How Dating Taught Me to Dare to Be Myself

There’s something that happens when you act from your essence, when you stand in your power. When you open the door fully, rather than trying to contain your light, people are less confused by who you are. You become unapologetic. Wholehearted. Full-throated. Embodied. The dance of life becomes — well, more of a dance, less of a slog.

A few years ago, I tackled dating with all the perfectionism and hyper-achiever I have in me. Apparently that’s a lot. I wanted so badly to do it right. In the language of the human heart this was the translation: I wanted so badly to be loved. I tried to be “normal”; fun, light. I wanted my dates to feel comfortable in my presence. So I talked about light things and tried to tone down my passion and strong opinions. My dates often went something like this:

“Are you a good cook?” my date asked.

“Yes, I think so. Well, I know I really like to cook,” I said, hopeful that we’d get off his mental checklist and just talk. “I like the smells and textures of cooking. It’s therapeutic —”

“What’s your favorite thing to cook?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, stalling, because I really didn’t know. I was drawing a blank. “I guess I’m an intuitive cook. It depends on what I’m in the mood for.”

“What else are you good at?” he asked, not to be dissuaded from his checklist of what he wanted in a woman.

“I’m pretty intuitive,” I said, hopefully. Was this what he was looking for?

“Oh yeah?” he challenged. “Read me.”

I looked out the window of the cozy restaurant. The street had darkened outside.

“Go on,” he said, “read me.”

I continued to look out the window. Was I hesitating because I was afraid that I could not read him? No, that wasn’t it. I was hesitating because I didn’t want to scare him away. I didn’t want to be a witch with superpowers. I wanted to make him feel comfortable. Not afraid. I wanted him to like me. But I could already tell that I hadn’t checked the boxes on his list. So what did I have to lose? I turned toward him and looked directly into his eyes.

“I think you’ve been hurt before. Badly. You’re really scared to date. You’re scared of being hurt again. That’s why you’re questioning me like this.”

He leaned back. “Do you want me to go on?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I think you are very intuitive. That’s enough.”

Read, “deep.” The bill came. We took a stroll around the corner to the used book store. I think “visit the used bookstore” was on his list, too. We hugged goodbye and went our separate ways. That was it. Another first — and last — date.

After that, I vowed to keep it light. No matter what my date asked for. But no matter how hard I tried, my dates invariably told me something about myself that I could not square. At least not for a long time. Not until I ran it by my son. He was living with me during this glorious time when I was on my way to loving my own company and he was getting on his feet again.

“I’m not trying to be deep,” I complained. I’m just talking about the weather. I don’t get it.”

“Oh, mom,” he said. “You are deep. You can’t help it. It’s who you are. It’s like you’re just sitting there having a normal conversation and your soul reaches out and touches their soul. They’re just not ready to have their soul touched.”

For some reason, this was a relief to me. It wasn’t anything I was doing. There is just an intensity to how I show up. It’s part of my essence. Perhaps, the more I try to dim that light, the brighter it shines. It seeps out around my window shades and under the cracks of the doors. That was the beginning of a realization that I’m still coming to embrace: For much of my life, I’ve been trying to dim this light. I’ve been trying to deliver something powerful in a fluffy little package, so that I’d fit in. So that I’d be loved.

I turned off the dating apps and set about the business of becoming my own soulmate. I realized that I wasn’t going to be for everyone. Just the right ones. I do have that partner now, someone who welcomes the light, even when it’s a bit bright. For my part, I’m learning to calibrate my light. This is different than “dimming.” Simply put, calibration is the art of knowing your audience and timing your delivery. But there’s something that happens when you act from your essence, when you stand in your power. When you open the door fully, rather than trying to contain your light, people are less confused by who you are. You become unapologetic. Wholehearted. Full-throated. Embodied. The dance of life becomes — well, more of a dance, less of a slog.

This is authenticity.

When you stop couching every word with apologies and niceties, it may feel blunt. You may risk the feeling of being too much. Or, in my case, “deep.” Doing what is true and right is rarely popular anyway. Many people have come to depend on our compliance with expectations. Spouses, bosses, co-workers, patients, customers, children -- many of them have come to rely on us playing small. So they may not be happy when you act from a place of knowing, a place of truth. But other people's unhappiness does not mean you're wrong, or selfish. When you choose yourself, your well-being, your peace over the expectations of others, you may be met with disappointment. But this light of being yourself, claiming yourself is undeniable. This is the light that ultimately inspires others to also stop playing small. The world needs you to be yourself.

I challenge you to play big — even in small ways. Even if for one moment, choose yourself. I challenge you to stand in your own authority. Choose authenticity.

Know your power.

Live your grace.

Be YOU.