The book comes out on Monday. I’m excited and scared at the same time. Here goes nothing.
I’m excited because I know this book is important and impactful, especially in our society right now. There are a lot of issues cropping up in society, and it’s totally fucking with my self-esteem, my self-worth, and how I view men in this society. I have done so much work around all three of these issues, apart from the book. I’m hoping this book gives voice for women to express and empathize with what we’re all going through right now. I hope some woman can read it and recognize herself in my stories, she can read it and feel a sense of encouragement. It’s a long road to find a partner. It’s an equally long road to find myself. I hope men read this book and understand the bullshit women go through in the dating scene, and decide to make changes along the way.
The feeling that consumes my excitement is fear. I’m scared of being judged.
Judged on my writing style. I’ve never felt like I was a good writer. I took honors english in high school, and wrote a thesis for my masters degree, but I still feel like my writing is inferior, isn’t literary. I haven’t studied creative writing, and I’m feeling insecure about the pieces I’ve written. I’m no Hemingway, no Austen, no Kerouac. Am I going to be compared to E.L. James of Fifty Shades fame? Not sure if that idea makes me excited or disappointed.
Judged on my actions. Have I slept with ”too many” people? I’m scared that my friends who read the book will stop looking at me with love and admiration, and will start to look at me like a leper. “No wonder she’s still single. She’s a fucking disaster. It only looks like she has her life together. What a mess.”
Judged on my feelings, thoughts, and the fact that I’m still single. “Why doesn’t she like herself more? Why didn’t she stand up for herself?” It’s a constant worry in the back of my mind that no man will ever want to date me when he learns that I’ve been on over 100 first dates. I liken it to that scene from Clerks where the guy discovers his girlfriend has sucked 37 dicks. “Oh my God! My girlfriend sucked 37 dicks!”
“Oh my God! My girlfriend has been on over 100 first dates!” My friends insist that the right guy won’t care. I wonder if that’s true. I wonder at what point in dating I bring up the fact that I’ve even been on over 100 first dates. When do I mention that I wrote a book about it, that I currently keep a blog? Is that before or after discussing my parent’s alcohol addiction? Maybe after my hated of pickles but before my love of trashy TV?
A friend pointed out that whoever wants to judge me has already done so. I think about how long I’ve spent on this project, and how much support I’ve gotten from friends. How many people I’ve met are excited to read the book. How many women identify with the stories I’ve shared, and how many men want to read it for advice. I want to share. I need to share. Maybe I just need to have my voice heard. To have someone read it and say, “I see you, I hear you, I understand.”
Here goes nothing.