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Seventeen days into 2019, I am still reflecting on what I want for myself this year and how I am going to go about getting it.

As a bullet journal enthusiast, I am all about making lists. I like to take a goal and break it down into smaller tasks that I can then plot on my various to-do lists so things get accomplished. My approach to planning my year functions in much the same way.

Our lives are broken up into categories, you see, and included among the categories of work, finances, health, education and others is the category that pertains to our romantic lives.

For some reason, I am having trouble labeling that part of my life “romantic.” It doesn’t feel very romantic anymore.

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This is not a bad thing, so don’t take it that way. I am not sad nor do I feel like I am missing out on anything.

I have just been in a space over the last six or so months where I have really been questioning exactly what it is I want from my interpersonal relationships—especially those with people I would otherwise consider to be a love interest.

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I am well aware that this comes as a result of the experience I had with Mr. Big and the subsequent work I have been doing on myself in therapy.

The experience with Mr. Big turned me off dating completely—for so many reasons. The personal issues he and I had aside, I learned a lot about myself both during and after that period. Some of what I learned I liked, and some I didn’t. It inspired me to change a lot.

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With those changes came the realization that while I enjoy companionship and sex a great deal, as a cis hetero woman, I have to say for the record that men are fucking exhausting.

Now, I know there will be some men reading this who will get upset at that remark, but in my experience—and the experience of many of my sisters in the struggle—that statement is real as fuck.

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Y’all are exhausting,

So believe me when I tell you that even the idea of setting a dick appointment with one of my regulars puts so much stress on my brain I can’t bring myself to do it.

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I want to, but I just don’t want to be bothered.

I’ve written before about emotional intelligence and emotional maturity. These are key necessities that a lot of men are lacking. And because they are lacking in those areas, and I don’t have the desire to try to navigate through that, I’ve just been like “eh, I’ll pass.”

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My vibrator has become my best friend. I give myself way better orgasms. I give myself more consistent squirting orgasms. The point is, I’ve been getting along fine so far without the dick.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t ever want the dick again. It just means it’s on pause right now as I prioritize me.

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And so it is here that I find myself at that ever so cliche “new year, new me” phase of the game.

Women get picked on a lot for doing this, and admittedly a lot of the time it happens immediately after heartbreak—but my heart isn’t broken.

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My heart is wide open, as are my eyes.

In prioritizing myself, I have come to recognize that I am not responsible for other people’s emotions. It is not up to me to help other people deal with their shit, and I don’t have to take on their personal demons and struggles as my own.

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My “no” has become louder. I am a much stronger advocate for myself. I don’t feel bad about putting myself first.

I have discovered an entirely new person over here, and I am liking what I am seeing.

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Now that I think of it, maybe I should just start dating her.

Yeah. I think I will.