Or how I learned that nothing is a mistake

Few things make me roll my eyes more than flipping through my old journals. Every other page reads like an ode to a different — often unrequited — love. I stumbled into romance like a drunken sailor after last orders at the pub. I wrote song lyrics for men who didn’t know I existed, poems for men who saw me as nothing but a friend, and heart-wrenching prose for men who left the country — the continent — without even a goodbye. Hopeless, I know. Maybe one day, you’ll get to read those pages and laugh, too.

But for now, I want to share why, despite every heartbreak, every sleepless night, every tear-stained pillow, I have absolutely, positively no regrets. And against all odds, I hold no grudges, either. A Scorpio with no bones to pick — who would have thought?

Don’t be fooled, though: it took a while to let go. Even after meeting the love of my life, I carried a sore spot, lodged deep in my chest, for all the hurt and pain from years past. Broken promises and, I’ll admit, delusions had snowballed into a bruised ego. How dare they not see my sparkle? How could they just walk away? And worst of all, how on Earth had I let a man with a clown emoji tattooed on his bicep make a joke out of me?

The brain is a funny thing, isn’t it? Instead of focusing on what’s in front of us — all the good we have — it loves to stay stuck in the past. It clings to the role of the victim, addicted to the self-pity, refusing to see the part we played in it all.

Because, more often than not, there is a part we played in how the story unfolded. And it wasn’t until I took a long, hard look in the metaphorical mirror that I realised why I had to go through all those frogs to find my soulmate.

I learned how to take up space and stop shrinking myself when I was scrutinized and criticised for my every move, only to be ghosted three months later. I learned to stand proudly in my ethnicity and faith when I was called a slur the moment I was heard speaking my mother tongue. I learned to set boundaries with people who took every “no” as a “maybe.” Through fleeting interactions that made me question my very identity, I learned who I truly was.

The love of my life is not a saviour, nor is he a saint (although, in all fairness, he’s pretty f-ing great). The reason our relationship works is, in part, because of the lessons I learned from the frogs of my past. When I met him, I was ready to be unapologetically me — size, colour, shape, and all. And he was ready to love it all.

So, to all my frogs, I say thank you. Thank you for the invaluable lessons. Thank you for the growing pains. Thank you for the small scars you left on my malleable skin, like a potter shaping clay, which made connecting to my other half that much easier. From the deepest part of my heart, thank you.

Love always,
Lara x