healthy is boring

“Why can’t they ignore their needs and be obsessed with me??? Like, why am I not their only need??? #justtoxictingz”

This was an actual text, actual letters, I- yes, me- intentionally typed and then sent to a friend, about a developing crush. I was frustrated about the lack of communication between me and them. Which, truth be told, was a fairly healthy amount of communication. We checked in a few times a week, and always had substantial, connective conversation. 

But, it was only a few times a week. It was so- so, steady. It was tame, and balanced. And this was exactly the problem.

Up until now, my dating relationships hit the ground running. We were always engaged to some capacity, with the other. If not in person, then through social media, or texts, or even both at once. And, using the term, “obsessive” feels too big. But, if I’m being radically honest, that was exactly it.

At the very least, on my end, it was very much obsessive.

Not only was I in constant contact, but I genuinely could not think of anything else. And, naturally, could not talk about anything else. Whenever I’ve liked a new person, my friends could expect hourly updates about what they’d just said, or done, and how I felt about what they’d just said and done. And every space shared, I’d listen with the definite intent of somehow bringing the topic back to my crush. Even if there was nothing new to share, it was incredibly satisfying to go back over past encounters and dissect them further. And if I’d dissected it to its furthest extent, then I’d start again and repeat my words.

Ob-sessive. 

It was a thing I hated to love. And I’ve put in serious work -and still do- to identify, and heal the parts of self that continue to crave this. I’ve learned that the panicked desire to, almost absorb this other human, comes from a sense, and fear of loneliness- so I try to secure the future presence of them, by passionately pouring in effort, time, and energy. 

Yes, it is as exhausting as it sounds.

But also. It is so much fun. Like, truly. Wow. It is so fiery, so awakening. And as someone, who struggles with remaining in my body, the intensity of those moments ground me to my bones.  

Again, I hated to love it.

Fast forward, to therapy, and shadow work, and meditation, and breathing exercises, and journaling, and all the ways I focused on my internal reconciliation. Yes, fast forward to here. This is where I am, and it has been beautiful. 

And also, it has been wildly boring. It is so boring to be healthy. 

Granted, it won’t stay this way. At least, that’s what my friend says. She’d heard from her therapist that this is an expected part of the process- that it takes time for normal to become normal. Which makes sense. I mean, when you’re used to giving the words, “I love you,” only a few weeks in, or joking about marriage literally a day after you started dating- of course, anything less will feel less. As it should! 

Things must move at their own pace. Everything will be revealed in its time. 

This is an uncomfortable truth- especially for a Virgo sun, and mentally ill human. Emphasis on the Virgo sun. I have a hard time not holding. And though I am aware that I give off a “free-spirited”, “go with the flow” kind of energy, it couldn’t be furthest from the truth. 

The reality is, I deliberately lean into a more relaxed, carefree persona so that people are less resistant to my manipulating of relationships to move at the rate in which I’m wanting. Which, I only ever realized about myself as I started writing these very words. Yikes.

But, it's a fact. I want to be in control. 

And it’s not about anyone else, other than me. My desire for control is based off my distrust of my external world. And despite my own distrust of self, I feel more comfortable molding my spaces, myself, instead of allowing them to take their own shape. And have calculatingly surrounded myself with mold-able spaces/people. I find I often don’t get along with people who aren’t swooned enough by me, to let me decide the course of us. Courtesy of, PTSD- derived from an emotionally-unstable childhood home where I couldn’t depend on my caretakers to, take care of me.

And this isn’t an excuse. I have grieved over my actions- I have felt the weight of my manipulation. I have taken my wounds, and wounded in the very way that had caused me so much unrest. And I am so sorry, to each and every person I have deceived out of my hope of developing some sense of security. And I am so sorry, to my inner child who I have overlooked, alongside my family, and denied her fear and request to be held.

I am responsible for my toxicity. I am also responsible for my healing.

So, I started the journey- I started the journey of making amends with self. I make amends with my bruises, and my fears, and my choices. I make amends with my regret, and my shame, and my disgust. I make amends, and I make safety out of my life. And I carry it with me into my connections, with the hope of being better than yesterday.

Then I breathe. Then I say, “thank you,” for the boring, boring, healthy.

I say, “thank you,” for the slowness I have craved all this time.  

Thank you.