Sometimes I hate being an overly emotional, anxiety-ridden girl in her 20s. I love getting dressed up, holding a drink while screaming Taylor Swift lyrics, sharing loud laughs with my friends, and remembering the night through blurry iPhone pictures. But when it comes to boys, that’s when life gets complicated.
I have only ever been in one real relationship, my “first love” as you would call it. Two high school sweethearts who dated for two years just to break up because we thought long distance would be too hard, or maybe it was because he was too much of a you-know-what.
Now I’m 20, officially two years post-breakup, and if I’m being honest, nothing serious has happened since. A couple of makeouts at the club, a handful of dates, and two failed “situationships” that crashed and burned before they could become anything real.
And yet, I’ve built a personality out of being the D1 relationship hater. I preach to my girlfriends to put themselves first, block every man’s number, and live their best hot girl lives. I proudly claim it’s better to be single and unbothered than caught up in any boy drama.
But recently, I think I’ve broken my own rule. I actually like a boy, and I think I might like this boy a little too much.
I want to see him every day, my Instagram reels have turned into full-on lover girl territory, and for God’s sake, I have even made a Spotify playlist. Who even am I?
I think I have fallen. Hard. It’s not just about the butterflies, but the way he listens. It’s the way that I can see he cares. I briefly mentioned to him how I have Rainforest Cafe kid plates at my apartment. Most people would laugh and move on from the comment. But he made us dinner reservations at the actual Rainforest Cafe. I sat across from him under fake jungle leaves and animatronic gorillas, and I swear it felt more romantic than any candlelit dinner I’ve ever had.
That’s when I knew I was screwed.
But that feeling? It’s also terrifying, because once you’ve been hurt, even the good stuff starts to feel dangerous.
It is so hard not to get caught up in that pressure. That pressure of labels or the idea of what you should be. The pressure from our peers to make something so public, when it should be slowed down and enjoyed between the two of us. The ability to feel like we are the only two people in the world, without the judgment of what anyone has to say.
My past still lingers like a bad habit. The pain of my first relationship and its extremities, and the fear that I will mess this one up, too. What if it’s not different? Not because of him but because of me? What if I have been the problem all along?
I guess that I have to give myself grace. No matter how hard that actually is.
I have to believe that I am a young girl who is still learning how to trust and how to care without losing myself. Learning that being emotional doesn’t make me weak, but it makes me real.
And maybe, just maybe, this time will be different. And if not, at least the playlist is good.