mynamesearn

Two days ago, I decided to take myself on a date. It had been a while since I went out alone, and I figured it was about time. At first, I was nervous, so much so that I ended up calling a couple of friends just to hear their voices. As soon as I hung up, I realized something. I actually do enjoy my own company. I’m good at hanging out with me. I like the way I think, the way I see the world, and the way I can just let go without worrying about anyone else’s expectations. It felt empowering.

Of course, the night wasn’t all smooth sailing. I may have had one too many drinks, and let’s just say the consequences weren’t pretty. I ended up getting sick, but honestly, I’m not mad at it. It’s a part of life. The heels I wore? Absolute torture. It wasn’t a perfect night, but I think that’s exactly what made it so special.

All of it was a reminder that I can do this. I can handle it. The whole point, I think, was to face everything head-on and prove to myself that I don’t need anyone to hold my hand through it. I’ve got this. And honestly? I think I might just do it more often. 

I started my date at 5 PM with coffee at my favorite place. Not because the coffee was good, honestly, it’s average but because the view was beautiful. I sat there, sipping my drink, smoking a cigarette, calling my friends just to tell them I missed them, to let them know I was outside today, to plan future dates with them, to check in on them. The sun was setting, my coffee was gone, and I thought, Why not switch to beer? So, I did. Just one glass. Then, I decided to head to another bar.

As I walked, I started thinking, I really shouldn’t have worn these damn heels. But I kept my head high and my steps confident, even though my feet were screaming. I knew the pain was coming, but I refused to let it show. There’s something about walking alone at night, dressed up, heels clicking against the pavement, that makes you feel untouchable even when you’re actually suffering. Confidence isn’t about being comfortable; sometimes, it’s about carrying yourself like you are.

I finally arrived at a bar where I knew the bartender. Well, not the one I personally knew, but I stayed anyway. I ordered a beer, sat there, and realized how soaked I was because, let’s be real, Thailand is hot even at night. I smoked a lot that night, more than usual, but I let it slide because I was having a good time.

Then, I noticed this French father and son sitting at the bar. They were casually smoking weed together, and something about that moment hit me. I opened my notes app and typed:

“Today, I saw a French father and his son smoking weed together. It reminded me of me and my dad. Like, we could have that, if we both healed our trauma.”

That thought lingered for a while. Then I remembered, I had a joint in my bag. But not just any joint. My joint is girly as hell. It’s got weed, but also rose petals, blue lotus, marigold, lavender, and rosemary. It smells nice, tastes nice, and makes the whole experience feel like a ritual. I lit it up, took a hit, and suddenly, my brain was on fire. I started writing more.

“Sometimes, all you gotta do is think about yourself, you know? And there’s nothing wrong with that. You have to feel it in your bones. You have to say you’re beautiful in your mind and actually believe it. And there’s nothing wrong with that. You have to like that feeling and not be ashamed of it. Because you are the most beautiful, intelligent, kind, and everything else in every way. I’m beautiful, I’m funny, and I’m not dumb. I’m not saying I’m smart either, but isn’t that subjective? Like, aren’t we all smart in some way? Whatever. I’m going to make it no matter what.”

In that moment, I really believed in myself. Not in an arrogant way, just in a way that felt solid, undeniable. Like, I wasn’t questioning it. It was just a fact. It wasn’t about proving anything to anyone. It was about standing in my own presence and realizing that I was enough. That my thoughts, my dreams, my emotions, they were real, and they mattered. I wasn’t chasing validation or waiting for someone else to remind me of my worth. I just knew it. And for the first time in a long time, that felt like freedom.

Then, another thought crept in.

“What’s my fear? Fear of judgment. Fear of criticism. But wait, that’s not my fear. Damn, that’s someone else’s. Nobody is looking at me. But why do I feel like all eyes are on me? In reality, they’re not. Everyone’s eyes are on themselves. Nobody is actually looking at me. It’s all in my head. Should I stay or leave? It’s all in my head.”

In that moment, I realized how much of my fear wasn’t even real. It was just an illusion. A bad habit. A voice that didn’t belong to me but had lived in my head for so long that I mistook it for my own. But the truth is, fear is just a story we tell ourselves, and stories can be rewritten. And right then, I decided to start telling myself a different one, one where I wasn’t scared, where I wasn’t small, where I was the main character in my own life, walking forward without hesitation.

And then, this one:

“When you hear voices in your head, maybe they were never your own. Maybe they were someone else’s all along. Maybe you never doubted yourself. Maybe that was your mom’s voice telling you you’re not fit enough. Maybe it was your dad’s voice telling you you’re dumb. Maybe it was never you. Maybe you never doubted yourself. And somewhere along the way, you were the brave girl all along. You were your own hero. You were your own role model.”

That one hit me the hardest. Because for so long, I thought I had all these doubts. But what if I didn’t? What if every insecurity, every hesitation, wasn’t mine to begin with? What if I had spent years carrying other people’s fears, their voices, their insecurities, mistaking them for my own? And what if, just for tonight, I could put all of that down? What if I could finally hear my own voice, clear and unshaken, telling me that I am enough?

By the time the night was over, I had learned something about myself. Actually, a lot of things. I reflected so much that night. And in the end, I felt like I was capable of anything. (Okay, maybe not holding my drinks because I definitely threw up a few times in the bathroom but even that was kind of funny in hindsight.) I went through all of it by myself, and I still had fun.

I walked through the night with sore feet, a spinning head, and thoughts unraveling in my notes app, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. There was something freeing about existing for myself, about making plans and following through, about proving to myself that I could go out alone and still have a good time. It reminded me that I don’t need anyone else to validate my experiences. I can laugh at my own misfortunes, find beauty in small moments, and turn a simple night out into something meaningful.

So yeah. Take yourself on a date. Get to know yourself. Let yourself sit with your thoughts, even the uncomfortable ones. Let yourself enjoy your own company. You might surprise yourself. You might even fall in love with yourself a little more.