On my Own

I have this tendency to do things on my own. I go to dinner by myself. I go grocery shopping on my own. I walk here or there by myself. I don’t only do activities by myself. I also handle life on my own. I retreat into my own head. Its safe. I’m in control. There are no expectations to deal with other than my own. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. I don’t have to explain the way I feel: angry, sad, or disappointed.

There are good things about it – I’m more aware of myself; what I need and what I don’t want. There are bad things about it—doing life on my own or by myself is not normal. Mind you, I didn’t come to that realization on my own.

In one of my therapy sessions I was prodded about my childhood, “Who would you talk to if you had a bad day?” I sat there for a few seconds before slowly answering dreading her follow up question. “No one.” She followed up, “Essentially as an eight year old child you learned to soothe yourself?” My response took a little longer than a few seconds this time as I realized the effect of her statement; it really wasn’t a question.

I didn’t answer the question as an eight-year-old; I answered as an almost thirty-year-old adult. Slowly I answered, “Yes, I guess so,” as years of my life replayed. I sat there quietly trying to remember what bad days felt like as a child or a teen. Sadly, I didn’t have bad days because I didn’t realize one could have bad days. I guess those were the days I didn’t feel as happy as the previous day. I guess those were also the days when I felt like crying but didn’t know why or even better when I did know why. The why could range from someone hurt my feelings or I didn’t have the best test score or we lost the game even though I tried so hard.

Yes. I soothed myself, in other words, I did life on my own, by myself. Obviously, I didn’t do it very well. Currently as I sit here at my desk, I think about the times I broke down crying. I couldn’t tell you what straw broke the camel’s back, I could tell you I was due for a good cry. I had to let it out of my system because I was overwhelmed, overburdened, and overexposed to things I couldn’t handle on my own.

Yesterday I had a good bad day. It was one of those days where I wanted to run into my therapist’s office and dump it all on the floor. I needed her to sit with me as I sifted through these puzzle pieces of feelings, unrealistic expectations, and heartbreaking disappointments.  I needed her to remind me that what happened was life and although some of those emotions triggered horrible memories, I wasn’t an eight-year-old child or a fifteen-year-old teenager. I was an adult in the world not back in my childhood room unable to wake up from a painful memory. I say I had a good bad day because I fought it: the pull of wanting to recluse into my head, to be alone, to go home and climb into bed and forget there was a world existing outside of my studio apartment in downtown Los Angeles.

You know what I did? I sent a text message. I actually sent a few text messages. The gist of the message was: Pray for me, I’m having a really bad day. I was able to sift through it slowly. My bad day hinged from a bad night in which was supposed to be a constructive conversation turned out to be the gateway of my current feelings. Nothing unkind was said but it didn’t have to be because I heard what wasn’t. I sifted through those feelings and emotions like an adult. Instead of participating in destructive numbing tendencies, I reached out. I calmed down as I sifted through feelings while kind words were messaged to me.

It was a trigger. It was a trigger reverting me back to the painful past. It catapulted me into a wave of painful emotions where I couldn’t find my strength. I couldn’t move my arms and legs into a rhythm out of the riptide.  Eventually I stopped. I stopped the deprecating thoughts. I stopped the wanting to run into my therapist office. I stopped just enough to grasp at a moment of clarity.

Purposeful clarity: I’m at the office. I’m nowhere near my childhood home. I’m talking with co-workers. I’m sitting at lunch. I have a car. I have my own apartment. I’m going to therapy. I’m going to therapy on Thursday. For now, you can do this. You can weather this wave until help arrives on Thursday.

The funny thing is helped arrived sooner than Thursday. It arrived in the form of encouraging text messages and a dinner with a kind friend. Because this one time and hopefully not the last time, I decided not to do life on my own.

Sifting through boxes

I have therapy once a week. I never realized what people meant by giving yourself grace on therapy days. After my first session, I realized why. I’ve heard it described as a wave of emotions and feelings. It’s pretty accurate. I’ll start of the week pretty well. Wednesday night comes along and I feel burdened. Sometimes it doesn’t hit until Thursday morning but I don’t understand why, then I realize, Oh, today is therapy day. Sometimes the feeling stays until Friday morning or even the afternoon. So the thought hits me, oh yeah, I had therapy yesterday.

My therapist’s office is in Downtown Los Angeles. I love downtown. I live in downtown. I worked in downtown for years. It holds happy memories. It has places that I love visiting. I have a pretty good routine for therapy.  I get dropped off a few blocks away to walk the jitters out of my system. Plus I enjoy walking, it helps me relax. For 50 minutes, I talk.

Sometimes I talk nonstop. Sometimes like this past Thursday, I share, then I sit quietly. I’m asked a question and it prompts a wave of memories. Sometimes I start talking and suddenly a memory buried deep in the closet of my mind takes over and makes it way out of my heart and I hear myself talk about the story. I put emotions to what I was actually feeling. A lot of the times I reach over to my right for a tissue, the box placed perfectly. It’s on a table next to the couch. The side closest to the door. A lot of what I talk about I’ve never shared with anyone else. This is the first time these memories are attached feelings. The feelings range from sadness, hurt, loss, and grief. Sometimes the memories are happy. Sometimes the memories are a glimpse of what relationships could have been like but actually aren’t.

After I talk, I walk. I walk to Whole Foods, I walk to City Target. I walk around Target. I walk more for the fact that I can’t go home yet and be alone with my thoughts.

Therapy is painful. I would describe it as sifting through boxes. I’m sifting through boxes trying to find the ground but all I find are more boxes. At times I’m wondering where did these boxes come from and why are there so many? Most of the time, I’m sifting through boxes as I stand on a box not realizing the box I’m standing on can only hold me for so long.

My first friend date at Panera

Sunday night I added my first friend to my community. I was scared; fearful she’d flake on me. She showed up. I was late. I blame LA traffic. We talked. We shared. We laughed. We shed a few tears. Most importantly we both realized we weren’t alone.

We talked about our families and what it was like growing up in an American culture when your parents weren’t Americans. We talked about our siblings leaving us behind and getting engaged, getting married, and having kids. We talked about our parents and how odd it was that our friends call their parents everyday:”What do they talk about?” We talked about our online dating stories. We vented about the guys we deeply connected with but couldn’t seem to forget even though they hurt us. We shared the same frustration when we checked off everything on the “must do before getting married” list that our parents verbally handed us, but realizing our husbands forgot to show up. We talked about our churches – how we both grew up in fundamental, independent, Baptist churches and how it hurt us. We talked about our current churches and how much we love it now. We talked about the things God was teaching us. I talked about my therapy sessions and how my mom is a big part of the reason I go to therapy. How we’re both closer to our aunts than our actual moms. I teared up a bit as I shared patterns in my past relationships that were indicative of breakdowns in my mom and I’s relationship.

We shared our fears, our hurts, our desires, our struggles, and our prayers. We talked about what God was doing in our lives and what we want God to do in our lives. We are both in this season of singleness and the burden is lighter meeting someone else feeling the exact same way.


Building Community



One of the lessons I’m currently learning is about friendships and community. A few years ago I distinctly remember saying, ” I don’t need anymore friends. I have too many.” For the last few weeks I’ve had to eat those words. I haven’t lost friends but many friends have moved away, our schedules are hectic, or life has changed . Some are married and some have kids. I don’t know where I got this idea that I’ll eventually reach an age where I don’t need anymore friends or that my community is strong enough.

This week I’m moving out of my comfort zone. Sunday evening, I’m meeting two gals from a Facebook group. Tuesday evening, I’m checking out a small group from a different church. I’m purposely deciding to find friends and building my community.

The First Post



Hi Internet World, welcome to my first post. I’m turning 30 in July and I’m super excited to start this decade on a journey to become the best version of myself. This last month I’ve been going through this singleness course that has changed my life. There has been a night and day difference from day one to today, day 27. This journey will be introspection, therapy, building community, loving myself, and living well.