You’d really think I’d know better than to blog at 1am.

Confession time.

I’m 28 years old.  I turn 29 in April.

I’ve never been in a serious relationship.  I’ve never been in a relationship period.

I’ve been on three dates in my entire life–the first was a girls-choice dance, the second was a pity date. (Sis, I know what you’re going to say, and it was a pity date.  He only asked me after he heard me say I didn’t have a date to the prom, and the group I went with was all the popular guys with all the unpopular girls.  It was a pity date).  The third was a blind date set up by a roommate.

I’ve never been kissed.

Shocking, right?  You’d think the shy, fat, depressed girl would be beating the guys off with a stick.

The thing is, men and relationships just haven’t been a priority in my life until lately, and I’m painfully aware that I’m about 15 years behind the game.  In high school, I was more concerned with trying not to kill myself, and in college, well, I just didn’t care.

The desire to be in a relationship has come about largely since I lost my job, which freaks me out a little bit.  Yes, a boyfriend or a husband would be nice, but a way to keep a roof over my head and food in the fridge is essential.

I’ve had crushes on guys in the past, but it’s mostly been the “oh he’s cute, I wish he’d come and talk to me” type of thing, followed by a feeling of slight disappointment when I learned he was dating/engaged to someone else.  I’d then forget about whats-his-name and get on with my life (or lack thereof.)

A few months ago, I realized that I was talking about a particular crush a lot, and the more I examined my feelings for him, the more I realized that it might be more than a crush, I might actually be in love with him.  I really didn’t know–again, 13-15 years behind the game here, and falling in love is something I have absolutely no experience in.

I realized, yesterday, that this guy probably doesn’t have the same feelings for me as I do for him, and I’m heartbroken.  I think.  At the same time, I’m feeling like a silly teenage girl–and I wasn’t a silly teenage girl even when I was a silly teenage girl.

I keep trying to convince myself that if it happens for me, great, but if it doesn’t, well, that’s okay too.  I can still be a good person, a good daughter, sister, aunt and friend.  I look at women like Sherri Dew, Mary Ellen Edmunds,  and Barbara Thompson and remind myself that even though the church puts such a high priority on family and motherhood, a woman can still accomplish great things while remaining single–and all of the priesthood general authorities, all of the men, are either married or widowed.

It doesn’t make it any easier.


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