How Self-Dating Changed My Life

One of my biggest dreams as a child was to fall in deep, true love. Today, while my experiences have refined my perspective on romantic relationships, it’s still a wish of mine. To some, this may seem cheesy but I know that many others feel the same. Our dream is the all-consuming beast Carrie Bradshaw longed for all those years ago.

It’s actually very scary and intimidating to allow yourself to be completely open with someone. I did reject this childhood dream at some point at the start of my adult life, around age 18: as my teenage experiences with males accumulated, my belief in fairy tale romance faded. Then at some point, I figured there was no “The One” but a select group of potential forever-mates I could choose from. I lost my virginity to someone in the said potential group whom I liked a lot, but in his final blow I told myself, “…he’s not it”. I had a few more of those not-it moments. It being the one. That one. The one whom I can share myself with, wholeheartedly, no holds barred. And so I preceded to believe that perhaps this notion of “The One” actually made sense. I believe that The One is out there for me. Like Charlotte York, I’ve got the unwavering belief that I, too shall live a fairy tale kind of love.

I’ve tried to seek “The One” quite recently, but to no avail. Right now, I’m like a bored judge at an audition, sitting at the table like, “next…” Some don’t have the decency to ask me out on a nice date, but rather to hang out at the Subway down the street or the parking lot. (What!??) Oh, and the dating apps are boring. I can’t meet a serious person on there, and I freak out when I see someone I actually know. So I figured, why wait for someone to court me? I can court myself!

I take myself out on a date sometimes. My favourite activity is exploring natural parks because I love seeing wildlife, breathing fresh air, and taking long walks. I visit art exhibits. I indulge in my brunch obsession sometimes. I love to date myself for the self-discovery it brings. Most of all, I get to be selfish and bond with my favourite girl — me! I am my own best friend.

Taking yourself out on a date is an avant-garde practice. It’s about deepening the relationship you have with yourself — a relationship which none of us can escape from, but can either hinder or nurture. Smiley Poswolsky explains the benefits of self-dating perfectly:

“When you start dating yourself, your mindset shifts. Rather than define your own self-worth based on whether someone else swipes right at your photo or whether someone else wants to go home with you, you determine your own self-worth based on how you’re spending your time. You can commit to personal projects, set aside time for self-reflection and self-care, and discover new career aspirations. Instead of simply going through the motions, you’re in the driver’s seat of your own life.”

One night, I wore some makeup and athleisure to a date on the couch watching Netflix, while eating a delicious bowl of cheese-flavoured popcorn. Actually, that night, I felt bummed and lonely prior to my impromptu date, but I did not want to let the feeling consume me. It came to me that I had to acknowledge my loneliness, but that I am also able to cater to my own needs.

This past couple of years have been a rough ride. I am just now becoming comfortable in my own skin and living in a way that best suits me. In the past, I complained about guys not treating me with complete respect and not seeing how incredible of a catch I am. Meanwhile, I was not treating myself with the utmost respect. Now, I’ve created new boundaries and gained a great amount of self-respect and appreciation. I can be romantic, honest, present, and kind with myself. There always seems to be an issue I have to fix, but that’s part of self-development. All in all, I’ve never loved myself quite like this!

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Dear POC: We Get Depressed Too

*I was inspired by a part in the interview I did with Anna from Repsychl about mental health. My interview is part of a series on her blog, please check it out!

When I was in the 11th grade, my father told me that during his meeting with the school principals, they suggested I see a counselor. My father refused. He said I didn’t need to speak to anyone about my problems because I am African, and Africans don’t get depressed. Africans don’t get depressed because, despite a post-colonial history of poverty and war, Africans manage to find happiness at the end of the day, my father said.

I was a little upset; it was a new school, and I didn’t know what to make of how I was feeling. I didn’t know much about depression but I did think I had experienced it as a 13-year-old angry little girl, upset over the passing of a loved one and feeling misunderstood her entire childhood. But every day of my 16-year-old life, I woke up feeling meek and totally empty. Sometimes, I’d wake up so angry, barely a word would come out of my mouth the entire day at school. No friends: people weren’t interested and neither was I. There was a false rumor about me going around, too. So, yes, I would have liked to have somebody to trust at school. But I believed my father’s opinion and denied my emotions.

My father is a wonderful man, he just could not relate. My immigrant parents have been through a lot. They left their origin country by boat to the neighboring Angola, where they fled a war and came to Canada. My mother was sick all of my life, and today here I am, scathed but healed. Anyway, I do understand where my father is coming from. Despite economic shifts due to colonialism and government corruption, and ancestral trauma, Africans have never lost the aspect of community in our nations. There is a communal state of mind where people share with one another, help raise each other’s children, among other things. When we are sick or have experienced trauma, friends and family are there for us until we get better. You are never alone. African immigrants have carried this state of mind with them in the communities we’ve found in the west. But they are far from being perfect communities, and it doesn’t mean that Africans don’t get affected by problems. Poverty, trauma and the like… it’s complicated. Plus, we have to factor in other issues that the individual is personally going through, maybe secretly due to cultural taboos. Even if you can stand up on your own two feet again, negative emotions can creep up at any time.

I used to feel ashamed and selfish about being depressed. Here, in Canada, I have so many opportunities and great healthcare. But I no longer feel that way. I’m also in a much better place now after seeking a lot of help. I had to train myself to believe that my experiences and emotions were valid, especially if physical imbalances may contribute to mental illness. Here, in the West, black communities and other POC communities still carry a taboo around mental health issues, but I believe that’s starting to break down slowly. My hope is that more people of color become open to the fact that the state of your overall health depends on how you feel inside just as much as your physical health. Wherever you live in the world, that place comes with its own set of issues which affect everyone. And I don’t even know what you have had to deal with at home. How you feel, you know, it’s completely valid.

I like to adopt the practice of helping someone out until they can get back on their feet, and including others to do the same because a lot of the time, a depressed person will feel alone and like they don’t want to bother anybody. It hasn’t always worked out in my experience, though, for a few reasons: one time the person kept rejecting my hand, while another person was too individualist and just believed they were alone in this no matter what. Despite these two instances, there were more breakthroughs. There are many people who can appreciate and benefit from having people around them. This doesn’t have to be for when your friend or loved one is ill; you could be there for a new mom, a new immigrant, whomever! Try it, and see what happens.

I don’t know what to do with my life.

I am lost. The new school year approaches and I’m getting more scared by the day about how I’m going to translate this to my family: I want nothing to do with where and what I am studying.  I need to take a semester off. I’m confused and this summer alone I’ve explored the possibilities of 8 different career paths.

Finding the energy to continue writing has not been easy. Sometimes the words have not yet come and I stare at blank space. I feel mildly depressed. Just a steady state of grey.

My schooling situation truly is a first world problem. It’s not ridiculous, but maybe it’s a mere problem. There’s pressure from family to keep going to school, to not take any breaks or change programs again. I’ve switched programs twice before, and the last time I switched back to my second program. These were all worthwhile mistakes except for the last time. I’d only switched back because I felt lost but wanted to get school over with.

It’s been five years that I’m in school.  I’m interested in writing, and I’m enrolled in a Publications program at an art school. It’s the wrong choice somehow; I’m at a point where I’m not getting much out of the program anymore. I learn nothing. My time and money feel wasted. I’m in class physically, but not mentally.


I spend most of the day lounging around often feeling tired or sleeping. There’s always an reason as to why I won’t write or exercise today even though I ought to.

I did do some practice recently. It has been much easier to find motivation to move my body than it was a few months ago. Lately, when I’ve been doing yoga, I’ve been crying a lot.

I feel guilty about crying all the time. There are people in much worse situations than mine–humans whom I feel for and cry with, but I still can’t help feeling so lost and confused. Scared and not brave enough. Little, afraid to rise. Also, I’m exhausted; continually thinking about my future has got me spent. I don’t know how not to. I always need to prep safety nets before relaxing into the present moment just to have no future regrets. Because regrets have happened before. But enjoying the present moment almost never happens.Save