Why I couldn't date you at 22

Through the years I’ve started to hone in on who I am and what I hope to stand for or to be, and unfortunately all that self-discovery has made me realize that I’ve never been enough for anyone else.

Now before you freak out and think I’m pouring into a sad sob story in hopes to gain pity, just listen because that’s not what this is about. This is all the reasons why I wasn’t meant to fall in love at 22, or 20 or 19 or 16 or any other age a significant boy came along. 

I have spent years analyzing old relationships, crushes, and significant moments with the opposite sex and it has all lead me to the realization that not only was I not meant for those guys in particular, but that I wasn’t ready in general.

In high school I never really saw the point of dating. Sure, it was fun to have a date to the prom and someone to hang out with on a Friday night, but that’s what friends were for, right? I didn’t really believe in the high school sweetheart dream because I knew that I wanted to move away and accomplish things I could never do in the small town I was raised in. I wanted to see the world, live different places, and no offense home-towners, but I wanted to meet someone who didn’t wear cowboy boots and talk in a southern drawl.

So then came college and while I did have some guys pass through my life, I didn’t know what I wanted. At one point I was 19 and had strong feelings for someone who was one of my best friends, but even knowing he felt pretty similarly, I couldn’t do it. In my head I was thinking that I still lived at home and I was just now getting my footing in the outside world. I grew up semi-sheltered in a small town with zero diversity. I didn’t know what I wanted out of life, but I knew I wanted to leave it all behind, including him. The truth is he scared me, on levels I can’t explain, because he had the potential to make me give up any plan I ever had. He had the potential to keep me in place, staying back home, never dreaming anything else, never moving, and I couldn’t commit to something when I barely even knew myself yet. My own fear derailed our friendship and we didn’t reconcile until years later, when I could finally admit to myself what I’d been doing.

Skip to being 22 and being fresh out of college, living in my own place, working full time, and I met someone I truly, genuinely wanted to date. I’d been on my fair share of dates by that point, but no one that I was really that interested in. For me, dating felt a lot like just going through the motions. I gave the bare minimum and didn’t think too much about whether they were coming or going. I was mostly unmoved by anything they said or did. But when this guy came along who was a bit older, I felt it. I felt myself slowly falling for him through our friendship. It was his honesty and the outlook he gave me on life. It was our deep conversations about Philosophy and his quips about Feminism that made me realize that I wasn’t crazy for embracing Feminism and different perspectives. He made me feel like traveling and living the life I’d dreamed of was actually achievable. He woke me up to so many things. But he wasn’t the guy and that wasn’t my moment. 

22 became the year of finding myself. He made me realize that I could have feelings for someone and that I didn’t have to just go through the motions of life. He made me figure out my own passions and not to question my own thoughts. 

He also taught me how incredibly impatient I could be and how unsettled I was with dating. He showed me a lot of the negatives within myself. And although it hurt like hell, I am grateful for everything that guy gave me. 

Through him I found ME.

Through them all I found myself. I couldn’t fall in love at 19 or 22 because I hadn’t fallen in love with myself yet. I hadn’t found my own ideas or reveled in my own accomplishments. I hadn’t figured out how to celebrate myself or how to just live bravely.

Young love stories are plastered all over the web and TV and it’s hard not to be convinced that we’re doing something wrong if we’re not in a committed relationship. 

After every breakup we mourn the loss of the future we’d been picturing.
We somehow always build houses out of people and forget to live within ourselves.

Even at 25 I don’t know that I’ve completely found who I hope to be, but I don’t regret a single person that brought me to this point. I don’t regret the tears I shed at 16 or 19 or 22 or 24. I don’t regret the many hands that have passed through mine or the ears that once heard my soul.

Instead, I’ll embrace the freedom of finally understanding that inner voice I was missing for so long.
I can be a feminist and love weird music and be extremely and overly sarcastic and I can be likeable and lovable without hiding a single piece.

I couldn’t date you at 22 because I didn’t know ME yet, but I’ve met her now and I kinda like her.