July was a month full of first dates crammed close together. It drained me more than I expected.

That sounds awful – to call people a drain – but as an introvert, that’s exactly how new people and new situations affect me. Each date brought an influx of new sensory details: different smells, voices, mannerisms, environments, and expectations.

It was a lot to take in at once, and I had to sort through it all-what I liked, what I could tolerate, and what I couldn’t. What felt cute in the moment but might annoy me later? And in this season of transition, would I prioritize work or love?

The people I met

Guy A was incredibly shy, but, in the beginning, he showed up every day – checking in, making conversation, keeping things interesting.

Guy B was confident and thoughtful, but more reserved, and honestly, his hair oil was overwhelmingly strong.

Through these dates, I realized there were two criteria that mattered most to me:

Support

Right now, I’m going through a difficult transition. I need a partner who instills confidence and motivation. If I bring them a problem, big or small, I don’t want empty platitudes. I also don’t need them to fix it – unless I ask.

One of the guys did this beautifully. He helped me untangle what I was really upset about, validated my feelings, and reminded me that I’m strong and independent enough to get through it.

Chemistry

I didn’t think chemistry mattered to me as much as it does, but when I met someone who checked so many boxes yet sparked no chemistry, I realized how essential it is. Without it, everything else feels flat. We could have been great friends, but nothing more.

With Guy B, though, the chemistry was undeniable. He thought of me when we weren’t together, sent me pictures I adored, and even got me a gift I truly loved. We were just about to cross into spending time with each other’s friends.

Who did I choose?

In the end, I chose no one. The support I needed wasn’t there, and while the chemistry was fun, it felt a bit childish – sweet but incomplete. So I decided to prioritize myself and my other commitments instead of continuing with either.

To be honest, I tried to end things with both of them, but I didn’t have the strength to follow through. In the end, it was Guy B who broke things off first, telling me I seemed distant – which was true. Strangely enough, that gave me the clarity and courage I needed to finally end things with Guy A as well.

(Mind you, I haven’t seen or talked to Guy A in nearly a month.

Maybe, we should have just continued ghosting each other?)

And yes… that was over twenty years ago.

Back then, I didn’t have the tools that I have now. I’ve always been a “focus on one” kind of person – I’d meet someone, give them my time, and pour myself into the idea of us. The idea of dating felt exhausting, even performative.

But truthfully?
Actually dating might have been healthier than jumping headfirst into a relationship that weren’t grounded in mutual respect.

The Pattern: Wanting to Be Liked

When I look back at many of my past relationships, one theme stands out: I changed myself to be more likable.

At first, it felt like compromise. But over time, it turned into self-abandonment.

I laughed at jokes I didn’t find funny. I went to places that drained me. I picked up hobbies that didn’t interest me. I ignored discomfort just to support a partner’s journey – even when it cost me my own.

Eventually, I couldn’t recognize what I genuinely liked anymore. And I was tired. Not just physically – but spiritually, emotionally, and creatively.

Love Yourself First (Ugh… But Actually)

I used to roll my eyes when people said, “You have to love yourself first.” It felt like a throwaway phrase – a bumper-sticker truth that didn’t apply to the chaos I was in.

But I get it now.

I wasn’t just heartbroken; I was angry. I felt ashamed for ignoring red flags, for trusting too deeply, for losing my autonomy. There was a strange comfort in the dark, like the pain wrapped around me and gave me permission to disappear.

Luckily, I had good friends. Friends who reminded me of who I was before it all – before the guilt, the gaslighting, and the grief. I took space. I left the city for a while, and in that quiet, I began to listen to myself again.

I’m Not Here to Fit Anyone’s Ideal

One truth emerged from the wreckage: I no longer have to contort myself to be loved.

I am not an inconvenience. I am not a supporting character in someone else’s fantasy. I do not need to prove my worth by sacrificing my peace.

I once moved mountains on my own. I built things. I am whole – not half, not waiting to be completed.

I am here. I am seen. I am worthy. And I already have so much love in my life.

Dating Now: With Intention

Now that I’m dating again, I do it with a clear heart. I’m not trying to be chosen. I’m not looking to become someone’s emotional crutch or conquest.

What I am looking for is someone who loves with both consideration and admiration.

That’s my compass now. When I go on dates, I quietly assess:

Are their actions rooted in thoughtfulness or performance? Do they see me clearly and respect what they see?

Kindness alone isn’t enough. I’m not here for transactional affection or subtle manipulation masked as care. I set clear boundaries to protect my space – even something as small as not giving out my personal number until I’m comfortable. That alone has spared me a lot of unnecessary drama.

It doesn’t have to be complicated. It just has to be true.

I Still Want to Love

Here’s what I know for sure:

Grief is love with nowhere to go. And I have so much love I’m ready to pour – not as tears, but as warmth, joy, and generosity.

I want to love someone, deeply and gently, but I won’t lose myself again to do it.

The right person will meet me here, and we’ll recognize each other not as saviors or puppets, but as companions.

Then slowly but then all at once, I no longer fit into that dream. It was pulled away from my hands and was molded into an image that no longer had me in it. I began to wonder … did anyone know that I existed at all?

I fought. I screamed. I collapsed. I settled … because if I fought any more, I would lose all that magic in me. If I continued this battle, hate and anger would consume me. I already felt myself falling into that abyss. There was just too many fights to endure. So, I left the battlefield …

Letting go was messy. It’s quiet grief – tearful nights of feeling utterly alone. It was explosive anger at intentionally broken promises.

Then finally, it’s the strange calm of deciding: This isn’t working. I deserve honesty. I deserve autonomy.
I deserve more.

So here I am – not broken. No.
Just shifting.

I am not starting from scratch. I am armed with experience.

I am grateful for what I was able to take away, so I can begin anew. I will start over. I will leave the hate and anger behind, and I will find my way again.

This blog, ellenguyen.ca, isn’t a polished novel of character building, love, and tragedy. It’s a collection of paths taken, good & bad. These are journeys of my character unraveling, healing, and growing. These stories, I hope, show courage and love, touched by little bit of magic.

If you’re here, maybe you are reflecting on your own story and are looking to find courage and love, too.

If so, welcome. You don’t have to rush.