Thursday, 1st May 2025
I was having dinner last night with a friend of mine (one of my closest in fact) and trying to explain to her why this situationship I’m in might actually be exactly what I need right now. Okay writing that sentence makes me feel the same way I did last night when talking to my friend: naive and a bit defensive. I have a feeling some of you (most of you) will read it and think “oh the things we tell ourselves…” but please, hear me out.
The thing is, I’m not going to sit here and pretend like I’m perfectly happy with the way he’s acting. Or communicating. Do I wish he wanted to see me every day? Yes. Do I wish he would say he can’t stop thinking about me and sent me little cute messages all throughout the day, letting me know I crossed his mind? Also yes. But in all honesty, that’s my ego talking. Or at least some sort of safety blanket behaviour.
Every relationship I’ve been in has begun in a similar way where we fall head over heels for each other, going from 0 to 100 over a period of a week or two and from there on out have been texting (if not spending time together) 24/7. It’s fun, it’s thrilling, it’s exhausting. Hormones are running high, and sleep - who’s that? In those instances I have sacrificed friends, workouts, meals, family time, rest, creative hobbies, you name it, only to be with that other person. The love frenzy takes center stage, leaving little to no room for all other activities or people in my life. It just feels *so damn good* to be in the presence of the other person at that point, and I’ve told myself that this honeymoon phase is one of life’s absolute purest joys.
But you know what has come after the honeymoon phase in those instances? A period of time where the other person slowly starts coming down from our mutual high and has proceeded to little by little invite all those things they were doing before we met back in, until they have a relatively well-functioning space for “alone time”. And me? I’m left sitting there, waiting for their alone time to be done so we can have more “us time”. I’m not even exaggerating. I’ve been so in love with the idea of love that my hobby has become trying to better the relationship, rather than trying to better myself to show up as a more authentic version of me in the relationship. The role of project manager over The Relationship has ultimately always landed on me, which includes planning date nights, raising important topics, planning mutual social events, making sure there’s time for intimacy, finding ways to spice up the everyday, and more. And man, I’ve been so good at it too.
Since becoming single 6 months ago, there’s been a sort of lingering thought in the back of my head that I’m in what we in Swedish call a “transporting distance”. Aka a distance of a journey that you just have to get through, that has no real meaning and doesn’t count towards the actual race. This apartment I’m in is a placeholder apartment until I move in with my next partner. This summer is just a period of time I have to fill because next summer I’ll be doing things with my partner. My knitting projects and my running are ways to distract myself from loneliness until I can spend my free time with my partner. This couch I’m buying should probably be in a more neutral colour so that my next partner will like it too. And it’s not all in my head because people around me kind of act and speak like this too.
“Oh you don’t have to buy a bigger bed yet, you’ll anyways have to get rid of it when you move in with someone”
“Don’t worry about your schedule with school and Finn, maybe you’ll met someone who can bring him to work”
Respectfully, f*ck that. I’m having the completely banal yet life-altering realisation that I need to start living for me. I need to get the couch that I want. Because this period of time is not a transporting distance, it’s my life. It’s the only 2025 I’ll ever get. It’s the only year of being 30 I’ll ever get. (Again, I know this is not exactly rocket science. I’m just realising this later than everyone else.)
So back to where this diary entry began: my situationship. He’s the kind of person who is out there doing stuff he wants to do, not bothering to actively search for others’ approval. He’s certainly not sitting at home on the couch waiting for me to reply. And he’s not counting down the minutes until the next time we meet. And neither should I! When we hang out, it’s fun and great and cosy. But when we’re not, I need to be working on my relationship to myself. Like writing, spending quality time with Finn, trying new things, resting, learning about things I’m interested in. And that’s why I think maybe this very sweet yet slightly emotionally unavailable guy with a smokin’ bod is my biggest inspiration right now. Words I never thought I’d say, huh.
Julia, kudos to you for your self-awareness. And a BIG thank you for sharing so vulnerably your inner experiences with us.
I believe it takes a lot of courage—first, to admit these things to yourself, and second, to put them out there.
But oh, how beautiful it is to read something so honest—something in which you so deeply find yourself.
Being single has shown me, so clearly and painfully at times, just how much I tend to lose myself in relationships—despite a great deal of determination not to do it.
I want to believe I’ve grown out of that pattern, but then someone comes along, and suddenly it’s like some invisible force takes over. My emotional state becomes entirely tethered to how things are going between us.
Are we communicating enough (by this imaginary standard that I created)? Do I feel seen, wanted, important? If yes—great! Then I can feel good about myself.
But if, God forbid, something on my relationship wellbeing assessment goes unchecked… there goes my whole day.
Everything takes on a bitter aftertaste. Whatever else I try to do and think about, my mind spirals back to him, and my body clenches with this hollow, miserable feeling I can’t shake.
In my case, I think I know why this happens. (Or at least I’m arrogant enough to think that I do—I never had a professional confirm it—but I feel confident about it nonetheless.)
I operate from a place of deep unworthiness. At my core, I don’t believe I’m good enough, or worthy, or important. And my brain—too skilled for its own good—is constantly interpreting every word and action (or lack thereof) as evidence to support that belief.
Is it accurate? No. And although I’m aware of that, it still hurts like hell. Because it only deepens a very old, very painful wound—and it fails to recognize that it has little to do with what’s actually happening in my current reality.
It’s frustrating, because I’ve put so much work into the relationship I have with myself these past few years. On a conscious level, I genuinely like who I am. I can see how much I’ve grown, all the good things about me that I’m proud of, and the evidence that I can, indeed, trust and love myself.
It’s my subconscious that has some serious catching up to do. And every single relationship—or even the attempt at one—reminds me of that.
Okay, I’m done now playing the victim.
Because, truthfully, I’m not.
What I am is extremely lucky and privileged to live in a time and place where I have access to all kinds of support, resources, and opportunities to help me work through all of this.
I believe it’s a luxury to be able to preoccupy oneself with pursuits like healing and self-growth. I try to remind myself of that whenever I feel defeated by my (apparent or not) lack of progress.
So no, this isn’t coming from despair (despite what it looks like so far). It’s coming from a place of utter confidence that both you and I—and anyone else who feels this way—can figure it out. Slowly, imperfectly, but surely.
It’s a journey, isn’t it? And in the thick of it, it often feels like nothing’s changing. Confusion, frustration, and disappointment inevitably keep showing up.
But one day, we’ll find ourselves looking back at these versions of ourselves—bravely learning how to finally choose themselves—with unbelievable pride and joy.
And if you ask me, I think the path forward is built on tiny, defiant acts of self-trust.
Speaking up when you’re most afraid that what you say might cost you the other person…
Meeting your own needs first, despite how selfish it makes you feel…
Learning to be okay with being misunderstood, because you no longer need someone else’s understanding to define you…
Leaning into the discomfort of being the truest version of yourself…
Btw—have you read Glennon Doyle’s book, Untamed?
If not, you really should. It felt like the warmest hug and the biggest wake up call, all at once. I read it a few years ago, but writing this now makes me want to pick it up again.
It reminded me that discomfort is often the doorway to becoming who we truly are—and that it’s all so worth it, for how sweet life can be on the other side.
Aaaaaaaaaall of this to say… Thank you. It felt so good hearing some else talk about this. And it was, frankly, hella inspiring.