When love leaves

If anyone who reads this also happens to be my Facebook friend, you would have noticed an exponential increase in the number of sad songs and cat photos I’m posting. This can only mean one of two things: either I’m trapped in my room with only a cat and the internet, or I’m going through a break up.

Actually, both options are clearly the same thing.

cat ferguson

As always, I have struggled to write this one. Why the hell did I call this blog ‘Lady Breaks’, and not ‘Lady Wins’, or ‘Lady Miraculously Prospers’, or even ‘Lady Has Largely Uneventful Life’? I guess at least I always have things to write about this way.

Almost two years ago my world fantastically collided with an exotic backpacker, let’s just call him ‘The Foreigner’. I wandered into a bar, all scared, naïve, and man-hating, and basically floated back out, hopeful, excited and happy for the first time in forever.

Our romance was intense. It was as if because we knew our time was limited, we tried to jam-pack a zillion memories into two working holiday visas. We went on fifteen (!) holidays, we lived together, we bought a cat, we stayed with each other’s families, we held each other ridiculously tight every night.

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The Foreigner picked me up and helped me heal. He helped me see that there can be joy and love and fun after divorce. There can be hope. He taught me that, even though I have been spectacularly rejected, I am worth loving.

However, this break up has been unexpectedly traumatic for me. I was stupidly under the impression that it would be semi-manageable because a.) I always knew we had a predefined, visa-ordained timeframe; b.) We weren’t ending on bad terms at all – in fact we probably were at the height of our relationship when our time ran out; and c.) A two-year romance surely can’t compare with a fourteen-year commitment.

I was wrong.

What I hadn’t taken into account was the fact that The Foreigner had been not only my saving grace, but my Band-Aid. He had covered the gaping hole left from losing my husband, family, friends, house… even my beloved dog. For two years, I didn’t have to confront much of this grief. It’s only now that he’s gone that I can see how empty Christmases, birthdays, Easters, and even just weekends really are.

bandaid cat

I searched Band-Aid and cat and was not disappointed.

In all honesty I doubt I would have been able to cope with these emotions two years ago. The Foreigner really did come into my life at the exact perfect moment, and I have to have faith that he has left at the exact perfect moment too. Eventually I did have to confront these feelings.

So for now, I am learning to be single through copious cat videos, Tinder tutorials, and a diet of Tim Tams and kale. Stay tuned for inevitable awkward first date stories.

Love love love x

On Dating and Stuff

Last week would have been my 9-year wedding anniversary. However, instead of receiving/ giving gifts and dining at the some expensive hipster restaurant, I caught up with some gorgeous girlfriends Sex-in-the-City-style to talk boys, boys, clothes, boys, and boys. *Side Note 1: I have to say that this was a much better experience than my last anniversary, which involved missing a Gold Class movie because we were driving a strumpet around.

Source: http://okmagazine.com/get-scoop/30-most-fabulous-sex-and-city-gifs-see-fun-fashion-love-and-drama-here/

Anyway, because I started seeing Mr-Actually-Does-Break-Ladies at 14, I am in the somewhat unique position of being almost 30 and not knowing how to date. Add to this the fact that I am a generally awkward person, and you have a recipe for more than a few embarrassing encounters with the male kind.

Exhibit A.

After finding out about the rotten affair and trying to recover from the whole blood clot debacle, a good and long-suffering friend took responsibility for teaching me how to interact with the hairier gender. *Side Note 2: I am actually the hairiest girl who has ever lived so this is not an apt description of men.

Anyway, she literally took me to bars and patiently stood by while I was too jittery and awks to even order a drink from male bartenders. She even allowed the mentorship to continue after a guttural growl-like noise escaped my mouth when one of her friends asked my name. Yet, slowly but surely, with her patience and my growing posse of single women friends, I finally began to be able to actually speak human words to men. I occasionally even looked them in the eye without feeling the need to self-combust.

Exhibit B.

This is about the point where the pendulum turned. All of a sudden I was capable of interaction with guys, and had made some amazingly wonderful friendships with such creatures, but my awkwardness prevailed. Now that I could finally speak to men, I became the Queen of over-sharing city. For example, at a dear friend’s recent birthday party, I introduced myself to her male friend with my entire life story. I. mean entire. He didn’t even have anywhere to run.

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So, yeah, I’m pretty awkward.

But, seriously, this whole dating world is kinda effed – as in fun and funny and frustrating. I still have absolutely no freaking idea of what I’m doing but it is not nearly as daunting as what I thought it was. As it turns out, amazingly, men are pretty cool. Especially if you can speak human to them.

While I don’t think I will ever lose my awks-ness, I am forever indebted to my lovely crew for pushing me off the dating cliff in the most loving and gentle and patient way possible. Let’s do this then.

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