Plandid or Candid?

A real-life screenshot of my dating profile

My finger hovers above the option to label another photo…with another title…in the hope the man of my dreams is intrigued enough to swipe right.

Every photo used is carefully selected to construct the most interesting, personality-telling, intriguing display of who I am to attract someone who hopefully aligns with me. A profile was created that is purely plandid.

My love life has been a series of learning moments. Trials built into flings. Tests laid out in situationships. Personal growth sprinkled in everywhere in between. Finding myself single at thirty was the last thing I expected.

Why?

I had a plan.

I had planned my whole life to be married by 25 and have kids a year later.

What. A. Plan. What a delusional construct formulated by society and built into the deepest crevasses in my mind. Influencing my mental state based on whether or not my relationship status is in line with societal norms and expectations rather than being given the freedom to discover what I truly want or is important to me.

When I turned thirty, I curled up in bed and sobbed for a solid thirty minutes. The sobbing was followed by one of the biggest panic attacks I had had in a long time. My meltdown was so heavy, it required a nap to recover for the rest of my day—a product of the expectation I had pressed into my heart and soul. Feeling like I let not just myself down, but everyone else around me.

I had grown up engrossed in Disney (a topic I can’t wait to dive into), relishing in the happy ever afters, and waiting for my Prince Charming to come around. When I started writing in middle school, the story that had no ending was a romance that built a beautiful intensity between two characters, but I didn’t know how to end it. I didn’t know where it was going, and I had no idea how to get there. So it just kept going. I found myself being swallowed up by young adult literature where the girl got the guy or the guy finally got the girl. Living in those moments after watching the tension between two characters finally reach its peak. Whether it is a show or book, there is no better feeling than the release when their lips finally meet and the tight strain that has had a grasp on your chest for the last few chapters or episodes dissolves.

This is what our society presents to us. In a multitude of forms. Especially for women, there is this expedited expectation to do it all. To be a career woman and to start a family while you’re young. The pressure to do it all is exhausting and then when you don’t in time, it hurts and is quickly followed by the feeling of being behind. In Japan, if a woman isn’t married by 25-30, they are referred to as “unsold goods” (upworthy.com) This is the kind of pressure that rests on a woman’s shoulders. Then we have the parents who want a better life for their kids and just want them to succeed, but all that pressure places more expectations. The list goes on.

This could also be coupled with my Catholic upbringing. Especially where in the church we are taught a certain level of independence. But in Catholic school, we are taught uniformity. Dress the same and maintain certain dress code criteria to be a model citizen for society. While I could go much deeper on these two things alone, I will also save this because albeit…

My life was not where I wanted it to be (and still isn’t, but is it ever? It’s more fun living in the spontaneity of it all). Hitting this milestone was a hard reality that I wasn’t going to have what I thought I wanted when I wanted it. It was the universe smacking me upside the head reminding me that I have absolutely no control over anything.

So…I surrendered (or at least continually try to).

This may have been the most profound thought I had that day, or had had in a while and it is a beautiful reminder I use to keep me grounded when I find myself floating away mentally.

I had to teach myself to accept a candid life. To embrace the fact that life doesn’t normally go according to plan. Rather things fall in an order based on a variety of things or they fall away leaving room for new opportunities, new moments, and new people.

I had to learn that planning out every detail in my life isn’t realistic and instead accept the beauty of candid living.

I had to accept that when it comes to romantic love, just because we seek it, doesn’t mean it is going to come when we think we are ready. Rather it comes when we are seeking ourselves first. It doesn’t mean it can’t be created, it just will often be forced, unauthentic, and most likely end in a hell of a lot of pain.

I have had to let go of a lot of thoughts that should have been retired long ago. Sometimes it still hurts. Sometimes I feel that pressure laying heavy on my shoulders, compressing my chest to remind me or tell me I am behind. Yet, these are all thoughts that have been built in an expectation I did not create for myself but rather held onto from others because I didn’t know the difference between where I wanted my life to go and where I thought it needed to go.

It isn’t always easy, but I have found myself craving a candid life. Embracing the moment to moment and leaping into the unknown with fear at my side as a partner. It has allowed me to take my foot off the gas pedal and stop trying to move 100 miles per hour. It has granted me space to fill in the blanks with what I want and with what fuels my soul. It honestly offers me relief from the pressure that has been resting in my mind since the day I was born. It has given me so much freedom.

So, where does that leave me now? When I look at the dating profile I have created. When I find my finger hovering over Plandid or Candid, I select candid – candid like the life I was born into and every moment from here on forward.

Never stop loving. Never stop living. And never stop seeking the life that gives you fulfillment beyond your wildest dreams. It’s only a candid moment away.

Love always,

Riss

The Dark Side of Love

Photo by Cherry Laithang

I am an optimist, a learned skill that I have sought to obtain and hold close to my heart. A skill that has not been easy to tame because of the challenges and life-altering riddles that have been thrown my way. Still, I choose to find beauty in a glass-half-full world and if you haven’t gathered from my work yet, I love love.

While a lot of the things I have written lately have aired on the side of the darker parts of love. My experiences have reverberated from my heart onto the page to share with those willing to read and yet I want to get into the pieces that I still consider love even if they are painful.

It’s no secret my previous relationship did a number on me however, I still find so much love in it. I know some people will think that it’s probably closer to trauma bonding. Or that there is mass manipulation to the highest degree- and still, I choose to look at that relationship through the eyes of love.

So today, I want to dive into the dark side of love. The love that comes with broken promises while heartbreak runs on repeat. The love that gives everything and gets just enough back to keep you on a hook. The love that defies instincts and has you aching for peace. The love that thrives on insecurity and has you bracing for impact every moment of the day.

This may not be the healthiest version of love and yet, I still believe it is.

Joshua was a lot of things. I could sit here and list off all the angry awful things I have thought about him, but honestly, I have already written that letter and burned it. I have braved the pain and I continue to work on the healing process every single day.

When I fell in love with Joshua, it wasn’t for his games or charm or indication of the size of the package he was carrying in his pants (which between you and me was fine and not very giving if you know what I mean). No. Those things have never impressed me. Those things have never been high on my calling card. It was flattering to be wanted.

The pieces of him I fell in love with were humble and kind. I saw his passion when he picked up garbage off the streets. The way he connected with animals. When he got excited about making a new recipe or letting me into his world of video games. I fell in love with the gentle hugs and small thoughtful gestures. All these little pieces snatched my heart and I let it float safely to the bottom of a jar that he held.

My love for this man was real. My love for him may have been manipulation at play, but the way I felt, was genuine. I saw the heartbreak in the story he told me about his family. I saw the hurt that he felt from some lived experience in his past. I felt the ache in his heart when he spoke about the challenges he had endured. In those moments, I felt it with him. I hadn’t learned how to put up emotional boundaries yet. I hadn’t figured out how to safeguard my heart and my empathy, to feel compassion without taking on someone else’s pain.

So, there was love. There was a lot of it. And in some demented way, I think he had love. Maybe not directly for me rather than for what he was getting out of the situation, but maybe love for him is this way of life he has chosen. Maybe he loves the struggle to some degree. Loves the pain. Loves to want love but doesn’t know how to believe in it. I have no idea.

In the beginning, I gave him the most loving parts of me. I let him pile them in that jar he had, the one holding my heart, sitting on a shelf somewhere in his subconscious mind. All those things I fell in love with were set on display as reminders. Reminders he would set. Like all he had to do was say ‘Hey Marissa, set a reminder for why you love me tomorrow at 9 am.’ So it would be done. It was that easy.

After the first time I found out he cheated on me, which was a devastating night given the history I have with my family. He took a walk and came back with everything I needed to hear to let him stay. I wanted to prove to him that someone in his life could love him even if he made a mistake. I knew then it wasn’t going to be me, but he had owned his mistake. He had said that his relationship with women stems from his relationship with his abusive mother. That he sought attention from women to give himself security that he was, in fact, desirable. That his actions were not a reflection of me, but of himself.

The perfect response. The response I needed to keep him around. So, I did.

That was the last time he owned up to his mistakes like that. Unfortunately for me, my love had become soaked in desperation and I was just trying to hold onto love from him. When he did it again, I wasn’t going to let him go and he knew. He had me figured out.

I was taking a walk on the dark side of love. A love with a one-way road that only led to one place. There was no detouring, there were only strategically placed alternate routes. Routes that led back to the same road. To get off that track, I had to start inside. I had to take back my heart.

I didn’t know how to get it back. The only way off that meticulously paved road was trekking through the mangled forest surrounding me. Somewhere in there, was my heart. As the crazed forest grew, I could feel the light in my life fading.

For years, people had told me that they thought of me as a ray of sunshine. Joshua said it too. After dating him for long enough, I started wearing my ray of sunshine as a façade. A mask decorated in yellow rays that shone to no end. I was desperate to hide the heartbreak I was feeling inside. The loss. The shame.

Joshua saw it though. He saw me breaking.

He never asked if I was okay. He didn’t need to know. I was his and that was what he wanted. I was his bottom line. Someone to support him and pick up the slack when he couldn’t carry his weight. It was dark over there.

On the dark side of love, I didn’t get an “I am your father” moment. There wasn’t a blanket realization that shoved me in the right direction. I had to ease myself out of the darkness just like I had been eased in.

The dark side of love takes. It takes everything. It takes your spirit, your heart, your soul. It takes the goodness and covers it with an (un)welcome mat coated in shame. It takes the feelings of joy and shoves it in a zip-lock baggie, leaving just enough space in the bag to gasp for breath. The dark side of love kicks you when you’re down. It bares all its weight on you so standing up is like trying to lift a car. The dark side of love will touch you and use its hands to beat you down to make you feel like you need the darkness to survive. The dark side of love will always apologize but will still blame you. The dark side of love hurts.

It hurts.

And it is also the hardest thing to break away from.

Once the dark side of love takes hold of your mentality, finding yourself, the person you have always been, is like entering a 5000-yard maze. Somewhere in there, you exist - you live, but the cage that holds you blends into the surroundings and your soul hides in fear of the evil lurking around every corner. To get out we have to brave that first step inside. We have to choose to save ourselves first.

The dark side of love will be there to tempt you out. Will be there to challenge your thoughts and have you second-guessing reality. It will have you thinking about whether your memory is playing games or if it is just the darkness taking hold. It will blind you from that straight path home, the one everyone else can see. The dark side of love will feed on your weakness and target your deepest fears.

The dark side of love can be terrifying. It can be a matter of life and death. But it exists and it is very real.

I have seen many versions and lived through different forms. My relationship with Joshua is only one.

Still, when I sit back and shift my perspective into a different gear, I see that maybe the dark side of love isn’t so dark after all. It’s light, aching to break free. It’s this opportunity to find inner strength you never believed you had to walk away closer to the person you were always meant to be.

I believe we need the dark side of love so that we can see how much light we actually hold.

If you are there, sitting in the darkness, waiting for the light to break, I want you to know it’s already there. Find that sliver first and hold on to it and you’ll be surprised how fast the darkness fades.

Keep on shining you beautiful, beautiful soul. I see your light even when you don’t.

Love Always,

Riss

A Failing Forward Perspective

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Photo by Randy Tarampi

“Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” – Samuel Beckett

 There are a lot of things in my life I wish I did better. A lot of things I wish I hadn’t said. A lot of things I wish I hadn’t done. A lot of relationships I could have left behind earlier. A lot of words I could have shared. A lot of apologies and thank yous I could have given.

There is a lot I have failed to do. There is a lot I will fail to do.

And that’s okay.

Failure is one of those words that I have worked to shift into a new perspective for years now.

Growing up, failure was red ink decorating hard work and circling big letters that indicated my intelligence. Failure was met with a pat on the back and a good try when I didn’t win. Failure was everything I ached to get away from because success was the opposite of failure and in my life, there was just failure.

When I watched my parent's marriage fall apart – failure. It meant love had no success rate. Their relationship divulged into anger, resentment, and deep loathing. It taught me a version of success in love that exists, but shouldn’t be modeled.

Failure surrounded me when I watched my sister get her doctorate and master's at twenty-four (so incredibly proud of her), but then look at my life and create comparisons to two entirely different people. Failure is a subtle voice that lingers because, at thirty, I haven’t achieved financial independence and am still alone.

Failure is the hopes and desires my parents have had for me that I have still not met.

Failure can be hard. Painful. Isolating. Dividing. Breaking. Scary. Failure can be a lot of things.

But it can also be hope.

When I first heard Samuel Beckett’s “fail again” quote in a small college performance room, written on a giant whiteboard by our acting coach on the second floor of a building across from Capital Records, I didn’t understand it. In fact, I mentally couldn’t process why anyone would continue to want to fail. Society has so adeptly added negative connotations to the word ‘failure’ that making positive sense of a negative word seemed impossible.

It wasn’t until years after I finally started to put together a new definition of what failure really is and it has shaken everything up for me. (Not always right away, but the shift is positive.)

I have been looking at failure through the lens of disappointment and shame instead of opportunity and growth. I have exacerbated those hurtful feelings by reinforcing the negativity of the word inside my mind.

Even though the shift started to happen, it has still taken a lot of time to and takes a lot of mental power to actively think of failing as positive.

Sara Blakely’s story about failure is one I come back to frequently. If you don’t know who Sara Blakely is, that’s okay because I didn’t either. She is the founder and CEO of Spanx. A woman with a mission to make all women comfortable in their clothes. She also is a major reason I take lessons from my failures.

She grew up sitting around a table with her family every night being asked what they failed at today. The disappointment was never in the failure itself, but in not having something to share. Sara learned at a young age that failure was an opportunity and a chance to learn. It wasn’t something to beat herself up about rather what she could do differently. This offered her perspective into the world most of us weren’t taught.

Her success is built on failure. Steve Jobs success is built on failure. Joe Kudla’s success is built on failure. There is a plethora of people that have succeeded only because they saw failure as a step in the right direction, not a dead end.

While I constantly walk forward and keep working to shift this mindset every single day, I keep in mind that my success is only as wonderful as my biggest failure. But first, I have to be willing to fail. And fail forward we will.

Love Always,

Riss