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2019

Abstract

r wins when I was little. Validation was promptly delivered for good grades and sports accomplishments. I carried that forward all the way through to my recent career and consistently sought self-validation from others — ultimately becoming a people pleaser.My parents were on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. My mother was often highly emotional with flickers of catastrophic worst-case thinking, and my dad was the rational stoic. I learned how to communicate with people on both ends of the spectrum, which facilitated my chameleonic talent to befriend people from any walk of life.Ultimately, I found myself in a string of relationships, where there was love, but it was conditionally given. I needed to behave a certain way, succeed professionally, or quit something to be accepted. This is a very invalidating dynamic that leads one to doubt oneself and always feel the need to be someone that you’re not.<figure id="a2d0"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/0*8SLrIdIuNhMLpw_j"><figcaption>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@salty_morning?utm_source=medium&utm_medium=referral">Maria Krasnova</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com?utm_source=medium&utm_medium=referral">Unsplash</a></figcaption></figure><h2 id="06d8">Emptiness within cannot be filled by another</h2>In college, I remember reading Julia Kristeva and watching Le Trois Couleurstrilogy by Krzysztof Kieslowski, specifically “Bleu.” I used my psychoanalysis and film class to romanticize relationship intensity and depression. The symbolism for melancholia always seemed so perfect to describe how I felt. There was a hole inside me that nothing could fill.I’d obsess over food only to feel empty. I’d drink all I could and be drained of all fluid. I’d take drugs and waste all my dopamine. When I was passionate and living in the romantic swirl of a new relationship, I’d walk away emotionally drained and hungover.<p id="da17"

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The reflection of myself that women cast in my direction was always fleeting. Until just this year, I had never realized that I had been seeking external validation in an attempt to cover up the deep well of insecurity and fear that lied within. Now I know that only I can fill up and seal off that well.<h2 id="0cae">You can’t love someone else until you fall in love with yourself</h2>It’s cliché, I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.I never could believe it. I thought: What does that even mean, love yourself? Like read self-help books, learn about chakras and singe some patchouli? Oh, to be young, dumb, and in denial.I had always dodged the hard, cold looks in the mirror. I was convinced that my issues were always on the outside, and the world around me was imposing itself upon me. It was my girlfriends’ fault that it never worked out. I never wanted to own up to my role in the dysfunction.I hadn’t been ready to admit that I played the role of someone ever in pursuit of validation, which imposed its own relationship dynamics. Or that I was hiding behind a mask throughout all of my relationships — always afraid to expose my softness and my vulnerability to my partner.It was never possible for me to love myself until I stripped away all of the posturing and projection, all of the childhood roleplaying. It took traumatic experiences to shatter my hard shell. When it broke, it hurt to feel myself so tender. It was a long, drawn-out pulsating throb, but I sat with the pain and began to accept my sensitive and empathic core.Once I finally learned that I need not be ashamed of my emotional side, I was free to embrace my feelings and openly share them with someone else. My security in who I am has enabled me to be comfortable in my vulnerability, resulting in a level of closeness with my girlfriend that I’ve never had before.###</article></body>

Four Uncomfortable Relationship Truths

What I Learned as a Whirlwind Romantic

Hi. I’m Russ, and I’m a recovering serial monogamist.

I spent most of my adulthood jumping into and escaping out of intense relationships. Through much painful self-discovery, I learned that the path to a healthy relationship with another must start within the self — so I wanted to share a few lessons that I’ve picked up during my travels.

Passion and intense romance are misleading and addictive

When sparks fly and champagne flutes clink, it’s easy to get carried away and get swept up in a riptide of romance.

I had actually called myself a “hopeless romantic” back in college. I didn’t quite know just how right I was. The sparks that fly, the heartbeats that flutter — they’re actually caused by neurotransmitter dopamine “hits.” My tendency toward intensity and emotional dependency was, in part, a chemical addiction that I tried to justify away with well-worded missives about passion being the only guide for the heart.

As over a decade of serial monogamy has taught me, the fires of passion die down just as quickly as they first erupted. As explained in “The Craving Mind,” those dopamine hits can easily lead to poor judgment and decision making. In my experience, long-term relationship success is really founded upon consistent, balanced attraction, mutual respect, and most of all, acceptance of the other person just as they are.

Relationships can be repeats of childhood dynamics

I used to get much attention for wins when I was little. Validation was promptly delivered for good grades and sports accomplishments. I carried that forward all the way through to my recent career and consistently sought self-validation from others — ultimately becoming a people pleaser.

My parents were on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. My mother was often highly emotional with flickers of catastrophic worst-case thinking, and my dad was the rational stoic. I learned how to communicate with people on both ends of the spectrum, which facilitated my chameleonic talent to befriend people from any walk of life.

Ultimately, I found myself in a string of relationships, where there was love, but it was conditionally given. I needed to behave a certain way, succeed professionally, or quit something to be accepted. This is a very invalidating dynamic that leads one to doubt oneself and always feel the need to be someone that you’re not.

Emptiness within cannot be filled by another

In college, I remember reading Julia Kristeva and watching Le Trois Couleurstrilogy by Krzysztof Kieslowski, specifically “Bleu.” I used my psychoanalysis and film class to romanticize relationship intensity and depression. The symbolism for melancholia always seemed so perfect to describe how I felt. There was a hole inside me that nothing could fill.

I’d obsess over food only to feel empty. I’d drink all I could and be drained of all fluid. I’d take drugs and waste all my dopamine. When I was passionate and living in the romantic swirl of a new relationship, I’d walk away emotionally drained and hungover.

The reflection of myself that women cast in my direction was always fleeting. Until just this year, I had never realized that I had been seeking external validation in an attempt to cover up the deep well of insecurity and fear that lied within. Now I know that only I can fill up and seal off that well.

You can’t love someone else until you fall in love with yourself

It’s cliché, I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.

I never could believe it. I thought: What does that even mean, love yourself? Like read self-help books, learn about chakras and singe some patchouli? Oh, to be young, dumb, and in denial.

I had always dodged the hard, cold looks in the mirror. I was convinced that my issues were always on the outside, and the world around me was imposing itself upon me. It was my girlfriends’ fault that it never worked out. I never wanted to own up to my role in the dysfunction.

I hadn’t been ready to admit that I played the role of someone ever in pursuit of validation, which imposed its own relationship dynamics. Or that I was hiding behind a mask throughout all of my relationships — always afraid to expose my softness and my vulnerability to my partner.

It was never possible for me to love myself until I stripped away all of the posturing and projection, all of the childhood roleplaying. It took traumatic experiences to shatter my hard shell. When it broke, it hurt to feel myself so tender. It was a long, drawn-out pulsating throb, but I sat with the pain and began to accept my sensitive and empathic core.

Once I finally learned that I need not be ashamed of my emotional side, I was free to embrace my feelings and openly share them with someone else. My security in who I am has enabled me to be comfortable in my vulnerability, resulting in a level of closeness with my girlfriend that I’ve never had before.

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