HER NEEDS: A 30-something reflects on a season of false intimacy
On a random weeknight, I pass by Poblacion—the backdrop of an intoxicating season where my identity became unremarkably drab: I was a serial dater. Internationals are intertwined with their all-too-young Filipinas. Crowds are lined up waiting to get into the next bar. The possibility of short-lived connections hangs heavy in the air. I chuckle to myself and think, “How delusional was I to think I could find love in this place?”
In my late 20s, I discovered that I was “dateable.” I was eloquent, go with the flow, and conventionally attractive. None of it was natural; I had to work hard for it. I was in pursuit of some form of self-initiated education. I was going on an average of two dates a week, even amid a soul-crushing pandemic. Touch was so restricted that this fleeting diversion felt like liberation. Dating apps made it easy to move from one person to the next without processing what happened. I did not allow myself to feel rejection or remorse, because dwelling on it would mean having to confront my demons.
One guy described me as “perfect,” another “too good,” but none was enough to make them want to be with me. I learned the term for it—limerence—when you long so deeply for a person even when they don’t reciprocate. The yearning to be desired led me to abandon myself. After all, men loved this version of me: easy, nonchalant, and uncomplicated. Inside, I was drowning.
The commodification of self
Nobody tells you what it’s like when you start commodifying your desirability. Men objectify you and you let them, because they validate your self-worth, and in extension, your femininity. I heard every empty compliment in the book—words they use to flatter and manipulate you into giving much while getting so little. You discover that many people’s capacity for connection barely extends beyond physical intimacy, so hollow and short-lived.
In Emily Ratajkowski’s powerful collection of essays, My Body, she writes her diaristic confessions, “In my early twenties, it had never occurred to me that the women who gained their power from beauty were indebted to the men whose desire granted them that power in the first place. Those men were the ones in control, not the women the world fawned over. Facing the reality of the dynamics at play would have meant admitting how limited my power really was—how limited any woman’s power is when she survives and even succeeds in the world as a thing to be looked at.”
I was an object of desire, yet I was never repelled enough to stop trying for love. I was enchanted by the idea of being fiercely prized and adored, and like in The Velveteen Rabbit, I believed love would make me real.
Through the years, false intimacy cheapened my understanding of love. I would much rather be alone.
Embracing the Joys of Solitude
In my early 30s, I am more interested in having a calm nervous system than an active dating life. I have slowly shifted away from such self-destructive behavior. I could no longer allow others easy access to me because, through the years, false intimacy cheapened my understanding of love. I would much rather be alone.
Love has rarely knocked on my door, and I am grateful. For years, I’ve distracted myself from doing the inner work, desperately seeking to make homes out of other people—broken vessels that could not contain the love I draw from an infinite Source.
Healing had to begin with my relationship with myself; I had to forgive her.
For years, I subjected myself to shame because I felt I was an accomplice; I played a role in all of it. I put myself out there hoping to be seen, and it cost me so much. Now, I have compassion for my younger self. I allow myself to grieve the loss of my innocence. I have grace for the woman I was; she did what she could with what she knew at the time.
In the past few months, my understanding of love has expanded. I’ve learned to find joy in my own company, but it had to begin by sitting through the loneliness, wrestling with the hurt, and asking hard questions. Now, I prioritize taking myself out on dates, and I give myself the gift of movement at the gym. This love I once sought out from others, I realized I could so easily give to myself, and it could never run out.
It took me years to arrive, but my God, the view is breathtaking.
This Women's Month, PhilSTAR L!fe presents "HER NEEDS," a series exploring the diverse experiences and needs of women across generations—from physical health and perimenopause to relationships, dating, and sexuality.
