How Romance Novels Tried to Ruin My Life (Why I Didn’t Watch 50 Shades)

I’ve remained silent, at least in the blogosphere, about 50 Shades of Grey because everyone seemed to be blogging about it and I didn’t want to add my rant to the cacophony. Frankly, whoever wants to see it probably has, and whoever was desperately against it has said their piece. 50 Shades likely benefited tremendously by the controversy.

I haven’t seen the movie. I haven’t read the book, aside from reading a synopsis, but this isn’t from lack of interest. Believe you me, there is a base level of me that wants to read the book and see the movie. I’d like to explain why I haven’t.

First Exposure to ‘Romance’

I was eleven or twelve when I had my first exposure to steamy literature. My Grandma had a romance novel (a conventional one, not ‘erotica’) in her bathroom. I picked it up, and in a few page flips, came upon a sex scene. I still remember it really well. The hero and heroine had a bath together, undressing and caressing in minute detail.

It was my first real peek at sex, and I guess I was curious. Soon I had another chance to read a romance, and I paged through it until I found that scene. I don’t really understand the biological reasons for why this had such an impression on me. All I know is that as a teenager, these books drew me like a magnet. Not to read the story, but to read the racy bits. I knew it was wrong—I’d been raised to believe that human sexuality was sacred—but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. It was only after confessing this in tears to a group of girls from church, much later in life, that I experienced a real breakthrough and no longer felt the dreaded pull. The library became a safe place again.

This may sound prudish to some of you, and by today’s cultural standards perhaps it is. As a Christian, my belief is that sex is an expression of love between (and only between) husband and wife, designed to be a means of bonding them together, and for procreation. I believe that if I follow this design, it will ultimately give me the happiest life. This belief doesn’t just define how I conduct myself with a boyfriend, but also how I dress, what music I listen to, what books I read, and what movies I watch.

Why Shouldn’t I Watch What I Like?

What is the harm of watching a movie with a racy sex scene? Maybe nothing—at first. But what about the compounding effect? Face it, we are bombarded with sexual material at various points in the spectrum. I don’t view hardcore pornography, and never have, but softcore porn is almost impossible to avoid. Sexuality is the selling point of media. If I view a movie trailer, there will be a hint of a sex scene (cutting away as the woman removes her top), or if I listen to the pop music station, there will be some line about ‘loving all night’. The magazine at the checkout has a girl in a bikini and says “best sex moves” on it. The rom-com has the couple waking up together, the morning after they consummate their relationship.

Brainwashing of the Sexy Kind

Like it or not, this has altered my perception of sexuality. I’ve realized there’s what I think I believe, and what I actually do/think. Here are some of the ideas that have taken residence in my head.

1. Romance is primarily expressed sexually, and physical intimacy is a precursor to emotional/relational intimacy. The sex is the exciting part, and the conversation, shared experience, shared hardship, commitment, and work is ‘boring.’ I write fiction, and before the story ever hits the page, there is an incubation period where the story evolves in my mind. It seems I always have this conversation with myself, in which I decide what kind of romantic relationship the hero and heroine will have. Will it be a healthy, wholesome one? Or will it be an exciting one? Does there really need to be that dichotomy? No. That’s a lie I picked up somewhere. And it wasn’t from Bible study, I’ll tell you that much.
2. People are primarily sexual objects/animals—or at least young, attractive ones are. Not that I go around fantasizing about every handsome guy I meet. What I mean is that I’m in the hunting mindset far too often. When I joined a very large church with a healthy population of young men, it was very difficult to not walk through the teeming hall going ‘there’s one, and there’s one, and there’s one.’ Whereas, if they don’t fit my type of ‘good looking’, they were dismissed. This is normal, I guess. But I wouldn’t want this done to me. Likewise, I am ferociously hard on my physical appearance. Do I want to be known as a person of good character, high intelligence, ambition and kindness? Absolutely! But face it, what do I spend more time on? My appearance. It’s a point of despair sometimes, because I will never, ever fit the cultural mould of beauty. I do alright, but my genetics just aren’t there.
3. I’m a prude and sexually repressed. I’ve done it already in this article—apologized for being sexually conservative. Why should I be ashamed of my celibacy? Why should I apologize because I have a moral standard that I hold myself to? Don’t I have just as much of a right to NOT partake of sex as others have to be sexually free?

So Why Not 50 Shades?

So let’s loop this back around to 50 Shades of Grey. Why didn’t I watch it?

First of all, there are actually redemptive points to the story. Ana, a nobody, is noticed, desired and romanced (I guess) by a powerful, rich man. Many of us want to believe that though we are ordinary, we are worthy of love, we are noticeable, we are special.

The story is also a backhanded expose of childhood abuse and the lengths a person will go to to expunge their pain. In an article on XXXchurch.com, Craig Gross says, “The best available research suggest that 75% or more of those who commit acts of sexual or physical abuse against others were themselves abused as children. Christian Grey was abused as a child, a horrendous act that he never got over or dealt with or talked with anyone about. This has led him to some serious walls that have gone up in his life. and the only way he knows how to deal with it is to abuse someone else. He has done this to over 15 women and will continue. I heard this story was about sex, but this story at its core is about a broken man and his inability to love and be loved.”

That’s actually a very compelling story. It’s not the story, then, it’s the delivery. In the end, I have to keep that sexual imagery out of my head. My author’s imagination couldn’t handle it. I would never, ever get it out of my head. It would sit there, further selling me on ideas that don’t line up with my moral foundation. It would change how I view myself, and how I view others.

What do I want out of life? I want to have a loving relationship with my God. I want to view all people as inherently valuable as bearers of God’s image. I want to treat all with love and respect, and be treated with love and respect. I want to have a loving, trusting relationship with a future spouse, complete with a healthy sex life. Watching Ana and Christian get it on in the red room will only get in the way of that life.

What we take into our minds matters. In the end, do what you like. But don’t imagine that everything is neutral. Know who you want to be, and what you believe. Because whatever you’ve done, looked at, heard, and read in the past all added up to the person you are today. What you are doing now will produce the you of the future.

Do I Ask Too Much of a Husband?

Am I asking too much of the husband that I don’t have?

Maybe you never did this, but when I was a teen it was popular among girls of my stripe to write ‘wish lists’ of what we wanted in our future husbands.  Since I was a goody-goody nice Christian girl, I wrote a lengthly list containing things like ‘must be passionately chasing after Jesus’ and ‘must serve in a church’ and eschewed shallow things like ‘tall, dark, and handsome’.

Mmm… tall, dark, and handsome.

As I age (yeah, the ripe age of 24, ha ha) my lists have taken on a pragmatic edge.  At fourteen I could barely look a guy in the face.  Now I’ve had the joy and pain of working with heaps of them, including a couple of tall, dark, gorgeous jerkfaces.  The more I know what I definitely don’t want, the more the good comes into sharp relief.

But I’m beginning to think even this new list may be too idealistic.  Let me list off a few items, and you can give me some feedback.

1. Must Not Live With His Mother

I don’t condemn the guys who live in their mom’s basement… exactly.  I know there are good reasons, and given the chance for a do over, I’d stay there a little longer too.  But I moved out of my childhood home at eighteen, and have been autonomous ever since.  I’ve forgotten what it was like to have a self-replenishing fridge, and self-washing dishes, and to get home from work and have dinner waiting for me.

I figure, if I would enter a relationship with a young man who has not lived independently, I will just replace his Mom as the fridge-replenisher and become the bad guy who reminds him to pay the rent bill and pick up eggs after work.  I want to be on equal footing with him.  I’d rather duke it out over HOW to run the home than have to teach him how to use a washing machine.

Is that horrible of me?  It sounds horrible when I read it.

2. Spends Very Little Time on Video Games

It’s not that I’m against video games, but the idea of a grown man spending hours in front of a TV, fighting imaginary battles, playing imaginary sports games and racing imaginary cars is unsettling and borderline on ridiculous.  I’m sorry.

Some might say the same about writing fiction, I don’t know.

Is life so boring that he must escape into an imaginary world?  Does he have no real battle to fight–no passionate pursuit?  Is he just lazy?  I can understand a bit of TV or gaming to unwind.  But hours upon hours of valuable time that can never be replaced?

3. Has Basic Financial Competency

If he can’t make a monthly budget, I don’t care if he looks like a GQ model.  I have worked VERY hard to learn financial skills.  I’m no accounting whiz, but I respect my money and do my best to be fiscally responsible.  Does he have to be wealthy?  Heck no!  Gainfully employed with a realistic picture of his cashflow?  Absolutely.

Now, how does one ask about this without sounding like a nosy gold digger?

4. A Desire to Do Better, Be Better

In a word: ambition.  He may not know what his life’s work will be yet, but he isn’t content to coast through life.  Whatever job he has, he does his best at.  He reads and learns constantly.  He examines himself and when he sees something he doesn’t like, he works on it.  He wants to leave a legacy, not just a grave marker, when he dies.

Turns out, this is a tall order.  I have met very few young men who pursue excellence.  But because excellence is so important to me, I know that if he does not, I will not be able to respect him as he deserves.  It is very important to me that I can respect my husband.  I ask no more of him than I ask of myself.  Not perfection, but a hunger for growth.

5. A Man of Courage and Character

I’ve worked with men who lie when the truth is inconvenient, cut corners to save effort, and would rather ignore (or rant about) a problem then fix it.  I doubt they realize how detrimental this is to relationships.  They lie to save my feelings, or cut a corner rather than correct me.  They want to be liked–I get that.  But I don’t trust them, so their amiable personality means little.

Over the years I’ve learned that truth isn’t as black and white as I thought, and honesty is much more difficult than just not telling a untruth.  But I need to know that he isn’t a coward.  He tries his best to do what is right. He’s not going to lie to get himself out of a hard place.  He’s not going to cheat on something because it’s little and ‘doesn’t matter.’

If he cheats at a card game, he’ll cheat on anything.  It’s just a matter of time.

6. A Man Who Loves Jesus

Honestly, the other four don’t mean anything without this one.

The passionate pursuit thing?  Life experience tells me that the burning flame of enthusiasm waxes and wanes, but love stays the course no matter what.  I have a passion to write. Sometimes writing is fun, even euphoric.  Sometimes writing is drudgery.  But I never give up.  Same deal here.

To love and to be loved by Jesus is transformative, and this man’s life will bear evidence of that transformation.

So How Am I Doing?

Are any of these unrealistic?

I said it already: I don’t ask of him any more than I ask of myself.  And I don’t want him to BE me.  I’d probably kill him.  One of me is enough, trust me!  But could there possibly be a man who lives life as intently as I do?  Or am I expecting too much of the poor sap?

What would you add to the list?

 

 

 

Goodbye: A Letter to my Church

It’s difficult to leave home because you can’t ever go back–not really.

The philosopher Cratylus said that you don’t even step into the same river once. For not only is the river flowing, but so are you. Everything flows forward and when you look back, home has ceased to be.

So I’m leaving with the realization that I will never truly come home.

I’m not leaving because of conflict–if I were, I would have left long ago. But I knew that like any relationship, periods of frustration and anger are par for the course, and if the relationship is as important as the one with the church, you just stick it out.

This is about growing up–about taking my place in this world.

As I’ve grown, my theology and my worldview have been in constant evolution, and I’ve realized that not all of us think and practice the same. This is normal, and okay. It’s analogous to personalities.

For a time now, I’ve felt like the round peg in the square hole. I don’t disagree with this church’s theology and practice, but they aren’t “me” either. I thought something was wrong with me at first, but now I see that I am meant to be elsewhere.

A friend connected me with a ‘cell group’ from a church here in town. I never wanted to attend there–it’s too big, to demonstrative, too ‘hocus pocus.’ But the moment I met those girls, I felt at home. I’ve never grown more, spiritually, than I have among them–praying, learning to listen to God, confessing to each other. It was, and is, uncomfortable, but I’ve come to peace with that.

I leave with deep regret because I’ll miss my friends. I’ll miss my Sunday School kids. I guess I’ll miss my identity here. I’ll never forget that this was the church that nurtured me, fostered a love of service in me, taught me to serve, to teach and to lead in song. I thank God for you, my brothers and sisters. I love you. Goodbye.

With tears,

Geralyn

Connections Between Food and Love

Is there really a connection between food and love?

I’m reading The Amazing Connection Between Food and Love, by Gary Smalley—not the kind of book you expect to be sucked into, but I was. My relationship with food has been love/hate since my teens and, though in the last four months I’ve had some major victories, I’m still seeing the emotional and physical affects of my dietary choices.

Smalley describes this cycle: Food affects our emotional health>Emotional health affects our relationships>Relationships affect physical health>Emotional/physical health affect our food choices—which affects our emotional health, and on it goes.

I considered myself a ‘food addict.’ I thought about food all day, I overate regularly, and if there was a table of sweets or snacks to be had, I’d eat like it was a contest. I couldn’t stop myself.

My Mom always fed us square, nutritious meals and we were a long ways from a convenience store, so as a kid I rarely had access to chips or candy. But when I moved out and into town, a bag of Doritos was only a five-minute walk away. And when I’d spent all day at work salivating over the thought, what could stop me from getting them?

I told myself I wasn’t massive, and my muscular frame seemed to hide that I was well over two-hundred pounds, but I knew I was overweight and I was ashamed of it. When I bought chips, I’d eat them when my sister wasn’t home and then hide them when she was around. I’d try to stuff the pizza box deep into the recycling.

‘Something’s wrong with me,’ I’d say. ‘I’m such a loser. I’ve got no self-control.’

Though working on my feet and travelling by bicycle kept me from gaining weight too fast, the constant cycle of dreaming of food, giving in and eating, and then guilt-tripping, was taking its toll. I wanted to feel like a winner.

Looking back, I believe I was an emotional eater—food was a reward, comfort, or entertainment. This set up a cycle of eating to feel better, being guilty and making myself sad, and then eating again to feel better. Plus, those foods I ate were the very sort that make the body want more: highly processed carbs, sugar and chemicals.

Did this take a toll on my relationships?

Certainly extra weight, acne (which went away when I cleaned up my diet), and failed attempts to lose weight, eroded my self-confidence. Teens have enough confusion as it is, but I was under the delusion that because I was chubby and had acne, I wasn’t good enough to be friends with the ‘pretty’ girls, and certainly not ‘girlfriend material’ for the guys. How many relationships did I miss out on because of my poor self-esteem?  Oh, if I could give my current confidence to my thirteen-year-old self.

I’m a moody person, and cleaning up my diet has only alleviated this slightly. In my mid-teens I went through a period of extreme mood swings. I’d be happy one moment, and then so irritable that no one could stand beside me because their breathing got on my nerves. My hormones were out of balance, causing issues with my menstrual cycle and causing me to sprout hair on my chin like a boy that age would.

The doctor told me I needed to lose weight and I scoffed but I did it. After a month of eating 7-8 servings of fruit and veggies a day and limiting other foods, my cycle normalized. Supplements took care of my mood-swings. I slimmed down just in time to fit into my grad dress.

What kind of pain did I cause my family because of my mood swings? Was my diet at fault?

I think it’s common knowledge that when we’re hungry, we’re tired and grumpy.  Still, it wasn’t until a few months ago that I began to truly associate food and mood.  Some of you may remember me posting about how depressed I was, coupled with a photo of me making a breakfast sandwich at 1:00 am.

My funk probably wasn’t caused by food, but I wasn’t helping it any either.

I’m still a definite foodie. I ‘have’ to enjoy my food, or I see no point in it. So, though I eat sugar free, low carb, high-protein and lots of whole foods, I still think about food several times a day. If chips are put in front of me, I still can’t say no, but if I think about buying snacks I usually say “I’ll have some on the weekend,” and when the time comes, I often don’t buy them. I still feel the need to hide junk food, but I try to make myself own up to it, and tell my Mom or sister that I had pizza on Friday night. I want to enjoy the occasional treat without shame. I guess it will take some time to work out of the old, harmful, emotional habits.

After four months of this lifestyle (read about Trim Healthy Mama here and here), I’ve seen victories beget victories. I began by controlling what I ate. After I started losing weight, I decided to try working out, and realized that I enjoyed it (the benefits at least). Now I have dreams of running a 5k race. My body confidence is higher, and my pant-size is lower but most of all, I know I can do what I say I will do. I’ve built trust with myself. No doubt, that will improve my relationships.

I plan to explore this topic further as I continue reading the book.  What do you think?  What connections between food, love and relationships have you seen in your life?

The Single Girl’s Guide to Surviving Wedding Season

Do you feel conspicuously single at weddings? I do. Golly, ‘single’ must seep out of my pores.

It’s June, and darned if we’re not in the thick of wedding season. I, the unsuspecting writer, took my laptop to the coffee shop to nurse an iced Americano, shop for book covers, and do odd internet errands, and what do I find? The girl who ‘can’t wait to try on her dress tomorrow’ is beside me.

I walked by the bulletin board at work today and saw a poster for someone’s wedding social.  Didn’t they just take one down?

Non-Manitobans, a social is a gathering where people eat, get drunk, dance, and give money to the couple… or something.

I’ve passed through one wedding already and have two ahead of me in the next three weeks. I’ve been the dutiful friend and coworker who’s oohed and ahhed over the ring, the dress, the invitations, and then hugged the bride at the wedding and sat through the speeches. I caught the bouquet (and knocked some poor chick over—read about that here), and I’m prepared to do it all over.

I’ve picked out a pretty aqua sundress. I’ve circled Home Outfitters with a gift registry (does anyone go to Home Outfitters for any other reason?) for eons looking for the one jar.

There’s a bitter-sweetness to it. I’m so happy for my friends. And, well, I’m so glad I’m not the one planning what colour the border on my invitation will be and if I should or shouldn’t invite third-cousin Steve. But they go two by two, as someone once said, and I always wonder, as I clutch the gift registry, as I sit in the pew, camera poised: when will it be my turn?

Single girls: don’t we all think that?

Don’t we all feel a little bit gut-punched when our friend announces her engagement, as she shows off the ring, as she flips through her wedding photos? Even though in our strongest moments, we remember how happy we are for our independence, and how glad we are that we’re not starting a family just yet, and we tell ourselves that we’re too busy for a relationship?

We’re not crazy for feeling that way. We’re made for love and for relationships. Our hopes and our dreams are good, natural desires. Our unfulfilled sex drive (if you’re a celibate single like me) is not evil.

It just isn’t time yet.

Now isn’t the time to pine for what you can’t have, and what you probably can’t control. Now is the time to chase your purpose, your calling, your potential. Now is the time to pursue education—to get the degree, or to delve deep into subjects you love. Now is the time for adventure—hopefully with your family or your best friends. Bungee jump, backpack Europe, go on a week-long shopping trip (like my sister and I are doing in a couple weeks. Yay!). Now is the time to learn discipline—keeping house, financial intelligence, healthy living.

Those things, once accomplished, cannot be taken from you. They are ‘safely stored in the past’ as Victor Frankl said. They will turn your life into a masterpiece whether you marry and start a family, or you are the crazy aunt who tells the best stories.  Believe it or not, there is much more to your life’s calling than ‘wife’ or ‘parent’, even though those are good things.

I hope you make the most of the now, because time isn’t waiting for you or the spouse that may be out there for you. One day you’ll wake up and ten years will have past. Will you have made anything of them?

As I said recently, the future doesn’t seem to deliver. Putting our hope on future events will just let us down. Rather, let’s work on everything we can and put the rest in God’s hands.

Single gal in the aqua sundress, the wrapped gift in her hands: cry if you want when the bride walks by. It isn’t easy to be single. But dry your tears and smile, and dance, and catch the bouquet, and laugh with all your friends around the table. Enjoy the moment, whatever it is—and perhaps soon you will find yourself where you want to be, that you are the person you want to be.

I caught the bouquet. Now what?

So, I caught the bouquet at the wedding yesterday.  My friends congratulated me: “Oh, you’re gonna get married next.”

I smiled.

You see, I’m four for four. I’ve caught four bouquets at four weddings. First time: my friends Heidi and Cole were married. She flung the bouquet, an exquisite arrangement of white roses, orchids and ivy. It fell toward the hands of her sister. I batted it out of the air, and it was in my clutches. Later that evening, I pulled a rose out of it and tangoed around the dance floor with it in my teeth.

I hadn’t had a drop, I swear.

Well! The next summer, it was her sister, who’s grasping fingers I took the bouquet from, who was married. So, I stood among the single ladies on the lawn outside the church. The bride rose up on the wooden railing and flung her gerbera daisies and wildflowers over her shoulder. It fell toward her sister-in-law. I leapt in front and seized the smashed posy from midair.

Guess who got married on Valentines Day?  The sister-in-law.

I was beginning to think I was some sort of good luck charm.  Third wedding, I didn’t have to fight anyone–it was a fair catch.  But a two of the friends I came with got married the next spring–to each other.

Actually, I think all the friends I travelled with are now married except for me.  What the heck?

My coworker got married this weekend. There she was, a beautiful china doll with her big blue eyes and pearly gown. And there I was among the single ladies. They were TALL single ladies, but I was pretty sure I could manage, so I put myself right out in front. The bunch of cala lilies went up up up. They soared toward a chick in a yellow dress.

What happens next is rather blurry.  Somehow the chick in the yellow dress, bouquet in her hands, ended up sprawled on the floor and I came up with the flowers.

You’re welcome, chick in the yellow dress. Invite me to your wedding.  I’ll probably catch your bouquet too.

An Ode to Strawberry, My Little Car

Oh, Strawberry. Was there ever a car more loved than thee?

You, my long awaited wheels–whom I searched for like a precious jewel, and when I found you, named you on sight.

You, though you have no majesty to recommend you. Who can only boast that you are “good on gas” and “cute” and maybe “red–very red.”

You, who have no power locks or windows. Who boasts a mediocre stereo. Who handles like a gutless go-cart, and whose short wheel-base makes winter driving a terror.

You, whom I toil so hard to maintain, taking up a full quarter of my salary to own, the sole reason I work two jobs. Whom I shall soon ransom from the bank.

Still, I wish thee a cheery ‘good night’ every evening. I bid you ‘be good’ when I leave you in the parking lot, and ‘good evening’ when I emerge from the factory. I feed you with the finest regular unleaded gasoline, and plug you in to keep you warm, though it cost me dearly.

I must love you truly.

Her Morning Elegance (She Fights for Her Life)

“And she fights for her life as she puts on her coat, and she fights for her life on the train. She looks at the rain as it pours. And she fights for her life as she goes to the store, where the people are pleasantly strange. Counting her change as she goes. Nobody knows” (“Her Morning Elegance” by Oren Lavie).

I used to sing this song to myself at work a lot, and here, listening to it while on break, I am reminded why. “She fights for her life” resonated with me. Not because I was dealing with illness or mortal danger, but because I saw my everyday existence as a battle–a romantic battle of good and evil.  It’s a romantic notion, but then I am a romantic!

That meat-packing facility, where I worked at the time, was hardly a happy place. Negativity was the norm. “F” was the favourite consonant. Toughness was what it took to make it, day to day–thick skin, humour, and fighting to protect my attitude.

She fights for her life.

I suspect there are many who ‘fight for their life’ day to day, and present such a cheerful exterior that ‘nobody knows.’  I hardly qualify as an example, so I will tell you of one of the best examples I know–my grandmother, whom we affectionately call “Ma.” Ma lives with chronic pain and limited mobility, yet she remains generous and good-natured. She’s learned the secret of enjoying the little things–a scenic drive, a good cup of coffee, the love of her dogs. She does what she can in spite of her limitations. She knits prolifically–toques, mitts and blankets for those who need them.  She is quick to say “I love you” and then, “I love you more.”

She fights for her life.

She is one of those who, in spite of pain, loss, loneliness, and the unfairness of life, are cheerful, productive, generous and loving.  It takes tremendous effort to put on their “morning elegance” and come down the stairs in the morning, but they do it. We cannot discount a good attitude as a natural disposition.  Optimism is rarely an accident.  Happiness is a choice.

“She fights for their life as she goes in the store, with a thought she has caught by a thread. She pays for the bread and she goes. Nobody knows.”

Watch the whimsical stop-motion music video for “Her Morning Elegance” and enjoy the relaxing vibe of the music.

Three Videos Every Single Should Watch This Valentine’s Day… Or Not

I’m tired of serious articles about singleness and how hard it is, and how I’m moving on.   So, I’ve gone to my old friend YouTube.  No, these clips aren’t that life changing. But, if you’re feeling sorry for yourself this Valentine’s day, why don’t you put your feet up, grab some chocolate and check ’em out?

And be happy you’re not Penelope the cat.

Pepie La Pew

And be happy you’re not these people.

#WhyImSingle

And listen to this advice.

Oh No, I’m Single! I’m Going to Die!

Feel better?

Life is good.

I Don’t Plan on Getting Married

I think wedding season and Valentines day must put all chocolate and girly-drink companies in the black for the year. I mean, those days can be pretty damn depressing for a single gal.

About this time, all the single ladies start posting things to Facebook like “I’m single, but I’m happy and I don’t need a man to define me and…”

Yeah, I don’t buy it. There are some fantastic single ladies out there, but deep down, I don’t believe they’re okay with their relationship status.

I’m not.

If I’m okay, why do I feel like I’ve been gut-punched every time a friend gets engaged?

My mom was married at 19, and as a girl I thought I’d do about the same. Nineteen came and went without so much as a date and I began to go through what every girl goes through–is there something wrong with me? It it because I’m fat? Have acne?

When I graduated from college (a conservative Christian school), somewhere between seven and ten of my classmates were getting married because that’s where Christian kids find spouses–Bible College.

Not me.

I didn’t want a career. I wanted to get married, have kids, and stay home with them. But I began to realize that things weren’t panning out the way I’d hoped. About that time, I stopped planning on getting married.

I want to get married, don’t get me wrong. But I can’t plan my life around something that might never happen. I can’t wait for my life to start, because it has already started. What will I make of it? All I can control is my own actions.

What I have to go on, so far, are my passions. I have a passion to learn, to teach, to write and to create. So I teach eight rambunctious kiddies and find happiness and in the way they clamour to tell me what’s up in their lives. I plan a long-term career as a writer, working every day to make it a reality. I create with my imagination, and I learn constantly.

I learn about relationships, and how to make them strong. If I never marry, this knowledge won’t be wasted. I strengthen my beliefs, hoping one day to teach them to my kids, but knowing that a strong faith will serve others regardless. I’m a good cook, and I can keep a house, and i’m trying to be good with money.

It’s actually fulfilling in itself.

I don’t want to come off as the smarmy type who has it all together. I know I’m not because of the crying fit I had when writing this. I’m lonely sometimes, and feel a bit like the last pair of shoes on the bargain rack. But it is what it is. How will I deal with it?

I’ll be okay with not being okay, but never, ever let that stop me from having a great life.