can you fall in love and not lose yourself?

you show me your scars, but i'm not keeping score

Hi friends,

I have food for thought on this Sunday morning.

As the late January sun streams through my apartment (a rarity - I’m taking in this moment) - I’m thinking about the act of storytelling. And I am thinking about these newsletters, and how I have dissected conversations and body language and sentence fragments and glances and stares - and have turned them into a story that, to me, best represents my experience.

And I’ll be honest, I can forget that there are two characters. Two sides. Two different hearts and two different minds and two different perspectives. I never really thought about how OFM felt about me moving to Rome. I never initially thought about PN’s reactions to my new “friendships” with the rest of his staff at the bar. Or how the MATF felt when I slept with his best friend. Lol.

I just did what I wanted to do. And I don’t regret any of it - but I am reflecting on it.

The last time I saw OFM, I told him, “Listen - I will always choose myself. I’m going to date other people. I’m not going to sit around and wait for something, or someone who isn’t sure -”

He interrupted me and said, “But Emily - you would have always chosen yourself, even if we were together.”

This conversation has been playing in the background of my mind over the past few weeks. And for the first time, in a long time, I wonder about who we are through the eyes of the other. Who we look like to those we love, and to those we hurt. And oftentimes, they go hand-in-hand.

I wonder what they thought when they first saw me, what they felt. What was the immediate attraction? When did they realize they were falling? When did I hurt them? How did I hurt them? Did they re-read old conversations, did they delete old photos? Did they regret it after?

How will you remember me? As I was? Or as I am? Will you replay my darkest moments, our darkest moments? Or will you only remember the good ones? Will you remember that the way I looked at you drunk was the same way I looked at you sober?

Yesterday at brunch, I repeated what OFM had said to me, to a couple of close friends. “It’s Rome.” I tell them. “He’s always had this narrative on loop in his head that I am going to just get up one day and leave.”

Back in October, when I wasn’t sure about staying, and we weren’t sure about where we stood - he said, “It’s hard with you because I always have to mentally prepare myself that you can get up and go tomorrow.”

“Honestly. I kind of understand why it would be hard for him.” My friend says.

“But he can also get up and leave.” Another friend chimes in.

You see? Two different hearts, two different perspectives.

Growing up, I observed the emotions of the adults around me - and figured how best to alter some parts of myself to apease them. But in high school, I learned that I loved the night and the freedom that came with it. I loved how alcohol became like truth serum, and seemed to make everyone fall in love a little bit more. I loved those basement parties with the same group of predictable men playing beer pong. I loved having crushes, I loved having contests with my friends to see how many different guys we could make out with (without them knowing, of course) in one night. It was fun, and it was free.

I stayed in my first relationship for a lot longer than I should have. He wasn’t the right one, but I thought it was the right thing to do. Six years. Stability. Predictability. Adapting. Apeasing.

This is what makes me successful, right? This is what makes people think that I have my shit together. That they don’t have to worry about me.

But who was I trying to prove this to? To adults that weren’t living the life that I wanted? To adults that I wanted nothing to be like?

I’m trying to learn. I’m trying to dissect. I’m trying to take these experiences, collect them, connect the dots - and figure something out.

Can we fall in love and not lose ourselves?

Emily