it doesn’t occur to everyone to question absolutely everything about the way we live life. Some people might even find that tiresome. That’s absolutely fine. Whether you’re here looking for a kindred spirit, or through curiosity, or you think this is all self-indulgent waffle you wouldn’t wipe your arse on but you can’t help hate-reading it anyway, welcome.
“I thought everyone experienced attraction as a constant feeling of nausea”
I’m going to talk to you about dating. My past experiences were amplified because my mental health was bad, but anecdotally, I know many women have fallen into the trap of thinking their value depends on whether someone desires them romantically.
When I first started dating, I thought I was normal. I thought everyone experienced attraction as a constant feeling of nausea and dread, so paralysing that everyday life stood still until the object of their affection returned a text. Because of my own formative experiences (daddy issues, I’m a Freudian cliche), I gravitated to other people with trauma.
Sexy trauma.
It’s inevitable that you’ll talk about your family on an early date, and for people approaching dating unhealthily, mental health issues tend to come up early, too. (Caveat: there’s nothing wrong with being open about mental health issues, but when you’re one-upping each other on a first date about how close you’ve come to being sectioned, you might want to reconsider your approach).
When I’d hear about a dead or absent parent, some kind of unpleasant childhood experience, or that my date was battling depression, I’d feel safe, seen and emboldened. The darkness within the person sat opposite me would sparkle in their eyes like a deadly but beautiful pool of lava. People with a stable family, uncomplicated upbringing, and a distinct lack of darkness left me cold. I couldn’t relate to them; they struck me as the human equivalent of an all-grey new build in Ebbsfleet Village. What I wanted was a cobweb-ridden abandoned Victorian semi in south London, with its crumbling but opulent original features still intact.
“Stable people struck me as the human equivalent of an all-grey new build in Ebbsfleet Village”
Declarations of love would come far too soon into these disastrous flings. I almost moved to LA for a sociopath I’d known for a matter of weeks. I fell in love with a man who’d been clear from the start about not wanting a relationship, convinced that if he changed his mind, it would prove once and for all that I was worth loving. You see, I wasn’t really looking for a relationship. I was looking for validation. I made my own needs smaller, suppressing them for fear of rocking the boat, doing mental gymnastics to rationalise shady behaviour because the alternative (walking away or being dumped) seemed worse.
As you can imagine, this was exhausting and tiresome. I started to realise around my late 20s that there was only one common denominator in this: me. That isn’t to absolve everyone I’ve dated of any responsibility – plenty were noncommittal, emotionally manipulative liars with a lot of unresolved trauma of their own, but I was the one who kept going back for more. I was actively seeking such people out.
It sounds ridiculous to admit, but I saw dumping them as admitting defeat; as conceding that I wasn’t worth loving after all. In reality, dumping someone who isn’t meeting your needs is an act of self care. If your boss was a dick or you were being bullied at work, would you look for a new job, or feel like you had to stay there to prove you were strong? Hopefully, you’d put your own wellbeing first. This is exactly what you need to do in relationships.
“I don’t recognise the neurotic, self-loathing meat puppet I used to be”
Fast forward to now, and after three years of genuinely transformative therapy, I don’t recognise the neurotic, self-loathing meat puppet I used to be. I realised that what I was expecting from dates – to respect me, to reply to my texts in a timely manner, to stick to arrangements, to be honest and, fundamentally, to actually like me – I wasn’t even giving to myself. When I’d had periods of stopping dating completely, I always felt calmer, happier, and better about myself. Funny, that. I spent most of the pandemic single, and got to a point where I was genuinely, hand-on-heart, content with the prospect of being single forever.
I have a lot of problems with heteronormative relationship norms anyway (that’s for another newsletter) and I’ve never wanted children or marriage. As a bisexual person I was open to meeting someone of any gender who made me want to NOT be single, but I wasn’t expecting or looking for it.
When I did redownload the dating apps after an almost two-year period of no dating whatsoever, I changed my approach completely. I wasn’t bothered about finding a partner, but I thought I might at least make a new friend or have a pleasant fuck.
The first sign of a red flag, no matter how trivial it might’ve seemed, resulted in unmatching. If red flags came about further along in the process, like a second or third date, I’d politely end things. If the flag was particularly egregious, then I’d block. No, I did not care whether I was polite, or how they might have felt being rejected, or whether I was being nice. Here’s a tip: stop aspiring for people to think you’re nice. It makes life much easier.
“After so many years of losing myself to the belief that I was unloveable, my number one priority in life will always be me”
I made my intentions clear on first dates and asked the important questions to make sure we were aligned – my current partner got a grilling on whether he wanted marriage or children (no), was he also bisexual (not a dealbreaker, but I find I connect better with other queer people, and it was a yes) whether he liked dogs and was prepared to share a bed with mine (yes), his feelings on traditional relationship norms (bollocks) and how much he wanted to travel (lots). He passed the test. I also made clear to him that, after so many years of losing myself to the belief that I was unloveable, my number one priority in life will always be me. Not us, not the relationship, but me as an individual. I told him he should take the same approach. If this was unacceptable to him, he was free to walk away.
But here we are, a year down the line. It is the best, healthiest, and most fulfilling relationship I’ve ever had. I don’t believe that a good relationship should be emotionally hard work, or that it necessitates any sort of trimming or folding away of your character, your dreams, your goals, your ambitions. We have never had a single argument. I don’t believe in the concept of guaranteeing something will last forever, but for now, it works. We want to maybe move to Madrid in a few years. Well, I do, and right now I think I’d like him to join me.
If he can’t? That sounds like a him problem. I’m going anyway.
Illustrations by…me
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