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