I’m good at dating. As strange as it sounds, I am a good dater.
About 7 years ago, after a painful breakup that left me feeling broken down, tired and insecure, I started to date. I dated freely, with passion, with fun, and deep emotions. At the time, each love interest was of supreme importance. I painted a picture of how much fun we’d have together–for the rest of the weekend, the month, or our whole lives.
I was in a groove. I had it all figured out. I knew exactly how much to flirt, and how to kiss the boundaries. Flirting was always less about the guy, more about my performance. I had a new opportunity with every man to make myself more attractive, irresistible, and powerful. I built my own version of sex appeal from scratch. I tested it out, time after time.
But each man was just a way to get closer to myself. I never really worried if I was worthy of love, or if I’d find my match. I believed that I was. I believed that it would happen when I truly wanted it.
And it did, because I did.