Why I’m Single. Well, One of Many Reasons

“I went from relationship to relationship and needed a break. Every woman should have a period of time where she is unencumbered and free to focus on herself. I never had that. There was always someone in my life from 16 on.” –My Mama in a journal she wrote to me

Me too, until just recently. During the last 8-months of my mom’s life, while our family was fighting cancer around-the-clock and facing never-ending drama, I dated three different men. THREE DIFFERENT MEN. My mom was dying and suffering through terminal cancer, and yet, I found the time to be in three different relationships. I also went through my Instagram pictures… I started my Instagram account during my junior year of college… which was, erm, lemme get the calculator or text somebody, H/O. I got the account less than four years ago and there were pictures of four different boyfriends scattered throughout my feed. If I’d married every serious boyfriend I’ve had in the past four years, I would be hella mormon, but with drinking coffee still (lots of coffee), so I would just be a **polygamist.

So, when my last relationship crumbled like a badly burnt cookie into thousands of crunchy, little pieces, I put my foot down. I deleted all my past boyfriends from my Instagram and from my life. I have no desire to date anyone again, for a while, maybe forever.

A few days ago, my only bed companion, Tyga (my dog… not the rapper. Calm down, Kyle Jenner!), and I headed out for an evening at the “small dog” park. En route, a man jumped out friggin’ of nowhere to talk to me. (And yes, I was wearing headphones. Dude interrupted my Slow Jamz mix.) He said I was pretty and really stood out (on the not very crowded street, for real, I think I was the only person passing by at the time.) He asked where I was from, and trying to be kind and polite, I answered him. He unfortunately took this as an open invitation to walk with Tyga and I. When we neared the park, he said he had to go meet a friend and would take my number. I was like, um, no you won’t… but I said it nicely.

Then, shit went down. Here’s our convo:

Stranger Danger: Listen, I’m running to meet a friend but what I’m going to do is take your number!

Me: Oh, okay, have fun. And, sorry but I can’t.

Stranger D.: Why can’t you?

Me: I just can’t. I’m sorry! K, bye now!

I began making my great escape by crossing the street. BUT, he followed me.

Strange D.: What do you mean you can’t?

Me: I’m sorry, bye!

He continues following and refusing my answer. At this point, I’m v. annoyed and stressed.

Strange D.: Will you just tell me why? Why can’t you?? Tell me. Just give me a reason!

It was very clear I wasn’t interested in this man’s questions. I was being hassled. He was being a dick. However, after all the shit I’ve trudged through over the past year, I am no fucking damsel in distress. I’m the last women in the world who needs rescued. Ever. Kapeesh?

As we arrived at the park entrance, I turned on my heel and yelled at him:

“MY MOM JUST DIED THREE MONTHS AGO. AND I’M REALLY NOT IN A GOOD PLACE RIGHT NOW. SHE HAD PANCREATIC CANCER AND FOUGHT FOR 8-MONTHS, AND THEN, SHE DIIIIIIIED.”

He said sorry so many times and backed away so quickly onlookers probably thought I had a gun on me. Good.

I realize this makes me sound crazy. What was I supposed to do? I realized afterward I could have just given him a fake phone number like a normal person. (Call me, babe! It’s 555-5555!) But, it irked me how he just wouldn’t let up. I don’t NEED A REASON to say ‘no’ to men. That’s something I wasn’t fully aware or confident of prior to my mama’s diagnosis.

I’ve made a lot of poor decisions in my life based on my desire to be in someone else’s.

But you learn. You live through the worst and you live through so many lies from the people who love, and then you learn. When my world was falling apart, I was stuck in this constant pain, which is beyond what’s imaginable by those who haven’t lost the person they love the most. My biggest nightmare in life became my life’s reality. And so, I cried on the floor, and I sobbed until I couldn’t catch my breath every night in my bed, and I pricked tiny cuts up and down my arms using steak knives, and I manically baked a new batch of cinnamon rolls everyday… I was pretty much outside of my mind and overwhelmed with my mama’s dying.

And, he didn’t care. There’s nothing my ex could have done to stop me, of course, or to make my pain go away, but he didn’t care either way. I’d spent the past weeks living off his perfectly sweet words of love and his promises that our love would last forever, and then, it stopped. His words crashed and it broke me.

He told me I needed to be strong– I needed to be strong by myself. I needed to pick my body off the floor. I needed to find the courage to find comfort, while being alone. He didn’t have the time or the positive energy to deal with me, (he was always talking about his ‘chakra’ which I was like, um, not in front of family, dude!) He couldn’t be around 24/7, even though, that never felt like what I was asking him… but I guess to him it did.

There were nights when my body shook with panic and I felt like I’d pass out or worse, (or better), like I was dying too. Sometimes, I just wanted him just to hold me. And so, I’d get the nerve to ask him, only to hear him frustrated and saying ‘no’ he was tired from work. He wanted to work on his trade– nothing more. His friends were in town and he was busy entertaining and he didn’t have a minute to call or text me to see how I was doing… for two days. He was angry. He was doing his best. He always me fit into the time he had to spare– between building bicycles and not paying his taxes this year– and if I wasn’t going to fit his schedule, it didn’t work for him, and if it didn’t work, then he’d always known that to mean goodbye. In the end, I was told by my love who was so different and unexpected, who held me and stared into my eyes, who got me so high… sorry, I didn’t fit. I wasn’t his girl. His words dropped me so low. Luckily, though, I was already lost in a hole so deep, being guided by my grief I was falling into the core of hell farther and father, the pain of it couldn’t touch me.

My family and friends who’d visited during my mama’s last weeks had all loved him. Me too. But when things fell apart (and did so quickly) everyone blamed the timing for us falling in love. It makes sense I would want someone good to cling onto during the end of my mama’s life. I didn’t totally buy it, though, saying over and over, “Yes, but I really, truly did believe it was the most perfect love. I thought I’d gotten way too lucky, and I’d met the love of my life.”

He looked at me and held me and loved me like I was the only true-love-of-his-life. I guess in retrospect, I’m a huge dummy. After our crash-and-burn breakup (on the day before my mama’s memorial service), I told my *guy-bestie about it. I went on about how much my life sucks, how much I miss my mom, how I wish my ex still loved me and how I was still lost on what the hell happened. But, when I told my guy-bestie how my ex had said “I love you” after two weeks of dating, or really, even meeting me… he (not so) nicely reminded me of something. THAT’S BATSHIT CRAZY. Adummy is on the extremely logical, AKA smart, side of the spectrum, and he said seven or eight months is ideal (if not early) for an I love you.

He was right. He was so totally right. Maybe, not about the seven to eight months thing, but my ex telling me he loves me after two weeks was just so… not anything but complete shit.

He didn’t know me. It’s impossible to know someone after two weeks let alone two years. On the phone the other day, my big brother was saying how he and his GF had just hit the 2-year mark, and even living together, he was still learning new things about her. TWO YEARS LATER AND THERE’S STILL NEW SHIT. Ha, even my mama and my dad were, for better or for worse, still learning new things about each other, together, 30-years later.

Thank God for all of this. Because, my ex? He still doesn’t know me.

He’d promised me he would understand and he would love me through my grief– even a couple weeks ago, while I was in town for my dad’s birthday, he made promises again– I found myself being held and kissed by him again as he said we’re so good together and he cares so much about me still, and he maybe wants to move to New York to be with me. And then I found out, via internet stalking (duh), he’s had a new girlfriend for a good long while.

Oppsies. I win. I win so big by not being with a guy who has a girlfriend and still kisses other girls and makes plans with them. And honey, you didn’t know me. You wouldn’t know me now, either. I’m stronger than a woman you “knew” and loved back then.

One last thing: The man I do marry, (Lord help him!), won’t be in love with me after two weeks. We’ll barely know each other after two months– we’re in no rush— we take things slow. He’ll see I have bruises, and down the road, he’ll find out I have scars. I’ll let him feel my heartbeat and how it still stops at the ache of losing my mama. It always will. His kisses will feel great, but they won’t heal anything. I’m sure he’ll be a bit beat up, too. That’s life, man. And most importantly, It won’t matter to him that while my mom lay unresponsively in the hospital bed setup in our living, I cried on the hardwood floor alone and terrified. He won’t be concerned as to whether or not I needed someone, of if I was strong, and he won’t think less of me for feeling alone in those crushing moments bringing me to my knees, because what matters most to him is that I wanted someone.

I’m not looking for a relationship, right now. But weirdly, deep down, I know that when I’m ready for one, I’ve learned so much that the next time I fall in love I’ll be so badass at it.

xoxo.

*Every, every, every gal needs a guy-bestie. Guy-besties rock because they have kick-ass taste in music and they don’t ever wanna talk about the Real Housewhoevers of any county. Plus, they give you honest (TOO HONEST) no-frills feedback on shit. I’ve maybe only (ever) gotten two compliments from Adummy, but they are the most sincere, meaningful compliments in my whole collection of ego-boosting flattery! 

Happy Birthday To My Bad Mama Jama.

Today marks exactly one year since my mama‘s stage-4 pancreatic cancer diagnosis.

It also would have been her birthday.

Today is bitter-sweet at its very core.

It also calls for joy.

A photo posted by stephrosedoan (@stephrosedoan) on Feb 12, 2015 at 2:47pm PST

Happy Birthday, Mama Goose! I’m so v. thankful we were able to talk you into the silliness of celebrating your “Halfy Birthday!” Not only was it the day you turned a 1/2 year older but it also marked 6-months of fighting cancer like a bad Mama Jama. I am so proud of you! Thank you for being my world, my moon, my guiding star and my entire galaxy for 24 years.

#ThrowbackThursday Mama Goose on the Loose.

“Last night I remembered an incident from my childhood and the memory made me cry.”

For #ThrowbackThursday, here’s a story written by my mom. I stole it from her diary… Um, are ghosts like a real thing to worry about? I think she’ll be cool with it. Maybe.

“It was about a time when I was about 8 or 9, and I was with my (older) brother, Steven. Some kids rode by us on their bikes and called him a retard and started making fun of him. I felt embarrassed and ashamed. But, I remember Steven saying to me, “Sissy, me different.” He looked so sad! And then, I felt so sad, because he was so sweet and innocent and he couldn’t be sheltered from the cruel ignorance of the outside world that could hurt him so much. I hate that!”

My mom was in school to be a teacher when I was a kid– it kind of looked like to me that she was always in school through my entire childhood… so, you can understand my confusion when my own college days ended. She started out her career teaching fourth graders, but her true passion– which I’ll bet had a big something to do with she had love for my Uncle Steve– drove my mama to get her masters degree in special education. The number of parents who reached out during her cancer battle, plus the many more who contacted us after her death, thanking her for impacting, and literally changing, how their kids did in school was endless. At the memorial service, we watched as parent after parent stepped up to the mic to share stories about how their child was failing– grade levels behind– in school. Their kids had rosters of previous teachers who’d either given up on them or couldn’t spare the extra time on students with learning differences. But then, my mom came into the equation. Many called her “an angel” who was amazingly patient and who understood there are many different ways children can learn. Her teaching was not only effective, but also, (and the kids would even admit it) fun. She had a special gift for helping her students to regain their confidence, and eventually, to also love learning.

Here’s another one:

“I feel angry at Brent (my dad/her husband) right now because when I called him he didn’t want to talk to me– he said he’d call me back due to last seconds of a football game. This makes me feel hurt knowing a football is more important than me to him. I hate him sometimes for allowing him to control my feelings– why do I let him do that?! But, I care that a football game is more important to him than me– it’s like, I’ll always be there but the football game won’t. It makes me think and want not to always be there– so there! Hah! Feelings: resentful, worried, angry, hurt, sad, and fear. Fear is usually behind anger, and the fear is that he doesn’t care and if he doesn’t care then our relationship won’t last.”

It lasted. My parents were married for three decades, and it was about a week after their 30th anniversary that my mom first went into the ER because of bad, bad, stomach cramps. Another week passed, and she was at a follow-up appointment when her primary care doctor first discovered the tumor on an ultrasound. A week later, my was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer, which is hopelessly terminal, on her 59th birthday. It was 28-years since she’d jotted down her anger over my dad watching that football game– she had no way of knowing, back then, not only would her marriage last, it would survive through so many imperfect life things. A couple months after her diagnosis, my dad left his job, (which ironically, he ended up being an exec at a sporting goods company. Maybe, all that OT watching football paid off… Mama sure did enjoy the heated seats in her Lexus.) He knew I needed help caregiving and also my mama just plain needed him. And he was there. My parents got into a habit during the last months of my mama’s life that was so heartwarming and sweet. They’d both end up waking up around 3 or 4am every night, my dad said, like clockwork. My mama would put her head on his shoulder and let him hold her, and then they’d talk, and they’d remember all the crazy stories from their lasting marriage. (Maybe even the one where my mom almost killed my dad bc he wouldn’t stop watching football.)

RT Worthy Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipe

This recipe is from memory… so Teddy Graham (bear) w/ me:

1/2 Cup Butter

1/2 Cup Crisco *I swear using half butter and half crisco makes for the most fattening, chewy delicious cookies ever to grace your cookie monster lips

1 Cup Brown sugar

1/2 Cup White sugar

2 Egg Yolks

1 Tbsp. Vanilla

1 (ish) Tbsp. Maple Syrup

3 cups flour

1 1/2 Tsp. Baking Powder

1 Tsp. Baking Soda

1/2 Tsp. Kosher Salt

1/2 Tsp. Ground Cinnamon

1 cup chocolate chips (any kind your little heart desires!)

1 cup chopped chocolate bars OR another cup of chocolate chips… (I like to chop up nice big chunks of both white and dark chocolate bars to keep things interesting)

Directions: Cream the butter and Crisco (ohhhh baybee!) and add both sugars… cream together on high (get it!), add the eggs yolks, mix, add the vanilla and maple syrup; meanwhile, in a neighboring & separate bowl mix together the dry ingredients (no, this does not mean all ingredients not containing alcohol… speaking of, you can for reals add a little tsp. or so of Brandy to the batch for extra flavor. Martha does it all the time, I swear!), slowly add the dry to the wet in three additions & mix that shit well after adding each, then finally, add the goods (chocolate chips & chunks) mixing either by hand or on a low speed.

Bake ’em nice and big at 350 degrees for about 10 minutes, or until set. For good lookin’ cookies chill the dough prior to baking (for overnight or at least 2 hours) or place the cookies on the baking sheets and then into the freezer for 15 (ish) minutes before baking.

Here’s some other choco-chip-inspo recipes to try! Plus follow ThisBabeBakes via Pinterest for tons more recipes… get yo’ yummy on!