I’m freshly 35 years old, I’m single, I’m jobless, and I’m reinventing myself.
Over the past year and a half I was faced with a lot of craziness that could have paralyzed anyone. I lacked self-confidence mentally and physically after being diagnosed with endometriosis, my boyfriend of four years suddenly broke up with me as I walked into our shared apartment from work, I met someone else I really jived with but timing was off, and oh yeah – I lost my job at a company I’d been with for over three years. If I were to give you the details of each situation, this piece would read like a scripted dramedy that five people and my mom would watch. Eventually at one time or another, we all fall victim to life – and I found for me, burying my head under the covers in lieu of facing it head-on wasn’t an option. Instead of wallowing in the notion of what I didn’t have, I started focusing on what I did; but it would take what I viewed as a push from the Universe to get me to move and make positive foundational changes to set me on a new life course.
Step #1: Get Dumped.
What began to motivate me into this new mindset wasn’t planned. It started with the breakup. The soul-crushing-should-have-seen-it-coming-breakup. I had moved in with him less than a year after we became a couple. Families had met. Our lives were intertwined. I even found myself taking on some of his ridiculous idioms. I had lost myself in his world and it slowly but surely became my own. The breakup was one of the most difficult and gut wrenching things I had ever experienced. However, I can look back now and find the humor of it all. Specifically the part where he turned off Rachel Maddow, sighed, put his head in his hands and said, “Marissa. I’m ending our relationship.” In the moment, it felt like a death, but with the possibility you might run into one another at Target. In retrospect, he had done me a colossal favor, but at the time it was hard to see.
It’s no secret that because of social media we tend to only show ourselves cleverly disguised behind filters and in moments where we appear to be at our best; a curation of a seemingly perfect life. He and I were not perfect. I am not perfect. In fact, sometimes I’m a downright pain in the ass rife with self-doubt but let’s face it, we all have our moments. Being in a relationship is showing the other person your true self and having them accept you, flaws and all as you work to be better both as individuals and as a couple. But I didn’t always feel like I was being accepted or that we were working toward the same goal. I felt like I was being criticized and when I was working on myself, it wasn’t being done fast enough or to his preference. Like a piece of clay, over the course of the relationship I found myself melding into the version of who he wanted me to be; each word he uttered breaking me a little until I eventually cracked in two, a shell of my former self strewn aside on the faux hardwood floor of our three bedroom apartment. I held back in conversations for fear I would rock the boat and be perceived as “negative” as he would later come to refer to me as. Instead of feeling supported in what was going on with my life; work stress, my own mental health and actual health, I felt like I was under a microscope and wasn’t receiving the sympathy of someone who was to be my life partner. I played by his rules and would seldom assert myself. As time went by, I no longer wanted to get into trivial arguments about how nuanced Mad Max Fury Road is and how I was SO wrong to not like it as much as he did, or how the silverware in the drawer wasn’t even. He was a man whose neuroses I often took on as my own. In retrospect, there had been red flags for a long time that I had conveniently chosen to ignore. It was truly when my health declined that things began to crumble, and our sex life – not surprisingly – started to fall to pieces. It all fell to pieces.
The endometriosis diagnosis was a long and winding road that became mentally and physically taxing. My vagina became my absolute most hated body part; more than the pervasive stretch marks from being overweight as a teenager. Before the diagnosis, sex was painful and we wouldn’t have it all that often. He felt rejected and yet I also felt rejected, holding on to the lingering sounds of his voice that reverberated in my mind after a few months of this continuing to happen, “it’s all in your head. No one can find anything!” I grew listless and he would demand I try harder to find out the root of why he wasn’t getting sex because to him, that was seemingly most important. Not that I was sick, kept getting infections, felt tired, had a hard time running and doing the activities I ordinarily would due to pain. I felt bad because I wasn’t giving him what he wanted, but I felt worse knowing that he thought I was lying and that I needed to be on an anxiety and depression medication because that’s what this was – a mental health issue. To him, I was broken and true intimacy was the physical act of sex – at least that’s how I was made to feel. Truthfully, I don’t think I ever recovered from this with him and he didn’t seem to understand the damage he had caused, even when I would bring it up in couples therapy. I was TIRED of working to find answers and trying and fix myself. Coupled with continued issues at work that left me mentally bruised and battered, I didn’t need to also come home to feeling more emotionally unsound.
After seeing urologists, gynecologists, having several pelvic ultrasounds and other assorted exams, I had a very determined radiologist on a mission to get to the bottom of my pain. She listened to me, she lifted my pelvis, and she struck gold with her wand. 24 hours later, my gynecologist called and I was diagnosed with a baseball sized mass behind my uterus that would need to be removed. It was pushing on my bladder, on my pelvis and part of the source of my issues. I had pain off and on since I was 13. It had been missed FOR YEARS. Less than a month later, I went into outpatient surgery where my gynecologist removed the mass and discovered large pockets of endometriosis growing from my abdominal wall. I was fortunate – I didn’t have to lose an ovary or a Fallopian tube which you give them permission to remove if necessary before going under. While recovery wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated, after surgery I was forced to not work out which left me feeling body-conscious, especially considering I had put a pin in working out before surgery as well. Once again, I wasn’t met with sympathy – I was met with the utterance of “then you need to do something about it,” not a “you’re beautiful and I love you. Just be patient” which is what I needed in that very moment – acceptance and a support system. I was insecure, tired, mentally spent, and upset that I’d lived this way for years. I wasn’t me at all and needed some words of affirmation. Instead, on the heels of my follow-up appointment, the first words out of his mouth were, “can we have sex now?”
Over time and a litany of discussions regarding topics that he wanted to feel secure about including my finances and $6k of college debt, where we would get married (we weren’t engaged), size of the wedding, and when to have children – both in therapy and out of therapy, I felt less like a girlfriend and more like someone who would never be good enough. I got pushed away, then I completely shut down. I got dumped in undeniably heartbreaking fashion citing that he had tried everything – that I was his best friend and he loved me, but he wasn’t in love with me. Within 72 hours of his declaration, I moved out of the apartment we shared and into a friend’s home where I slept on an air mattress and had her two year old daughter occasionally snuggle with me. I would cry at work in uncontrollable fashion, listen to a lot of Stevie Nicks circa 2001, and question repeatedly what my life would be like without him. Yet somehow I managed to pull my shit together and find an apartment slated to be ready in a few weeks – and everything about it would be mine. No fighting over the way the toilet paper roll hung. No judgments about how the dishwasher was packed. No more questioning internally if the relationship felt right. I was playing life by my own rules. I was liberated.
Step #2: Get laid off.
In moments of chaos and despair, there are moments of clarity. I legitimately hated my job. I hated how it made me feel; not like someone with ten years of experience but a doe-eyed girl fresh to the world of employment who needed to not have opinions or feelings unless asked. I had been told on more than one occasion that I was aggressive and abrasive when in actuality, I was no different than my male colleagues with my delivery and in conversation. But when you work for a smaller company and find yourself surrounded by a boys club and a female boss who would rather throw you under the bus instead of lifting you up, there isn’t really any place you can go to except out – and hopefully on your own accord. I had been filled with fear that I was too old to transition into a new career and resistant to ripping off the Band-Aid to find a new one. In addition to the comfort of a consistent paycheck, fear and resistance had been holding me back. I had been holding me back. I already felt unsettled post-breakup and thought maybe in the wake of the dumpster fire of life, it was time for me to look into leaving my work situation as well. I revamped my resume as best as I possibly could. I started applying to jobs I’d only dreamed of in entertainment but regrettably, would never hear back.
Frustration reared its ugly head and quite honestly, I think I hit my own personal rock bottom thinking I was doomed for a life of phoning it in and clock watching. I felt bad about myself and would somehow become a stand-up comedian in therapy as a means to cope with it all. My long-term relationship had met its demise, and the job dealt a huge blow consistently to my already fragile self-esteem. I was being mentally tortured by a company who only saw me as a robot, a body in a seat to execute plans that weren’t my own. After being told by my demotivating female boss that only select people would be receiving a bonus and that I was not one of those people, it was game on. That was the fuel I needed. I found a career coach on LinkedIn and immediately hired her. The plan was to redo my resume after I answered a list of questions, spent hours on the phone being interviewed by her, and confirmed the types of jobs I should be going after based on my interests and passions. Approximately four days before my resume was completed, I walked into work on a Friday morning and walked out a free woman 2 hours later. I was laid off. The company had started downsizing. 34. Single. Jobless.
By all accounts, I should have thought I had been handed a shit sandwich because societal norms have taught us all that by this age, you should have your life together. You should be in a healthy relationship that leads to marriage and prepare to pop out a child if you haven’t already. You should be in a stable career doing something you love. You should be saving for the house, your child’s college fund, your retirement. It’s exhausting to live so far in the future and in all honesty, unfair to put such a tremendous amount of pressure on ourselves as opposed to living in the moment or for the days ahead. In reality, I had been forced to wipe the slate clean and now I was in the position to make over my life on my own terms, not the terms of boyfriend who wanted me to be debt free from college before he proposed (yeah, that was a thing), or a job that wanted me to simply never grow and develop to push business forward. A wave of calm washed over me for the first time in a while as I drove out of the parking garage and blared Arcade Fire on my car stereo. It was now up to me to decide how I wanted to direct the next portion of my journey. It was time for me to be myself, acknowledge all of the shitty things I may have felt before and allow them to come to pass. I could be whatever I wanted to – do whatever I wanted to. Age didn’t matter. What I’d done didn’t matter. Company downsizing had worked in my favor and I had bought myself time to figure out my next move.
Step #3: If Madonna can re-invent herself twenty times, why the fuck can’t I do it?
Legally, I can’t say whether or not I was given a severance on my way out, but here’s what I decided to do with whatever may or may not have come my way – invest in my future. Sure, the reckless non-adult side of me wanted to take some cash, fly to Europe, and Eat, Pray, Love the fuck out of some pasta but instead, I decided to do my own soul-searching; locally and responsibly. I enrolled in yoga and went to class at least once a day. I ran Silver Lake Reservoir. I meditated. I wrote down intentions and held them close reminding myself of what I wanted and what to let go of because it no longer served me. I would occasionally write because I found it to be cathartic even if I was my only audience. I joined organizations in the entertainment industry so that I could learn and network. I read every script I could get my hands on along with books on television and film and started teaching myself to write script coverage. I watched a ton of TV and movies both old and new. Most importantly, I found the courage to apply to a ten week intensive Professional Producing Program at UCLA. If I wanted to segue from being a creative marketer to working in the entertainment industry, I was going to have to deep dive. After all, I was already behind by Hollywood standards. No agency internships under my belt. No direct employment at a studio, network, or production company. I’ve absolutely been discouraged from time to time. I have had moments where I feel like I’m simply un-hirable. But over the course of the past several months I’ve learned I have to play the game. It’s the only way I’m going to end up where I want to be. Never stop hustling – especially when you’ve settled for so long.
As for a relationship? I’ve had some dates, there have been guys who have ghosted, and plenty of creepy messages since my false-start. But in all honesty, I couldn’t care less. My gut says there’s a reason that months later I still feel a certain way about a gentlemen who the mere thought of can make me simultaneously smile and strangely ache for something that couldn’t be. We met each other during a time of year full of responsibilities, obligations, and commitments. There were dates, a lot of FaceTime, and unfortunately a series of pre-planned trips that would sideline our ability to spend time in the same place with frequency. But I knew it was different from the moment we first met. I think it’s safe to say he did too. It wasn’t simply just a physical thing. There were emotions. We didn’t know how to deal with what had come our way, then life took care of that for us. We were over before we could ever truly begin. But I’ve not forgotten him. I cannot forget him.
He may be reading this and if so, bear with me, readers, and hello, person of interest. At the risk of sounding like Drew Barrymore in my very own version of “Never Been Kissed,” we were on a road to something that would have been incredible and maybe life-altering, and we knew that. It was frightening, surprising, and we didn’t dare try to rationalize it. We talked about how this wasn’t supposed to happen and how it wasn’t in either of our plans yet we were incredibly lucky to find one another and acknowledged it daily. While our mental and physical chemistry was palpable, it was also clear that we BOTH needed to take a moment to get our shit together. For me, that was going through this whole life experience of healing from this past relationship, growing, and learning to be better for myself, ready to tackle whatever comes next. It was rediscovering my passion and lighting a fire within me that could burn on its own before allowing someone else to throw in more kindling. For you, it was something entirely different yet equally admirable, coupled with wanting to feel like everything was in line with your life before inviting someone else in to share your World. But here’s the thing I’ve learned over the past several months; it’s not always going to be 100% seamless and there is never an ideal time to start something new. There will always be a reason to press pause or to believe it isn’t the right moment. The stars may never align and we will never be in perfect positioning. So here I am Drew Barrymore of my own ending sans a microphone and a pitcher’s mound, wanting to know if you’d like to try being perfectly imperfect—together.
Yes, folks like a veritable Khaleesi, the Universe helped me burn it all down and now only in the past few months do I find myself emerging from the ashes strangely more empowered and more confident than ever before; enough to write the above paragraph and bleed my heart on to the keyboard of this laptop and be ok with the outcome—whatever it may be. Sometimes life has a way of pushing you into total discomfort; making you analyze and think about what it is you want and don’t want – forcing you to listen to that voice inside your head and acknowledge fears, self-doubt, or anything else that might be holding you back from embracing the best version of yourself. It has taken me this long to realize I’ll live many lives on this one journey and that it’s OK. Life has no singular path, no master plan and maybe we take the long way around to get to our ultimate destination. It’s the lessons learned as we persevere and soldier on that define us and make us prepared for greatness. This revelation didn’t come overnight and in retrospect, I’m sort of glad it didn’t because I’m not sure I’d be where I am today without this period of time. The freedom I found in my daily life, I cultivated from within. The notions and constructs I had burdened myself with for most of my life fell to pieces. I have no idea what will happen in the upcoming days, months and weeks but what I do know is that I’ve made peace with it all and I myself learned to mend my life.
Illustration by Jennifer Vallez of Sophie and Lili
MARISSA MONTICOLO 