It’s been a while since I’ve posted, because I’ve been feeling uninspired with no real creative direction lately.

It’s like the metaphorical “drought,” if you will.

But I was chit-chatting with a friend a week or so ago, on a Saturday night (and yes, wine was included. Yes, we had to go out and buy more. No, no one is shocked by this), and we were swapping tales of boys, dating and the drama that is always involved with those two topics.

And I told her a story that I don’t usually tell to just anyone, but wow, in an unprecedented turn of events, I’ve decided to write about it now, because confession is apparently good for the soul.

Once upon a time, Emma had a big, hairy crush on a boy. She figured, “I’m cute, I’m fun, there’s no way that he won’t be into me,” and, as her mother so astutely pointed out one day, “If he’s not a jackass, he’ll like you.”

And so, with this fresh sense of confidence, Emma built up the stones to ask him out.

They went out and the date went well, in Emma’s eyes. She was funny, charming, maybe shared a little bit too much (but of course, that only adds to her charm, right?) and as they walked back, she thought, “this went perfectly.”

Until he slipped into the conversation, with no real lead-in or preparation, that he wasn’t interested in Emma “like that.”

And he was perfectly nice about it. It was a stroke of compassion that he even told her, instead of just ghosting her and making it weird for the rest of all time, forever and ever amen. He was a total gentleman, complete with the “we should do this again sometime” line.

But by then, the damage was done.

This may read as a typical “rejection” story. In a way, I guess that it might be.

But the effect that it had on me was not typical.

The reason I asked him out in the first place was that I put him up on a pedestal. He was a good person. He was funny. He had always been courteous. Everyone seemed to like him. He was GOOD.

And this person, this GOOD person, this person who I felt like was a top-tier human being and not just another jerk that I had to deal with on a regular basis, wasn’t interested in me.

So what did that say about me?

If he looked at me and thought that I wasn’t the type of girl who could be with him, what kind of person did that make me?

Now, was I overthinking it? Probably. Maybe I just wasn’t his type. Maybe he liked blondes. Maybe he was into bigger boobs. Maybe his sign wasn’t compatible with Scorpios.

But it didn’t matter what the logic was, my brain took the equation and ran with it, and every time I saw him from there on out, at lunch or in the library or just walking to class, it was going off like an alarm in the back of my mind.

I’m not good enough.

And when I saw him while I was out at parties, where everyone, including him, was cutting loose and having a good time, I was thinking it.

I’m not good enough.

And so now, lo and behold, because of all of the jokes I make about people with complexes, now I have one.

What if I will never be the first choice of someone who is GOOD?

Okay, okay, I know I’m not a bad person. Everybody makes mistakes; everybody has skeletons in their closet, blah blah blah. I’m not unique in this area, but I know that if I’m not definitively a “good” person, I’m certainly not a “bad” one.

So why the drama around “being good enough?”

Look, all it took was one rejection from a nice guy to mess with my head. And every time I think about it, I have the angel on my shoulder that says, “Don’t overthink it, dummy.” But the devil on my other shoulder is a little more persuasive and hits me where it hurts, and that’s why it still affects me.

But I’m aware of it. Sure, it causes lots of anxiety when it comes to the dating scene, because I’m pretty gun-shy now. But I’ve learned that, not to sound like a Lifetime movie, I’m not alone.

Lord, everyone these days has a complex about something. Some are more…intense than others, but you show me someone who doesn’t have some sort of internal psychological trauma to some degree, and I will show you a liar and a scoundrel.

I find myself questioning myself constantly when it comes to guys, but I think I just have to remember the platitude that I grew up hearing Technicolor puppets say: “Be YOU, everyone else is taken.”

I think my only real course of action here is to own it. Own my mistakes and my personality, all parts of it. Even the less-than-savory ones. There’s nothing else I can do; I can either go on with my life being terrified to make a move on people for fear that they will think I’m some sort of a bad person and reject me for it, or I can just lay it all out and hope that someone might come along at some point who accepts all of me, and not just the charming, witty, hauntingly, uncommonly beautiful parts. And I understand that it’s easier said than done, but if I say it here first, maybe it will actually be easier done? That’s my logic, anyway.

Everyone has a hang up about something. We just need to work through it, and I know that my personal challenge is to overcome the fear associated with my “maybe I’m not good enough for anyone” deal. It takes strength, true, inner strength, and I know it doesn’t just disappear overnight.

Maybe, if I take it day by day and little by little, eventually I’ll have the incredible realization: I AM good enough, and one day someone will see it.

Your Finally Inspired and Oh So Insightful Servant,

Em