I originally named this blog “single and ready to mingle” but then I was thinking about the previous content and potential content for this blog. The previous blog was “runaway train” with the train being the relationship going off the rails and ending in a train wreck, so considering this blog deals with the aftermath of the derailing, “train wreck” seems more apt.

After the demise of the relationship, I really was a train wreck myself. All up the relationship must of spanned about eighteen months in total and you know from the previous blog, it was extremely eventful. It included travel “across the pond” (to and fro Australia) and was hands down the most tumultuous relationship I’ve ever had and certainly not one I wanted to repeat.

I’m sure you’ve already noticed that I love the use of slang and swearing and when we have problems at work I refer to the issue as a cluster fuck (CF). If the “CF” is bad enough it can become a monumental cluster fuck (MCF). I think this relationship fitted the “MCF” category.

I hadn’t been at my insurance job for too long before I made positive impressions on my colleagues and once again a permanent role popped up for me which I was happy to apply for and accept. I loved learning new things and there was such a great variety of work which I found appealing. I loved building relationships with my colleagues and external brokers. I can see why this role was so fulfilling for me as the learning was continuous and there was great training opportunities which were truly rewarding/interesting (one of the trainers was so engaging, he had the knack of making boring things interesting, not an easy task given I was in the insurance industry). There was also room for progression, although it wasn’t something I actively sought. I would find out many years later that continuous learning is vital to my sanity.

I was pretty happy in the role and for a time I was pretty happy with the dynamics but things could be very clicky as there was so many women (39 women and 2 men) in the office. Although I always excelled in learning the job and was always praised for my work ethic, there was one thing I felt that was letting me down and that was my sick leave. I accept now that as a highly sensitive person (HSP) perhaps I do need more downtime than others to support my mental health (within reason) but there were so many other factors playing into the matter. There’s no doubt that my previous relationship activated my anxiety levels and my old coping mechanisms from high school, where I would isolate to protect myself were in play. Then there was the insomnia factor, Sunday nights were really rough and I couldn’t sleep much at all. When it was time to get up on Monday morning, I would feel physically ill (a lot the time) as I’d feel so stressed from not sleeping. It would be a tug of war between myself and myself (the devil on one shoulder sort of scenario) as to whether I should go to work or stay home. Often I would end up with diarrhea and feel lousy and on the occasions where I’d “won” the battle, I’d decide it was better if I stayed home. On the first day, the sense of relief I would feel by staying home would make me feel so much better but later in the day/evening I would start to feel sick (physically) about going back to work and I would take the next day off too. After the second or subsequent days off I would be in a terrible state emotionally, and I would have developed other physical issues in addition to any digestive problems. I would just feel so worthless and my biggest concern was that I was letting my colleagues down and I’m sure there were times other people had to pick up the slack, which is upsetting to think about. The regret and guilt I would feel was overwhelming and anyone would think I had committed some sort of heinous crime.

The anxiety and insomnia seemed to be a marriage made in heaven or hell and then feed in some depression and self-loathing thought patterns and it was the perfect storm for dysfunction. Back in those days I didn’t really have an awareness that my behaviour was not helping any of my ailments. I was still drinking pretty heavily at times and whenever the going got tough, I would reach for the booze to numb myself. I can see now why I did this as my feelings of overwhelm would be so frequent I probably just wanted a rest from them. To be fair, in those days I had no real tools in my toolkit to deal with my feelings and the avoidance coping technique has a strong presence in my family dynamics. Even just writing the word overwhelming is extremely provoking for me as I realize it’s a feeling I recognize far too often and just writing about it invokes my chest to tighten which is a symptom I also still deal with.

For somebody who has anxiety, I acted quite recklessly at times and this was definitely a time in my life where I tried to use alcohol to fill the void or provide relief from my thoughts/anxiety. I can think of a few occasions where I was completely out of control, especially with my alcohol consumption and I’m ashamed that my actions impacted my nearest and dearest. Fortunately, these occasions weren’t a frequent occurrence.

While I had been mostly single since the breakup, I had been mingling with the other sex, you could say but I got cold feet pretty quickly in the light of day. I did have a brief encounter with and old work colleague (I’m not sure you could call it a relationship) which fizzled out pretty quickly. To be fair, I cocked up badly and got so drunk that I didn’t make it home one night and he jumped ship immediately which I was pretty gutted about. I have realized that I often have a habit of catastrophizing and earlier that week, it had been announced that there was going to be layoffs at work. I had only been there for a year or so, so I assumed I would be one of the people let go, so what did I do? I did what I used to do best and went out and got drunk (not just tipsy, off the chain can’t remember shit drunk). Unfortunately, not only did I stuff that relationship up, I let my best friend down. When she turned up in the morning for me to babysit, nobody knew of my whereabouts. Pretty embarrassing to think back on, given my ex had done something similar to me (hhmm a bit of irony going on there). It was certainly not some of my finest moments and I’m rather pleased I have a better relationship with myself and with alcohol these days.

During this time, I had moved back into town and moved in with my brother and his friends. My brother is six years younger so the other flat mates were a bit younger than me too and at times the age gap was noticeable (which was probably a good thing in hindsight). At first I really enjoyed all of the partying, but the novelty wore off pretty quickly and I couldn’t handle the mess. Nobody wanted to do the housework and the dishes would start to pile up and then there’d be ants all over the kitchen bench. The mess would really upset my anxiety, something that seemed to begin when I was a child.

I decided it was time to go out flatting by myself. I found a small unit to rent, close to work and I felt so empowered. I felt really proud that everything that furnished the place was purchased with my hard earned money and that I could keep it how I liked it which was neat and tidy. I was a bit concerned how I would cope living by myself as I had really lacked the confidence to be by myself. When I was a teenager I didn’t even like taking the bus by myself. It’s great that I can look back and see that despite the ongoing issues that I was evolving in some ways. Living by myself was like a breath of fresh air. Even coming home from work to cook tea was enjoyable. It was a very happy time in my life and I was never in short supply of visitor’s dropping in which was great.

By now a good 18 months or so had passed since I’d returned to New Zealand, I still had a job (no I didn’t get made redundant) and I found myself back in a more serious relationship. The relationship was pretty tame compared to the last “proper” one which was a relief. It was pretty good at the start but I think it was more of a relationship of convenience and companionship. I’m sure in the beginning there was a spark and it was fresh and exciting but I don’t think it really had a future. He did try to please me by getting a job but his heart wasn’t in it and the job fell by the wayside which I know would have bothered me as I wanted him to contribute to the relationship in a more legit way (financially). I feel like I was attracted to blokes who I subconsciously perceived needed fixing as some of these blokes had a lot of baggage (don’t we all). I also have a feeling that my self-esteem issues fed into some of my choices (I was attracted to bad boys I suppose you could say) as I didn’t think I was good enough (looking).

It’s a bit strange to say, but one of the most valuable things that came out of the relationship was meeting his mum. I think I probably had more in common with her and whenever we hung out we had a blast. We are still friends to this day and I cherish her friendship deeply. She’s one of the “good ones”. Although I haven’t seen her for a while as we are separated by distance, she’s one of these people who you catch up with after ages and it’s like you’ve never been apart. It’s never easy breaking up with someone and I know it’s not something I did without a lot of consideration as hurting someone feels pretty awful. He did well out of the breakup (materialistically). I gave him my car (it wasn’t flash but it was tidy and inexpensive) so he could still get around as I knew he wouldn’t have the finances to buy a new one, which I was able. Even my mum felt sorry for him (it’s not like he was a bad guy or anything after all) and said I should give him some other bits and pieces and so I gave him some linen and stuff. I feel really mean as I gave him a duvet cover that he’d given me for my birthday. The truth was I was never fond of it so I didn’t see the harm in giving it back. Feels a bit cheeky now I think of it. I wonder if he even noticed?

The relationship had been in play for around 3 years but as my 30th birthday was approaching, I didn’t feel like I could continue the relationship as my heart just wasn’t in it any longer. On reflection, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the breakup happened just before my 30th birthday, as I can see now that some of societies views on age related milestones were definitely playing on my mind. Where was my life heading? Do I want to get married, have a house with a picket fence and 2.5 children (I’ve never understood how you can have half a child but hey). The reality was, that I did want to get married after all, as for the past decade and a bit I was completely opposed to the idea, as I was shocked by the dissolution of my own parents’ marriage. There was no in your face evidence that there was a problem and I think I decided that if their marriage could fall apart, then anybody’s could and I didn’t want to go through that. As for owning a home (not necessarily with a picket fence) I definitely wanted to do that and I 100% wanted to have children, as I’ve always loved children and they’ve always loved me. I didn’t want to have children with just anybody though, it had to be the right person.

After the breakup, I decided to move in with my mum. I’m not quite sure where that decision came from but I’m sure it was financially driven. I was able to purchase a 25% share of mum’s home, which was exciting as I was able to take a small step onto the property ladder. Sharing ownership of a house with a family member, does come with some complications (especially with ones siblings) but it was great for the most part and it provided my mum with a bit of financial reprieve as she had been through a really tough few years after losing her fiancé in a motorcycle accident and having to return to the workforce.

As I was sailing into my 30’s things were looking up, I was now a proud home owner (even if it was only a small piece of the pie and the bank owned most of it). There was only one way to sign off my 20’s and welcome my 30’s in and in true Nickie fashion, I decided a big party was in order. When I was a kid, my parents had thrown a “P” Party (where your outfit is dictated by the letter P) for my dad’s 40th birthday. I don’t think my dad was overly keen on the idea but he dutifully obliged mums idea. His costume was a bit lack luster and he wore one of his work smocks (like the coats you see doctor’s wear on TV) and said he was a painter. Mum was dressed as a psychic, which she put a bit more thought into and it was a wonderful evening to be part of, one which I think dad secretly enjoyed. It’s moments like this from our childhoods which I guess we cling to and over the years I would have my share of dress up parties and I have no doubt they were inspired by that very party. I decided that I would have a Hawaiian themed party for my big THREE ZERO. It was a huge hit and people from all walks of like dropped in to say hello. It was a pretty fun night and only a few days later it would be Christmas, the summer holidays and we would be bidding farewell to the end of 2007.

Join me in my next blog as I sail into my 30’s and some exciting changes come to fruition.