Why am I chronicling my life via the story of my dating disasters and my failed marriage, leading to my journey to my amazing current husband? (May not pass the Bechdel test)
I have had no fewer than three attempts at starting (and failing to launch) a blog. But this time it’ll be different. I’ve been unknowingly already “writing” this newsletter/blog for years. Now, I just have the job of collating hundreds of pages of documents, emails, texts, and messages (I wish I was kidding), plus scouring my memory, and then packaging it up into something that will (hopefully) be both entertaining and readable. And most of all, relatable.
It’s the problem that many “elder” Millennials have faced: how do you choose the right partner? Should you settle down? How much of my checklist does the person need to meet (spoiler: maybe very little of it – or at least not the one you think they should meet)? Should I have children in a world that’s overpopulated and on the brink of environmental destruction (I haven’t figured this one out yet, but I’m leaning towards no)? How do I reach my life goals (I’m working on it so I’ll get back to you)? And what does it feel like when you find the one (oh, so wonderful)?
Come along for the ride!
Now, let me discuss my failed attempt at writing years prior before I assure you – like the kid who promises that if you get that bunny they’ll clean up the poop (ahem! my niece to my sister) – this time will be different!
Blog attempt number one, August 2011 and (not to) June 2012
First, in grad school, I had the idea of chronicling my dating disasters in 2011 on my now-defunct Blogspot. When I’d relay my tales of woe, post-semi-recovery, my friends would laugh in glee as I recounted the funny scenarios, the wtf moments, and the simple problems of dating in the modern world. I loved the laughter – and I loved to write – so I thought why not try it?
This was half a decade after Pink is the New Blog hit its heyday (which I read religiously in high school). I had visions of becoming as popular as Hyperbole and a Half, XKCD, The Oatmeal, or Post Secret, all of which I loved and read voraciously (or looked at the comics), even though I’d mostly been introduced to them by other, cooler people.
I called my very short-lived entries/blog title “nothing about attraction makes sense” because I continually dated/hooked up with people who were attractive but not a good fit for me – or not as shallowly attractive but also not a good fit for me.
My university/post-university/beginning-of-real-life housemate, Brittany, had started an amazing blog called “Idle Inklings” full of charming stories about life and sometimes our (mis)adventures and I had always not-so-secretly harboured the idea of being a writer so thought I’d join in. Except Brittany posted regularly and I did not – even though my loyal following of two, Brittany and Darcy, asked for more posts. I had 1,300 page views. Most of those were probably me.
I started writing about a couple of people I’d dated when I was in grad school and then picked it back up with a random person I very briefly hooked up with when I lived in Columbus, Georgia where I taught at a university as well as a technical college and a community college – and my Rate My Professor page very sadly either described my teaching as “not so great” (paraphrasing, probably true) or “hot but boring” (err, thanks?).
In the blog description, I wrote:
The purpose of this blog is to chronicle anonymously my true-to-life disastrous dating experiences as I see them and is not intended to offend those persons who may or may not be involved. I wish I was making this up...
I began my journey as a long-term dater and eventually (albeit unwittingly) became a serial dater when I entered graduate school. Dating, so it seems, has allowed me to learn a lot about myself, partly my shortcomings and occasional neediness – I like to be liked – and also those things that I absolutely do not want in a partner. I still haven't figured out exactly what I want from my dating experiences and that may be part of the problem, but until then, I'm continuing to learn and to grow as a person, even if I get a little bashed up along the way.
I stand by the version of myself a decade ago in that dating all these people did help me learn about myself, society, body image, insecurity, religion, women, friendship, and all sorts – and I’ll explore those themes and lessons as this newsletter progresses.
Blog attempt number two, February 2014 to October 2015
Around 2014, Tumblr was popular and I obsessively followed a bunch of accounts from people who had fandoms from losing weight and having amazing body transformations; in my head, this was a great goal – despite the fact that I was actually thinner than I’d been for years at the time – and although I could maybe do with losing five to ten pounds, I wasn’t going to be seen as super inspirational in the weight-loss-blog arena.
So, for a year and a half, this blog obsessively chronicled all the exercise I did from following the Insanity programme to doing a raw vegan diet to Whole 30 to restricting calories to going on really long walks (up to eight miles a day), all whilst thinking my body still wasn’t good enough. I even had one person comment on my vegan phase and say something like – oh my goodness, you don’t have to live on only salad!
Against the backdrop of this obsessive restriction and exercise, I was showing off my “amazing life” of going to Italy and Switzerland and doing things in Germany where I lived at the time. I had stunning pictures of gondolas, Swiss mountains, Neuschwanstein Castle, and the German countryside – alongside pictures of my previous body which was apparently my “goal” to get back to.
But I was married to someone who compounded my insecurities and made me feel as if I wasn’t as attractive as when we had met so it only made me continually strive to be enough for him, to be attractive enough.
At the time, I weighed 152 lbs (26% body fat, but my goal was 22%, and to weigh under 140 lbs). My fitness and diet start weight, of course, was a whopping 155 lbs – but I remember going to Milan that winter with my ex and trying on clothes and feeling so much fatter because he noticed I’d put on weight during our time together.
I mean maybe I was “fatter” because when you’re single you get to spend your life working on your fitness, forget the odd meal, don’t have to cater to anyone else, and when you’re married to some people your life becomes about making them happy… I was carrying the figurative load of someone else’s baggage and expectations, after previously being on a dating Ferris wheel where I mostly could focus on myself.
Me in high school with a couple of friends – and Sarah one of my twin best friends.
Also me in high school before I got any boobs and I didn’t lament not having them for a single day (because I ran track).
In high school, I fluctuated between 128 lbs and 145 lbs – and a boyfriend once weighed my boobs and even when I was thinner they had weighed 10 lbs by themselves. I really thought that if I hit 140 lbs or less, my husband would suddenly be happy with me again. I don’t throw out these numbers to make anyone who weighs more (or less) to feel badly. I am demonstrating how warped my thinking was (and still is in many ways) by the narrow window of “acceptable bodies” portrayed by the media (which I’ll touch on at some other point). Surely, my weight was the least interesting thing about me because maybe I weighed 152 lbs but looked the same as someone who weighed 130 lbs but had a different weight distribution.
When my first husband and I met, I’d been fitter and leaner because I saw a personal trainer two days a week and worked out six. I was busy and maybe didn’t eat as much. I didn’t have as much money so didn’t have access to nice restaurants or huge portions as often. I remember skipping carbs and eating fifteen (yes, only fifteen) almonds for breakfast – but then I’d polish off massive chocolate bars so it probably evened out.
The black dress is pre-first husband and the Washington D.C. and Supergirl images are from when we were first together. I was still self-conscious of my body. SMH!
Even when I’d reached our pre-marriage scale weight, he told me he loved me but I didn’t look the same. Looking back on the pictures, I had gotten quite thin (for my frame - even now I’m qualifying it, sigh) and goodness knows why I couldn’t see it. I was continually critical and unhappy with my body.
And this is my "fat" doesn't look the same body. Crying emoji-face.
I also realise now that I’d had all these ego boosters via the men I’d slept with prior to dating my first husband yet I was still insecure. No matter if I’d gotten down to Bridget Jones weight (the irony being book Bridget only weighed a rather light 125-130 lbs despite her being considered “fat” – thank you, 90s heroin chic), I’d never have been happy with my body because the insides of me hadn’t healed.
This relationship, my first marriage, just took those feelings of inadequacy and compounded them – something that I still struggle with even as I get (rather too close) to forty. But it’s also something my therapist, Lorraine, and I are working on.
Looking like “this” prompted blog attempt three because clearly, I was “fat” because I was not what I was before (see above). Sigh!
Blog attempt number three, February 2017
In 2017, I’d moved back to England and I was post-divorce and with my current husband. I, again, started a blog but this time a free trial Squarespace blog to chronicle life and exercise. It was very short-lived, mostly because I didn’t have the funds at the time to pay for a hundred-pound per year website (as I later did with my freelance writing website: Peaches & Paragraphs).
I’d met Michael during my usual post-breakup weight loss phase, where I’d be so miserable that I’d barely eat or, conversely, exercise myself to thinne(r)ss (or both). I’d spent a month walking miles per day listening to the “Guys We F*cked” podcast by Corinne Fisher and Krystyna Hutchinson, later replaced by the amazing “Modern Love” podcast by the New York Times (and various writers – still my goal to be published by that column someday), as a way to numb my emotional pain.
Whilst I was breaking down my skin, the heartstrap from my Polar watch (long before I got a FitBit) welting the skin under my breasts and my ankles being torn by my trainers, I didn’t have to think about my emotional turmoil – and, again, I was seeking validation even though my first husband no longer wanted me. I wanted him to see that I could be everything he wanted when he’d discarded me like trash: his exact words were “I love you but we are not right for each other” and “you’re not the kind of wife I want.” I could be thinner again. Surely, he’d re-discover what he had seen in me at the beginning?
Our first date photo on the left and Michael on our second date (he still makes me swoon).
When I saw Michael’s profile picture of his abs, I thought that this man and his god-like body would never like my curvier frame. Surely, he only dated supermodel-type women? I still felt self-conscious and remember selecting a looser dress on purpose. I was down at the pub with my Dad waiting for the date and I went back home to change as I thought the dress I’d chosen would be too tight and make him see too much of me and be put off (as had almost happened years previously which I’ll reveal in another post).
But I’m getting ahead of myself and giving away the “plot” so to speak.
My first entry to this Squarespace blog was much longer but went something like this:
I hope to hit at least four miles today. I have either Anna Kendrick's Scrappy Little Nobody or Lauren Graham's Talking as Fast as I Can: From Gilmore Girls to Gilmore Girls (and Everything in Between)--yes, I just typed this entire title with my thumbs on my phone--to choose from in my Audible library, so I'm excited about that since The New York Times' Modern Love column that I love to listen to on walks hasn't had new episodes for a while and the download format on my iPhones means I have no f-ing clue how to access older episodes. Can anyone in my non-readership help me out with this?
Considering I only get "off" two non-consecutive days a week--Thursday and Sunday--today's events were not how I planned to spend today at all; it has been an incredibly tiring and stressful day, and I plan to write more tomorrow.
Caroline, my four-year-old niece, was off school on Thursday because it was still her half-term, so we met my sister, Jae, and Caroline for lunch. Caroline decided that Michael was her new best friend, and wanted to hold his hand, sit by him, and hang on his arm in intervals, which was adorable. We ate at the local vegetarian cafe, The Bear, since my sister and niece are vegetarian (and lactose intolerant).
Said cat (for reference) – I still love this cat!
The stress of the cat being sick absolutely exhausted me that day, and Michael too. We watched an episode of "Fresh Meat" together, and ended up falling asleep, cuddling, for an hour or more, and then we went downstairs to sort out the cat [we were looking after Michael’s sister’s poorly cat Paddington (Paddy)], and then sleep the next day to prepare for our respective jobs.
Years of journal snippets, physical notes, phone notes, emails, detritus kept, and freelance writing
When I was feeling particularly emotional, I documented things in my life, or I chronicled things Boswell style by emailing Brittany my life and she did the same.
I haven’t done it in recent years as much with Michael, but when I’d take trips to England, I’d document what I did in the days, I’d keep old brochures, ticket stubs, receipts even. (Almost all useless detritus now thankfully cleared away by my amazing declutter lady Sarah at Clutter Cleansing, Hebden Bridge.)
I used to write letters to my Dad telling him what I did in university. In uni, I also documented life through Facebook photo albums with cheesy captions on them.
I was known by my friend Ian as “the collector” of photos and friends. He’d say I’d come up to someone with a bottle of wine and my camera and by the end of the conversation, they’d feel like they knew me better than they knew their best friend and vice versa.
I’d write to boyfriends and tell them what I was doing in that day – and probably also send practically my every thought via text. Michael and I still text random things to each other during the day; I especially love it when he sends me photos of a cat on his postal round or something in nature.
Later, as a freelance writer, I’d inject snippets of myself into client blogs where I could. (I may even share a few where relevant.)
Are lives better lived or examined? Who knows? Why did I document my life in these ways? Why do I still do it – even if it’s via phone notes or sharing a snippet of something with a loved one? There’s something in me that’s always been a writer, always been a reader, always wanted people to relate to what I wrote – and loved when I found I could relate to others. Everyone wants to feel that connection with other humans, that “what, me too” moment.
Or as C.S. Lewis put it better:
“Friendship arises out of mere Companionship when two or more of the companions discover that they have in common some insight or interest or even taste which the others do not share and which, till that moment, each believed to be his own unique treasure (or burden). The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, ‘What? You too? I thought I was the only one.’ ...It is when two such persons discover one another, when, whether with immense difficulties and semi-articulate fumblings or with what would seem to us amazing and elliptical speed, they share their vision – it is then that Friendship is born. And instantly they stand together in an immense solitude.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves
Of course, every writer I have related to hasn’t become a friend (sadly) but I hope to connect with people and make them feel less alone in some of these shared experiences, whether past or present.
At the end of last year and the beginning of this year, I started editing my Grandad’s memoir. For thirty-two years (from 1988 to 2020), he’d been writing about and reframing his life. At first, as it pertained to teaching special needs students; then, after his Asperger’s diagnosis, he framed his life as it pertained to giving lessons to those neurodivergent people he considered underrepresented and ignored in society. My Grandad lived a remarkable life and another goal of mine is to get his memoir published someday once I’ve completely finished the manuscript.
Trying to piece together his life – asking various sources for more details – and editing his words made me reflect on our lives and how we frame them. Some people’s (his father’s mother who died when his father was young, for example) entire lives were relegated to a single sentence. One sentence! Heavy stuff! One day, will I be reduced to a single sentence in someone else’s life writing? Let’s hope my niece becomes a writer because I don’t have children and am not sure if I ever will (heh!). Let’s also hope she grows up to like me.
And then it also made me reflect on my parents’ lives. There are so many facets of them that I will never know, things they may have forgotten themselves or don’t want to share with their daughter. The same goes for everyone in my family. We all live rich inner lives, full of stories, full of thoughts and observations, and little beautiful moments, most of which will never be captured.
Even though my dating disasters (and sometimes my sexual history) can be considered deeply embarrassing topics, it’s one facet of my life. Not the only facet but one that I’ll start with. I could frame my life stories through the books I’ve read, the jobs I’ve had, my friendships, places I’ve lived, or travelled, or a myriad of different ways, but for now I’m framing it this way.
Of course, in many of these stories, I’m either taking words I wrote back then (I was a sporadic journaler) or remembering with many years of distance. These stories will represent how I felt then, what I learned, and how I am framing it now (from my secure, happy vantage). I acknowledge that even if the people involved can identify themselves, they may remember things differently. We each have our own paradigm and perspective.
I’m going to anonymise people to protect the innocent and I will tell my version of the truth. I hope that will align with those chronicled here, too.
There are those who will say what’s the point of highlighting under forty years of life? Although many may ask what could one experience in thirty-plus years of life with maybe only the last decade or so being meaningful years of adulthood, I find that all life’s stages have value and all life’s points have lessons.
The person I was at twenty-one will not be recognised by who I was at thirty-one just as forty-one-year-old me won’t recognise the person the decade before.
I plan to write a handful of posts and then start sharing this blog/newsletter on my social media channels in the hopes of gaining some readers (even if it’s only half a dozen).
Then, I plan to post at least once per week with a minimum of two free and two paid posts per month (with a little extra for paid subscribers).
Once I get to the end of the “why we met” narrative (“how we met” or “how I met my Yorkshire husband” didn’t work with the site ending) and I’ve told you stories of how I came to meet and marry my charming Yorkshire gem of a husband, then I’ll continue with life musings and funny stories of life because, boy, does Michael provide me with lots of funny moments every single day.
I may also go down the route of a writer I enjoy, Allison Raskin, and respond to journal prompts. Who knows? I’m looking forward to seeing where this takes me.
Thanks, oh current zero readership, for following along.
Here’s an unedited, unfiltered picture of me when I went for a day out at the Chester Zoo with Michael for his birthday. It was a lovely day.
My cousin's beautiful daughter, Eva, who is the tender age of five and just started reception (aka Kindergarten) for the first time loves to bat her lashes and smile at my husband, Michael. A couple of weeks ago, Michael was showing her all about the power of magnets with one of our side tables, much to both of their delight and amusement.
I must say I am impressed how much you wrote in your first post. I could only write 300 words or so. It's a sign there is a lava to be cooled down. I am here to reading more of you.
A beautiful and vulnerable read, thank you Elaine! Relationship journeys & the personal growth that unfolds within them are so fascinating. Excited to follow along your journey! Also, your grandad sounds like a legend <3
I must say I am impressed how much you wrote in your first post. I could only write 300 words or so. It's a sign there is a lava to be cooled down. I am here to reading more of you.
A beautiful and vulnerable read, thank you Elaine! Relationship journeys & the personal growth that unfolds within them are so fascinating. Excited to follow along your journey! Also, your grandad sounds like a legend <3