I always thought the concept of “destiny swapping” was a bunch of nonsense.
For starters, I just never really believed in destiny. I think it’s a cop out for people to be lazy. You have to fight for your dreams. They don’t just happen to you or for you. If we were destined to live these great lives, a lot of the people in my world would be billionaires or living in some Bel Air mansion.
So it never clicked for me that someone could “swap destinies” with you. And not in some spiritual way. But in an “I want your life, but want to do it in as little steps as possible” kind of way.
I am flattered to be an inspiration of sorts to people. I have given everything and then some for my dreams. If I could pawn the moon and the stars to be an award-winning writer, I would try. The idea that my life, my efforts, my goals, my stamina could inspire someone to achieve their own dreams? Well, that makes me smile. I want to take everyone I know and can with me on my journey.
But it kills me because I feel so fucking stupid. And I feel so stupid because it ended up being so obvious when it was over.
Hindsight is 20/20 or whatever. My closest female friends — my “sisters” — were keeping some running tally practically the entire time we were friends. My parents always said, “Your friends use you as a measuring stick.”
My response was always a scoff.
Me? “Obese” me? “Never Had A Boyfriend” me?
How could I possibly be a source of envy for anyone? Especially people who objectively had better luck with these things. They were better women in every way that actually mattered. They were thinner. Prettier. Easier.
When I was really fat, morbidly so as the diet magazines call it, this wasn’t an issue. The message was always clear. You are fat, therefore you are ugly and, as a woman, those become your two greatest sins.
I didn’t make an effort for a really long time. Not because I thought I was some threat to the food chain, but because I assumed I wasn’t really worth the effort anyway.
Naturally, as an ugly duckling, it was devastating to hear this from boys I had crushes on as a kid. And I internalized it for a very long time. Even now, if Inside Out has any credibility, the switchboard of my brain has the “LOVE AND DESIRE” notch turned to off.
My therapist calls my bluff (it’s her job), but I really don’t think I have it inside me. I don’t have some deeper pit of need that’s desperate for external validation. Perhaps it’s because I don’t think I’ll get it anyway.
When I shared these observations with my friends, I always counted it as my effort toward vulnerability. I was seeking comfort. Maybe my relationship woes became such a constant because my best friends wouldn’t let me forget it.
I’ll admit — I’m not perfect. There’s an aspect of my thinking that is deeply troubled and extremely narcissistic. This made being around them extremely difficult at times. Not because they were some Avengers-level threat, but rather because their presence was a constant reminder that I was inadequate.
And when your pretty, thin, sexy, appealing, desirable best friends can have a revolving door of male suitors that eventually turn into boyfriends and you simply do not? That would drive anyone up a wall.
I spent an entire summer watching people leave me behind in real time. Long-term relationships signal maturity. To these women, I was still a child that didn’t know any better. I went to the movies alone. I went shopping alone. I watched a lot of television alone. And I wrote constantly.
I would cry in my car as I drove home. Wander around discount stores aimlessly until it was dark enough out that I wouldn’t feel like a loser for spending another Saturday night alone.
This was the same year I went to Sundance and Cannes. But because I was a friendless loser with no boyfriend, that didn’t matter to me.
Coincidentally, I could barely squeeze out an “I’m proud of you” from my “best friends.”
I announced my acceptance to graduate school. My best friend chirped out a quick “Congratulations!” and promptly downloaded Tinder. Most conversations involved her latest exploits — which was entertaining, but exhausting.
We went out to celebrate my acceptance and she stole the show by telling the entire table in detail about her latest hookup.
I left for the south of France the same week my best friend moved in with her boyfriend of a few months. I spent the day prior to my departure in a Marshalls helping her shop for furniture — chauffeuring her around, planning her future.
Months before this, I casually let slip that I was considering moving out of my mom’s house into an apartment with a different friend. I admit I had my reservations — worried about finances, finding a decent enough place. All the things that make a mid-20-something with a retail job nervous.
Part of me was too scared to take the leap, I must admit. It makes me wonder if I was easily swayed into giving up my fight. I was convinced that remaining at home was the right move for me and my best friends didn’t disagree.
When I proposed a trio roommate situation, I couldn’t get a straight answer. I got a laugh that signaled I needed to change the subject. So I did.
I wondered if she remembered when she told me, after a month of knowing her boyfriend, he suggested they move in together when his lease ended that coming January.
I wondered if she remembered my remark about no one caring about me being in graduate school and how I wished I had a boyfriend like she did because at least that was interesting.
Inevitably, I brushed it off.
I spent that summer explaining to my therapist that I was so lonely and depressed. How I felt as if I was being left behind. One week, I told her that I think my problem is that I need to figure out how I still fit into people’s lives. Maybe I can adjust myself to fit into their new dynamics.
She gave me the oddest look.
In my head, it made perfect sense. I need to get used to being a third or fourth option. No one will hang out with me because they have better people to hang out with. And if they do, it’ll be at 4 PM so they can make it home in time to be with their partners.
See, as a woman, your real life doesn’t start until you fall in love. Until then, you’re eternally a child. You’ll never be taken seriously by your peers because you have no real responsibility. The absurdity that a relationship is the only true marker of adulthood.
This is why we ask single, childless women if they’re seeing anyone after they just ran a marathon. Or passed the bar exam.
Because you are not a woman if you are not serving someone.
This idea that someone tried to take my life, my energy, my essence to meet some made-up bottom line in their head is eerie.
I have the things I have because I worked hard for them. I lost weight. I went to the Cannes Film Festival. Sundance. I run this Substack. My social media. I wrote a feature-length script.
All of my hard work being reduced to nothing by a woman who needed to believe I didn’t deserve to have it.
Many such cases. We cling to things because there’s the chance it might change. I knew I wanted to end that friendship in 2022. It was like the devil on my shoulder for a really long time. That speck of something, deep in my gut, asking me if I was ready.
I wasn’t ready until I was 25.
A demolition that happened by accident. A casual conversation and a few drinks between friends and the liking of Instagram stories.
Then came accusations, character-blaming, and name-calling. Once again, I was put back into this position of eternal dumbass child that doesn’t know any better.
For it to be implied by my best friend that I was delusional. Imagining things. I had no right. I’m weird. You got it wrong. He’s being nice. He wants her instead.
By my best friend.
A woman who’s sat in my home. That has been to family cookouts. My own father treating her with kindness and care.
To let me know that the idea that I deserved to express a basic human emotion — desire — was sad at most and ridiculous at best.
As if I was deserving of humiliation.
And there I was again — twelve years old in that gymnasium and the boy I had a crush on telling me that I was too fat to have a boyfriend.
And every relationship that I cared about seemed to compound this insecurity until it erupted.
I often hope that their lives are empty without me. I hope there is a noticeable gap where I used to be. I hope they’re happy because I want to be and I believe in karma.
I wonder how much my life would have stalled out if we remained friends. If I would have had to exist on the sidelines watching someone else live my life because they appealed to my darkest insecurity.
Being alone isn’t easy. It’s boring. You feel kinda lame. But there’s peace in no longer having to compete or measure yourself against women that don’t even like who they are.
And despite all this and her perceived upper hand, I had this creeping feeling that she really didn’t like me. She also didn’t really like anyone. The topic of almost every single conversation was people we went to high school with or other friends of ours. In a way, shame on me for thinking I was her exception.
She assumed I resented her and truly, yes, I did. I resent the fact that I had to spend an entire year pretending she wasn’t a bad friend to avoid hurting her feelings. I resent the fact that I continuously chose her friendship over myself. And it bubbled over until I was tired of it.
Typing this, I don’t understand how someone who clearly imagined themselves to be superior to me still wanted my life. We slowly began to like the same things, had the same hobbies, then suddenly the same type of guy.
To which I thought we were just growing closer.
People say your life changes when you lose weight. I was finding out the truth behind that statement. Other people can’t handle when you decide to stop being what they want you to be.
I was the smart, fat, and funny sidekick. I stood there silently while they got what they wanted. My reward was being happy that I was even included.
People grow apart and they change. I know I certainly have. As I’m typing this, I have earned my master’s degree. I lost over 100 pounds. And in a way, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
Confidence only arrives when you make the hard choice. I’ve spent the last 5 years of my life doing exactly that.
