What you see when you look at me, and what I see when I look in the mirror, are two very different people.

According to what you tell me, you see somebody who’s relatively fit and (conventionally) pretty.  Secure in herself, with a wide-smiled approach to life. Some of you indicate you wish you had it all together, as I apparently do. 

It’s funny when people say these things to me. Not funny as in “haha that’s hilarious”, but funny as in the universe seems to have played some kind of cosmic joke and made it so no one can see me as I am.

Because “as I am”, is a girl who feels morbidly obese, unlovable, failing at everything she ever does, and well, add in every untrue mean-girl cliché any of us have ever thought about ourselves, and you get the gist of where I’m at.

I tell you that I’m comfortable in my skin, that I like who I am. And it’s true. I do. But two ideas can be true at the same time. 

Two truths, one Tink. 

I am not the droid you’re looking for…

I laugh as I think these words. Full well knowing that they are the meme version of a famous Star Wars quote. And yet, this corrupted version is so appropriate in many of my life circumstances lately. And in the oddest of ways…

​I am not the droid you’re looking for…

Like when men tell me that, eventually, I will want to “settle down” and pop out some babies. They proudly relate how they will “let” me stay home and cook their meals and do their laundry. 

Puffed up chests as they suggest I give up my own exciting existence to participate in the mundane one they present to me on a silver platter as though offering me a long held dream (that only exists in my nightmares)…

​There is something magical about hanging out on top of a mountain, eating cherries, and laughing with your friends over life’s odd moments. 

I find it easier to talk when the world - with all it’s distractions of pings, clicks, likes, advertisements, shoulds/buy me/pay attention to what I’m saying because if you don’t you won’t be accepted/wanted/valued - is far below you. 

Even better when your cell service is listed not as 5G but as SOS…(which I define as shizzle out of service).

“How do you do it? How do you just accept that HE is with HER this weekend?”

The accusatory tone of the speaker was jarring. I was explaining that I’m in a poly relationship. That the man I love already had a married lover when he met me. That I didn’t even know he had “liked me liked me” at first. But when I found out, my world shifted and I suddenly found myself in the most wonderful loving healthy relationship of my life.

The skepticism was obvious on this person’s face when I mentioned my sweetheart was away visiting his lover and that no, I was not jealous of their relationship. Their connection had been going on a year + before I ever met any of them.

“I would NEVER be with a partner who slept around. If he’s mine, he’s mine only.” She said this with a harumph. 

Ahhhh there it was. The ever prevalent society accepted idea that we “own” our partners in any way shape or form. 

“He’s my everything”…

It was all I could do not to roll my eyes as another one of my friends pontificated on how the current man in her life had become the main focus of her world.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if she meant it metaphorically, but it was the literal sense in which most of the women I knew took the sentiment that made me feel nervous.

Having someone be your “everything” is a lot of fuckin responsibility. And for the person expressing the feelings, it seems that all the other joys in life shrink to a very narrow idea. 

If he’s with her, she’s happy.
If he’s not, she’s not.