Written by Melanie Glassford for YettiSays Self-Love Month | “To The Girl” post series
[Tweet “I am my own before I am anyone else’s – from YettiSays Reloaded Deck.”]
To The Girl Who Loved Him First,
You always loved him first. Only, him, in this sense, was plural. It started with…
Him, who did his best to love you in the only way he knew how, but ended up smothering you instead. You stayed for years, to the point that your identity was simply “his girlfriend” and your only future was undoubtedly “his wife.” Perhaps nothing less, but certainly nothing more. Because in his eyes, any part of an identity that you sought to discover outside of him was a direct negation of your love for him. Eventually, you moved on to…
Him, a close friend who you found comfort in, despite knowingly playing the role of the other woman. One night, at a party where everyone had too much to drink, he told you he loved you, and not his long-time girlfriend. You remember the moment like it was a scene from a movie: his passionate gaze searing into your soul long enough for you to believe the words he said. Until he slept with another woman that same night. You called it karma, and eventually, you moved on to…
Him, who captivated you the second you laid eyes on him. To be clear, that isn’t hindsight speaking. “Captivated” was the word you used in your journal that day. After being devoid of any and all emotion for over a year, when you felt that jolt of electricity course through your veins, unable to take your eyes off of him, you told your journal that you were in trouble. In a later entry, you’d describe him as a drug. Indeed, you’d spend the next three years on a roller coaster ride of palpable flirtations via text, which led to late-night rendezvous, followed by a mind-fuck that, “We should just be friends.” Of course, all the while, you were convinced by the way he looked at you, and held you, and kissed you… that his “I love you’s” during sex meant something more. Once you accepted that they didn’t, you eventually moved on to…
It was May 2017 and you were entering brand new territory. Navigating was difficult. It came on the heels of a man who didn’t love all of you, a man who didn’t love you as much as another, and a man who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, love you. So, how in the hell were you supposed to love you?
While you had no special recipe for self-love, you spent a lot of time alone. Traded in nights out on the town for nights in self-reflecting. It was during this time that you fell in love with Sex and the City and Carrie Bradshaw just seemed to understand. You marinated over quotes like, “Maybe some women aren’t meant to be tamed. Maybe they just need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with.” And this gem: “The most exciting, challenging, and significant relationship of all is one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well that’s just fabulous.”
Something shifted during this time. You made more time for the things you loved. Writing, reading, fitness, and more. A lot of your time went into building your blog and preparing for a launch in the new year. You were finally doing all the things you talked about while you were too busy pouring all your energy into the wrong men.
It felt good to be appreciating your own worth and believing in your talent and passion to the point of pure creation. You stopped waiting for a man to choose you. You chose your damn self.
When the end of that year came around, you relapsed and fell back into bed with your drug of choice. Him. Upon sunrise, you expected to feel a flood of emotions come rushing back in. Instead, you journaled, “It was one last bad decision of 2017. Leave it there. Leave him there.”
Not even a week after that definitive act of self-love, you met your current boyfriend, who walked into your world and reinforced every single step you had taken to love yourself. Two years later, he still sees you. He really sees you. And he loves, cherishes, and chooses every part of you.
He loves the you you love. And while that is just fabulous, this letter was never about any of him.
It was about you and loving you first.
Please… please don’t ever stop.