So a major life theme since the guy I’d been seeing and I split has continued to be self-work, and when I first broke up with the guy (or rather, he broke up with me, and I just said “okay” and didn’t try to get him back because we beat it to death. There was nothing else to hold onto, and I was miserable and none of the way we related or how he was behavior toward me was healthy anymore). With the heartbreak that initiated the split, it wasn’t hard by the time it was official. Painful, yes. A hard choice? No.
I committed to myself to spend the next 12 years single. I decided I could have “friends” who I saw on weekends (weekend lovers, like Prince describes in “Purple Rain”) because I was at least aware of how easily I can attach.
And lo and behold, I did. I mean, I’d had a few people reach out on messenger when the hint of me being single got around (and look, it’s not because I’m some insanely hot catch of a lifetime—it’s because the dating pool when you’re middle age is shallow as fuck and most of the fish have mental health problems that you don’t wanna touch. I am not excluded from this population, obviously, as the title of this article suggests). I was like yeah…no. The same was true after my husband died almost five years ago.
Partially, this is because I am an incel magnet. Anyone raised with narcissistic parental figures or enmeshing figures is going to be prone to show up in massively unhealthy ways with a narcissist. It does not help that I seemingly fit the ideal—I seem like, as my friend who I chatted with on the deck as the Buck Moon rose last night, damsel in distress. Which I suppose I have been, but I’ve also been stubbornly determined to save myself and to do things my way. I have to have someone who loves me enough to hold space for that, like my late husband, although, God only knows I frustrated that poor man figuring it out many a time. But it was healthy.
It was far too soon after my husband died that I got into a relationship, and even I knew, intuitively knew, it was too soon, but have you tried serotonin? Especially when you’re depressed? I met someone who was a friend and thus seemed safe. After being bombarded by overtly narcissistic men and developing a friendship that rapidly became toxic as he was demanding, insulting, critical, and controlling (from afar, mind you, thankfully), I severed that tie. So, I was seeking shelter in a relationship because I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to not end up with someone who could really, really hurt me. I didn’t even know myself. I didn’t trust myself.
I also didn’t realize I didn’t know myself, so when that guy invariably put the relationship label on our situationship after a month or so of hanging out, even though my intuition screamed, “Too soon,” I shut that bitch up and went with it because I was so afraid of being alone.
At that time, I was very much like a child, and given the emotionally-bereft parents who cared more about appearances and propriety than genuinely helping me through hell—I desperately needed the comforting, unconditional love of a mother, I was starving for something that felt good, even if it didn’t feel good all of the time.
His wounds presented quickly in the form of abandonment, ghosting, gaslighting, and the silent treatment. He did want to help me but having been raised on a good old Southern diet of heart-murdering tough love, he couldn’t relate to me emotionally and was just enraged that my behavior (I struggled with alcohol use disorder after my husband died) was anything but what suited his need for stability in our relationship. I had no business being there. He had no business staying.
But we both stayed in that for 4.5 years, and I have no one to blame but myself.
I’ve written extensively about my “spiritual journey”, the one that started the day my husband died almost five years ago, and in the course of that work, I had to look at my AUD. I had to look at my past drinking habits with unflinching honesty. I had to look at why I did that. Why, too, was I anorexic, truly?
And I untangled all of these knots in my person and finally, finally, emerged with a strong sense of self, a core purpose and a genuine love for myself and a determination to make the life I know I was born to live come true.
This coalesced last week after I spent a week alone on a tropical island. The week culminated in a stunning memorial tattoo that honors all four of my amazing children. The tattoo covers the place on my arm that I’d cut when the pain of my former significant other’s behavior was too much. I have wanted to escape pain by any means necessary, and the most searing pain always comes back to feeling abandoned in love. I did not make this connection at this time. But I know that not once—ever—have my children, my work, my hobbies and interests, or my friends, even when we’ve argued or even ended a friendship, has ever made me want to draw a blade down my skin and draw blood because I couldn’t stand the pain of being in my own body. I wanted to hurt on the outside to release some of the suffering on the inside. Sick, I know.
But now for the good part.
Despite my very confident commitment to myself—and I really was sure of it and was thrilled about it, I fell like a brick off of a 41-story building for a guy I messaged to see as a friend, but I did drop the mention that I was recently single.
Why did I do that? If I’m being honest, I wanted attention. I realize that now. At the time, I felt I was just looking for things to do because this person and I’d gone to high school together and five months earlier in December, we’d had a fun night and talked about coordinating a reunion with another classmate. That sounded fun. Let’s get back on that. Also, after I scrolled the messages because there was a whisper in my mind that he’d said something about a summer meetup, which sounded like fun. Why not? I didn’t have any kinds of restrictions any more. Let’s party!
And we had a great conversation. The first time he kissed me, I was surprised, but I liked it. And we’d been chatting online, and I liked him. Over the course of just a couple of weeks, he said all of the right things. He said everything I ever could have wanted to hear, and the fact that I felt a massive soul connection with him was—now that I realize it—was putting another pattern in front of me, and I missed the mark completely.
Here’s how similar it was—I’d asked my ex to take me kayaking because I just needed to get away from myself, and kayaking was something my LH and I always wanted to do but never did.
I asked this guy to meet me to talk about something of mild interest because I wanted to distract myself.
I did click with the second lesson, the second guy, with an infinitely more powerful spiritual connection.
This is where it gets kind of eerie.
The first guy and I met at Spring Hill College for a quick date one afternoon. He had no idea that the second guy and I also met at the Spring Hill College campus for a coffee early when we started dating.
The first guy took me to a river when we first started hanging out to talk, which is all we did, but it was nice—nice enough for me to want to keep seeing him.
The second guy took me to a different spot on the same river on a date.
It was bizarre. But at least then, the parallels ended there, and I stupidly, naively thought, oh, this is me rewriting this history. And also, as with the first guy, I’d just been through something of significant transformation, five years ago, it was the devastating death of my husband, now, it was the empowering reclaiming and establishing of my identity and the shedding of all of the fucks that had held me back (conditioning, insecurity, addiction, limiting beliefs, imposter syndrome, body dysmorphia—such a grab bag!).
And what I thought with both men was that I’d somehow earned the right to fall into love and for it to be what I dream of having with a partner. I thought, oh, I deserve this.
And guess what? I do. If I want a loving, attentive, present, interested partner who I will be equally generous to, I will have one.
But I will not have one by abandoning myself. Which in hindsight is what I did.
On the island, I wasn’t able to get texts through to the second guy. He’s kind of a loner and says he’s introverted, and that’s cool. I mean, I love my alone time, but I also love my connections, which thankfully, I’ve been building up on the friend side.
Thankfully because after my husband passed—he and I had one of those super-fused best friend marriages where we did all of the things together and he was my favorite person to be around, even if we weren’t getting along completely, both my parents and my partner were totally emotionally unavailable. They were critical and their judgement caused so much pain. But my friends. Woah. My friends were like colors of the rainbow, flooding me with their brilliant light.
One friend helped me cope with as I began to understand my mother’s covert narcissism (she once suggested—on my first widowed Mother’s Day, that I, a bereaved mother, should let her adopt my three living children. I all but told her to go fuck herself, but that was a severing remark, and I will never trust her again unless she undergoes therapy and her own spiritual transformation. I am not holding my breath).
One friend helped me cope with my AUD among many, many other things—she’s just been there for all of it.
Many friends helped me understand my partner.
I started to connect. I started to really turn to my friends and build up a massive network of love and light that flood the bright white light in my heart and beam love around the world. It’s amazing. So awesome.
They assured me of my goodness. They built me up. They helped me see myself as the fun, funny, loving, amazing human being that I am. (Fun fact—we are all whatever amazing adjectives we believe ourselves to be.)
They helped me slaughter my frenemy within, and I was able to systematically not only crush all of my conditioning and limiting beliefs, but I was also able to leave a relationship with a man who was exactly like my father.
I thought that since I’d slayed that dragon, all of those dragons, I was in the clear. The universe is just laughing because it’s like, “Bitch, you know I dropped you on your ass when you were leaving the island because you were girl bossing too close to the sun.”
I was. I was vibing so high, I thought I was untouchable, and that it would all work out. Despite having lost total contact with the second lesson (guy), I just trusted it would work out. I didn’t know how, but it would because that connection was real. I was vibing really high.
Although, I do still trust that. Totally. Without a doubt. Just, in general. It all works out.
This year I have experienced a plethora of repeated patterns, and many of them have been joyful to recognize and respond to the right way because that’s truly the only pathway to change.
We have to literally change our behavior, confront ourselves, and do all of these things in order to truly heal and reclaim ourselves.
I didn’t see this pattern coming.
The biggest one.
The Sunday I was flying home, I saw on my outdoor camera someone was in my driveway—doing the lawn. It was the second guy, who I hadn’t heard from in a week despite sending messages until I decided to leave him alone since that’s what he wanted.
Back in the US, one week after I lost contact with him, he came over to help me move something heavy into my house and, hopefully, to see me. I wanted to see him, and it felt like things were fine. Misunderstanding resolved. I’d asked if he was okay because I know how confused and hurt I felt over the lack of communication while I was gone—he had to have felt that way, too, had to have felt abandoned, but I realize it was just a necessity in the lesson. I did need to be distraction-free on the island, and once I put that down, my worry over what was happening, I did. I was fully free and present and living my best life. It was delicious even though there were several instances where I broke down and cried for all of the things I’d never cried for. Big, ugly tears. Very sexy.
He was back on track to come with me for an event we’d talked about going to together before I left for the island. Cool. We texted the next day and then…he didn’t message that Wednesday and despite my reaching out to him via text, he just never showed up for something we had tentative plans for, and then as the weekend approached, he sent a rather terse and indifferent text, not his usual communication at all, and I replied, but he never messaged back. I called that night because he was supposed to come with me to that event. I’d told the hostess. And he vanished. Ghosted me entirely. Stood me up. I’m pretty sure that’s the first time that has happened. And that did hurt. I was hurt, confused, and disappointed. Given how aberrant his behavior was to the way he’d responded to me less than a week earlier, I reached out to a friend he’d introduced me to because I felt they were close. Like, what if he was having some kind of serious issue or if he was depressed? I’ve been suicidal, so I asked the friend to check on him, and I was like, “Okay, now I’m going to just let this go.”
But I was still completely open to letting him explain, and I’d have totally let him back in…eventually.
Because what I learned about myself that I thought was the lesson (and it was, but it was more like a chapter test than the major exam) is that I failed the pattern test and I failed to respect and honor my boundaries because I thought he was exceptional. He is exceptional, and I hope he realizes that, and I’m still grateful because I couldn’t have learned these lessons with a less kind-hearted person. His demons are his—these are mine, and I want to slay mine, so I don’t keep hurting people with unrealistic expectations and with my own inconsistencies.
I said I’d protect my kids at all costs. I let him come to a 4th of July party at a friend’s house as a friend, but dammit all if my kids didn’t totally get that I liked him and if they didn’t respond in the most devastating way possible—they were like, “When are y’all going to get married?” “You’re going to be my dad!” Which was mortifying, but we’d also talked about how he did want to settle down and marry someone and have a family, and even though he knew that I couldn’t ever have more children, he was perfectly happy with my situation. I didn’t misread that, so I was definitely relieved (though embarrassed) that my kids didn’t dislike him or mistrust him on sight.
Until now. Now I’m like, “You fucking idiot.” I just opened my heart and my home for this guy because I believed in our soul connection. I didn’t take any time to see if his behaviors, his humanness, would be problematic. And he did tell me he had issues and sabotaged relationships in the past, but he seemed to be pretty self-aware, so I was like, okay. And what’s more, I can hold space.
I still hold space for him. Hurt people do things to hurt people. They get scared and react like wounded animals because something feels too big for them. I understand this—I used to use alcohol to avoid intimacy. I was terrified of connection, and so when I felt it, I fled.
Given my ex was also avoidant, I recognize this behavior. We can be secure, but we have to tell ourselves we’re secure. We have to act secure. We have to recognize our problematic behavior and slow down and say, “Okay, why am I feeling this way? Why am I doing this? What do I need to do differently?” Because above all things, you must do things differently. You must. Even if the only thing you do is nothing at all.
I realize now that I have to slow down and be open and curious but to guard my energy, guard my home, guard my children at all costs. I am worth the pursuit. I am worth dating and getting to know slowly. I am worthy spending real quality time with and falling in love with as I truly get to know the personality, the character, and the heart of who I’m going to spend the next half of my life with if that happens.
And even in saying this and learning this and being grateful to second guy about this, I was still totally open to hearing him out, and deep down, if I’m being honest, I really just wanted to reconnect with him, so I could get over this unshakable discomfort, because I couldn’t let it go, the discomfort. I was sitting with it and being curious about it, but it was barnacled onto me. My idiotic heart was just like, “But I like him. Waaaaah.” Silly thing. And I still wanted to understand, so I wasn’t really letting it go. The ennui was real.
But that’s what curiosity is about. Why did I do this? Why did I allow this? Why is this such a distraction?
And so a friend who is also sweet and tender hearted and going through his own tumultuous love drama popped by on his way out of town for a chat. I’d texted to check in after he swung by to borrow some books that helped me get to where I am now, and he replied and I mentioned I was fine but had a bit of a rough week or something like that, and he said, “Well do you want me to swing by for a bit?”
Yes. This is a friend I’ve known for 20 years, and my long-standing friends are the ones who can help me witness patterns the fastest.
By the time he’d gotten there, I’d been sitting on the deck replaying the script. I wasn’t thinking in patterns yet, but they dawned on me as I thought, what kind of person says they’re doing one thing and immediately does another?
And then I thought about just the big picture. I have been in a relationship since I started dating, but before that, I always had a crush. I always liked someone, and I always wanted to be liked. The handful of times that happened, I was like a scared little rabbit. I went on a couple of dates with guys in college, and I had no boundaries. I mean, I was raised Christian and was still very much under that behavioral control, so I was very committed to remaining a virgin, but I went on these dates, and I went back to their dorms to make out. And I enjoyed it.
One guy I really did like. He was in my writing class. Super freaking cute. Amazing kisser (he was Portuguese Italian you guys—oh my gosh). Since he was Catholic, he wanted to stay a virgin as well, which was great. I didn’t do anything sexual other than make out on his bed for hours on end.
So, it was a bit of a surprise and disappointing when he decided to get into a relationship with someone else. I don’t remember what I wanted from him or expected or thought we were doing, but my lack of self-respect and boundaries enabled him to enjoy time with me while, apparently, waiting for someone with a little more self-respect.
I’m not going to label my behavior as a lack of self-respect because I do respect myself. After both my ex and the interaction with second guy, I didn’t engage any of the immature or self-effacing behaviors of the past. I didn’t go get wasted. I didn’t blast pics or whatever of me having fun and clearly trying to get male attention to make whoever jealous. I didn’t do anything other than say, “Okay,” and try to keep living my life in the best, healthiest, most self-supporting way possible.
But it was disrespectful to myself and my daughters, and I do respect myself, so none of this will happen again. You cannot witness a pattern and then not respond if your assignment is personal and spiritual growth.
So, I realized that despite the fact that I’ve always said, “Oh, let me spend some time with myself,” I’ve happily and willfully let myself fall in love or at least fall into dalliances despite having to abandon myself to feel that connection.
Self-abandonment. So lovely to see you’re still around. Get out, bitch. We’re done. No more. No more of you. My boundaries are real now, and I’ve got work to do.
I told my friend, “I think I’m addicted to love,” and yeah, I am. I’ve had a crush, like I said, since I could remember. My first crush’s name in kindergarten was named Tyler, and the thought of him reminds me of green dinosaurs. In first grade, it was Chris. Second, Mark. Third through fifth, Justin (and of course I wrote in my journal the ranking of how cute I thought the boys in the class were). In middle school, it was MB and for a really long time after that, up to 9th grade, then it was Michael. Tenth grade was Chad. Then it was Ryan in 11th. Then it was Isaac in 12th. And seriously, other than a couple of these guys, they really didn’t know I liked them because I was so insecure and shy thanks to my mom. And I really had no idea how to even approach anyone.
But I craved love. I wanted to be seen. I needed connection.
I didn’t get any sense of the fact that I was attractive until I was about 22, the year I started drinking and going out, and then it was a total rush. I felt confident and sexy and I was having so much fun. I was still a virgin, by the way.
And then this narcissistic man I worked with wound himself around my heart. I genuinely cared for him, and the irony is like most narcissists, he was aesthetically incredibly unattractive. But I eventually fell for him because of his stories, his appeals to my empathy, and then he just abandoned me, when he realized that I was taking him seriously. It broke my heart. I was so confused. Why would anyone do that? I’d never been lied to or taken advantage of—I didn’t have normal, healthy formative relationship experiences to learn from, and my mother treated me like a whore because I fell for the lies of a married man. Her little virgin whore.
Had she been more protective and attentive and less judgmental, she would know that one night, after he’d lied and hurt me, because I was so desperate to understand, I snuck out the front door and climbed into his truck. He drove us to around the corner to where a building had been destroyed and parked. He was incredibly high and drinking and he had a gun. I really don’t remember everything that happened because I was terrified. I had to do whatever he said because he was going off. He threatened to kill me and my family if…I don’t know. I think I journaled about it. It was scary, and I didn’t understand at the time, really until now why he did that, why he felt the need to come back and claim me and threaten me like that. But I know why now. It was because because I’d naively done what narcissists don’t want you to do—I moved on once I got past the heartache his behavior caused me.
And just like now, had I had boundaries that I honored and respected, had I had a strong sense of self and esteem to know that I’m completely worth the fucking wait. I always have been, I’d have never been in that situation. I had an amazingly pure and healthy first love, which is something my connection with second guy reminded me of and made me hopeful, emotionally, that it was real and safe, but after that, my lack of connection growing up and my conditioning and my inexperience set me up for potential disaster.
It was a gift from the universe, an awareness that I would become the dark alternative to who I am now, if I didn’t find a true love who could save me from the blindness of my conditioning and my behavioral responses, that I met my husband.
He was the first man I dated who I immediately felt was beautiful. He was beautiful. And he was kind, and he liked me. He was so nervous around me. He used to shake when we’d kiss, and he was young—22, and so he, too, was inexperienced, and I’d later learn that while he had a truly connected and loving upbringing, he had been subjected to experiences that cause serious trauma and leave scars.
But like anxiously attached people, we were a haven of refuge for one another, and because we provided security, we became secure together.
So, when he died, I thought, “Oh, well I’m secure now—I’ve got this,” and I immediately went flat on my face by dating a man who felt “safe”, but the familiarity, that he was like my massively emotionally avoidant dad who made me so anxious and miserable that I once—in my mid-20s when it wasn’t clear if the man who would become my husband and I would make it as a couple because I was sooooo good at self sabotaging, I drug my keys down the forearm I’d intermittently cut during my relationship with my ex as hard as I could. And then I left the house. I’d moved back in briefly when I started graduate school because I’d just lost my job as a bartender and had just gotten beyond the rebound AH I dated after the first avoidant man like my dad (that’s right, I have to learn the HARD way), and I was like, “I’m going to kill myself if I stay here. I’d rather be in debt,” and I got the fuck out of dodge. I’ll never spend another night under that roof if I can help it.
I spent the first year of widowhood systematically addressing my massive anxious attachment struggles, witnessing my mother for who she was, exploring child wounds—abandonment, for one, that were triggering me like wildfire, and of course, dealing with complex grief and complex post traumatic stress disorder AND figuring out how to be a single mother AND I think there was a fucking pandemic—I don’t know. I had a LOT on my plate.
And I still looked normal and shit online. We have to talk to connect or we don’t know these things. I was in living hell that was bigger and more consuming than anyone could realize, and I damn near didn’t make it out, but I wanted more. I wanted this dream. I couldn’t die without writing what I needed to write. And I definitely couldn’t leave my kids intentionally. It wasn’t fair.
I had to live.
I made a decision. If I’m going to have to fucking live, then I’m going to REALLY live. I’m going to live the biggest and best life of anyone’s life, and I’m going to give it to myself. And piece by piece, I figured out how to do it.
I’m unraveling string. I’m making connections, witnessing patterns, and slotting jigsaws in to complete the big picture.
And the big picture is that it all comes down to connection.
I’m ADHD because I lacked the attention I needed to feel safe and connected growing up. I was told of being about 5-6 months old and taken to daycare as an infant. I spent the week catatonic because I felt so abandoned. I refused to eat.
This manifests in my adult life. When my ex broke my heart, I was unable to eat.
Severed connections are destructive to my sense of security because clearly, I’m still outsourcing safety, at least in one regard.
In Rudyard Kipling’s “If”, he says, “If all men count with you, but none too much,” and I take this to mean that everyone should be equally important and unimportant. Everyone should have equal power to rock your boat or not.
And as this hypno-meditation guru says on the Commune app, people can only hurt us if we give them the power to hurt us, so just don’t give them that power.
I was able to remove power from my parents. Power from my ex. But I have to put that power, that connection, all of that into myself.
I and I alone have the power to remain connected to myself. And when I ignore spirit’s assignment, the one placed on my head when the ex and I split on 5/5 or when I ignore spirit’s messages to me, I am severing my own connection, and I, and I alone, am hurting myself.
I know what I have to do. On the Monday I was on the island, I friend recommended a spiritual ocean cleansing / bath, and I was here for it. It worked a song and opened me up to achieve true enlightenment.
I knew when I came back to the US, there would be more work to do, and I’d have a hard time settling back into life, and of course, I did.
My first assignment. Phew. The thing is, I have felt genuinely grateful for all of this, for him and his lessons, for the fact that his hurting me, unlike others, was in no way malicious. I don’t know what his deal is, but I know that with all truly good-hearted people who have been deeply wounded, he’s miserable, and I know he didn’t want to hurt me, but I think that it was necessary. I’m so glad he did because I’d have just repeated the same pattern with him, and we both said when we really felt what we felt is that we didn’t want to mess this up, so maybe he feels like he messed it up, but if there’s ever going to be a snowball’s chance in hell that he and I could have something (and I don’t mean that because I want anything right now from anyone beyond friendship because), I have to break the pattern. I have to completely break the matrix to fix it.
Tonight I’m meeting a widower friend to talk. He was a former professor and is a brilliant writer and friend. We met shortly after I was newly widowed to talk, but I felt that my then-partner would be jealous and wouldn’t understand the friendship even though this man is 20 years my senior, and it’s not like that for either of us. We’re just people who have suffered the same soul-crushing loss, and I somehow just know this is what I need to be doing this week. My entire week is lined up, and I know it’s all exactly where I need to be and what I need to be doing. Bring it.
But before that, I have to do something. Under the Buck Moon, after dinner, I’m going to do another releasing ritual, which should say a lot because I’d rather lick the floor than get into that river sometimes.
I also have to rescue the baby. I have to create a meditation and a visualization where I witness the baby being abandoned and I go in, and I save her. I fill her with the connection, and I promise her, that oh sweet thing, I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’ll never let you feel that way ever again. I love you, sweetheart.
So, this morning, at some point, I’ll find the right place to do it, and I’ll save the baby. That’s reparenting. It’s simple. It’s compassionate. It’s rewriting the script.
Though I’ll have to be mindful and I know my boundaries will be tested, after I do this, I’ll have the awareness to honor myself, so I’m really happy because the life I need and want is all but mine for the taking, and the love, well, I have that. I have it from the person I’m meant to spend my life with because I am that person. I also have it from the person I’m meant to share the rest of my life with. I have it from my kids and my friends—I have it from the people who I get to help. I have it from the people I have yet to meet. I have it from nature. I have it from the universe. I have it, and I’m not letting it go ever again.
It’s liberating to feel this. I feel the words of Kipling cloaking me because as I go into the world now, I won’t meet people and wonder about and hope for this potential of what could be because I’m not searching anymore. I found it—I found connection, and again, it will take practice and discipline and awareness and effort, but it will be worth it because I know that in doing this, I’m going to drop a lot of the other behaviors that I engage when I don’t feel connected or when I feel abandoned.
And I feel so grateful and so relieved for all of it. When you feel this free and this alive, you can’t hold any bad feelings toward anyone who may have hurt you because of their own suffering. They didn’t mean it. It’s about you, which has been another relief. Even though this week was hurtful and confusing, I never once thought it was about me—his behavior, but mine…that is, and while I can’t help him, I can help myself.
Figure out what’s about you and what isn’t and don’t look anywhere else but at you and what you can do to show up for you. That’s it. That’s the lesson. Damn. I’m happy because while other people’s behaviors are on them, it’s on me to respond. I choose love and compassion. I’m truly sorry for other people’s pain, and I’m sorry for the way that pain hurts others, but I’m also ultimately responsible for whether or not I allow myself to feel it and whether or not I allow someone to get to me. I know that in life, I’ll experience pain from those I love, but to be sure, with understanding and the capacity for forgiveness and acceptance and by surrounding myself with people who love and care deeply enough to make amends, I know I’ll be okay. I already am.