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HOW TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A GOOD AND BAD RELATIONSHIP?

Gaynor Alder — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 03:05:25 +0000

So often we can spot others bad relationships, but not our own. We fall head over our manolos for the wrong men and brush the tell tale signs under a carpet of denial. We get stuck in bad relationships for far too long than is good for us, with our self worth and heart paying a hefty price.

When should you run a hundred miles in the other direction (even if you are in your favourite pair of heels)?

He treats you bad and tries to make you feel like it’s all your fault.
He would rather spend most of his time with his friends or at work … I had one who spent more time with his garden rake than he did me.
He is a substance abuser. There will always be three in this relationship, and nobody wants to be in a menage-trios with a bag of white powder. His addiction will always be stronger than the love he has for you.
He puts you down and makes comments that slowly yet surely erode away at your self esteem, leaving him in complete control over your self confidence so that you feel powerless to leave. Yes this old doozy.
You can’t trust him. Trust is like a delicate china doll – once it breaks you may be able to glue it back together, but the cracks will always be there. If he is untrustworthy, you will end up turning into someone you don’t like very much – a neurotic basket case who ransacks his draws for evidence. Finding what you were looking for doesn’t make it any better either, because he’ll turn it around on you for looking through his things. Nasty and to avoided at all costs.
You can’t communicate or talk through problems. There’s never any need to yell at the person you love. EVER.
The downs far outweigh the ups and you are work shopping your relationship more often than a celebrity’s cellulite is on the cover of Woman’s Day. Relationships shouldn’t be hard work god damn it.
His porn collection is catalogued in month and year order. Call me old fashioned, but there’s something wrong with a man who feels he needs to read or watch porn whilst in a relationship. It’s plain disrespectful – and that’s just what men do doesn’t cut it with me.

He is an emotional retard with intimacy issues.

How do you know if he’s a keeper?

He puts you first and loves spending time with you.
He gets you and loves you for who you are.
You can trust him implicitly.
It’s easy. Sure, every relationship may have its moments, but it should be easy most of the time and the moments you have to workshop serve to make the relationship stronger than it was before.
You can communicate with ease.
He makes you feel like he only has eyes for you.
Your love continually grows and beautifully unfolds over time.

… and yes this fine specimen is out there ladies (I know because I have one myself). So stop wasting your time with bad men who don’t deserve your love.

What do you have to add to this list?

GUEST POST: CAN YOU FIND MR RIGHT AT SPEED DATING?

Gaynor Alder — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 01:15:42 +0000

By Sarah Kempson

A little boy walks into a living room and goes up to an older lady in the corner chair, who is knitting. ‘Nana’, he says, ‘will you tell me the story of how you and grandpa met again?’ The older lady pulls in the little boy into her lap and begins. ‘Well’, she starts ‘it all started when your Aunt Molly and I went speed dating one night… ‘

Not exactly the fairytale story is it? What happened to meeting Mr Right at a party, having your eyes meet across the room and experiencing the magic of that first glance? More and more, single twenty-somethings (and thirty-somethings and forty-somethings) are turning to alternative methods because Mr Right, or Miss Right, just doesn’t seem to be at the party anymore. Where are all the single people??

I’m here to tell you, I found them. This week, purely for the purposes of research of course, I went speed dating. Ok, I was perhaps cajoled into attending by a friend but every fibre of my being raged against the idea. I’m an old fashioned romantic, still waiting to be swept off my feet by prince charming in a most unconvential way, giving me an amazing story to tell grandchildren in years to come.

At 27 years old, it’s not like I’m getting to a point where my body is screaming ‘have kids before it’s too late!’ and I feel I should sign up for the singles retirement plan, but there is still that longing for someone to share your day with, to enjoy coffee and the papers with on a Sunday morning or stand up for you when your brothers think your new haircut is funny.

It does seem traditional methods are passing me by, and with the ‘man shortage’ in full swing, the idea of speed dating, though still not at the top of my list, seemed a better first point of call than an internet chat room.

A long-time girlfriend, aka Aunt Molly, had been to the speed dating before. I grilled her with questions, not sure what to expect and getting more and more nervous as the day drew closer. My mind worked in overtime, racing between ‘what the hell are you doing?!’, to ‘keep an open mind and you never know what might come your way.’

The emails from the introductions company got cheesier – tips to help your night be more productive, emailing though a photo they would send to you matches to help them remember who you are – I worried that anyone I might meet who needed reminding of who I was perhaps wasn’t worth my remembering in the first place. I remained sceptical.

By the time the evening rolled around, I was in knots. The experience of a first date is scary enough, but twelve dates, limited to 8 minutes each? What if I couldn’t fill 8 minutes? What if we had nothing in common? What if, what if, what if??

The city venue was elegant yet casual and the people milling around appeared relatively normal. There were no extra arms, weird outfits or bad haircuts – just a group of people.

Just. Like. Me.

People who wanted to meet someone in a safe environment, without the added pressure of the bar scene or twenty questions from the best friend. I relaxed, if only slightly.

The champagne flowed – apparently alcohol assists the (speed) dating process and our host gave us the instructions for the evening. There were to be eighteen dates (holy shit, 18 dates!!) for 5 minutes each, given that 8 minutes would have us at the event until midnight. Suddenly I wasn’t worried about filling 8 minutes, but that 5 wouldn’t be enough.

The ladies remained in their spot for the evening whilst the men moved from table to table. With the shortage of one woman, the guys would each sit out one date, we would have a break at the halfway mark and should we need our champers topped up, just sing out. A bell would ring when it was time to move on. Simple enough.

As we sat at the tables waiting for the first bell to go, my friend and I chatted to the guys sitting opposite us. No harm in starting early was there? General, safe topics were easy to cover – who won the footy and how great has the weather been?, before that little bell rang and conversation turned to work and hobbies.

They say time flies when you’re having fun but it seemed like time didn’t even exist between rings of that bell. Five minutes is barely enough time to order a coffee, let alone find out enough about somebody to ascertain if you want to see them again. It’s easy to be charming for five minutes if you have to be, but 5 minutes is also hardly enough time to get over your nerves and relax. Ticking the box as to yes or no was harder than I thought.

Seated at table one, I met each guy as they came off their break date. They were pepped from a few minutes thinking time – I thought I was going to lose my voice from talking so much. The dates went on and on, eighteen men over a two hour period – more dates than I have had in my entire life, all in the one night.

Questions generally remained the same, work being a scarily popular topic (and giving way to a whole other column on the value we place on ‘what we do’), hobbies a close second. One gentleman told me about some of the more unpleasant dates he had been on, another opened with the fact he had been on the dole. My last date had clearly had far too much champagne over the course of the evening.

They were otherwise a generally good group of guys, mostly professionals or tradies who just found it hard to meet a girl in their busy lives or found the ones they did meet in bars were not the kind you go on a date with, let alone think about marrying. They had the same concerns as I did, they were nervous too and ultimately, we all came out with the same goal, and paid $90 to achieve it. I had to admit it – I had fun.

At the end of the dates, I marked my card with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ for each guy and submitted my form. My answers would be matched with the cards of my dates and the company would exchange the details only of those who matched. Even then, we would only get an email address – the rest was up to us.

As my friend and I headed out to dinner after the event, we chatted about the guys, laughing when we realised we had ticked many of the same men and some of the conversations we had. It was barely 3 hours after the event that the email landed in my inbox with matches. I held my breath – what if there were none?!

Had I talked too much? Not enough? Was I pretty enough? Was my outfit ok? Was I boring? Exciting? I couldn’t believe that I only wondered these things now. The point was, I realised, is that I had been myself and that’s all I – or they – could ask for. Three names came on screen. Three matches.

Perhaps the biggest disappointment was that the guy I had liked the most wasn’t a match. I admit I was a little crushed. What had I done that had made him and the others I selected not choose me? But I remembered why I hadn’t ticked some boxes and realised while they were not my cup of tea in the 5 minutes we spent together, I might not be theirs. I had three interested boys and that is a good night out.

And now it’s up to me. I can email them, or wait to see if they will email me. The power of the internet means I can look them up on Facebook and Linked In to refresh my memory as to who they were (don’t judge me, it is really hard to remember eighteen people you only spent five minutes with!) and there are endless possibilities as to what can happen next.

I will concede, my mindset has changed. While I was adamant that no one would ever meet speed dating, I don’t discount the possibility that it could happen. I surmise that the look across the room when your eyes meet and magic happens can just as easily occur across a table in a room full of people all searching for that same look.

In the end, we are all looking for the magic; the sparks; and in reality, that does take less than five minutes. It only take a look.

Sarah Kempson lives in Melbourne where by day she works in Communications, PR and Strategy, and by night is a fashion and food blogger, unearthing the fabulous things her city has to offer. In her other roles, she is the Fashion Editor for Onya Magazine and blogs at Sarah’s Style Emporium. She also volunteers her time as event coordinator for fashion events and festivals and as an assistant stylist – anything that gets her closer to the action. Follow her on Twitter @sarahstyle to keep up to date with the happenings in her world.

WHY WE CAN’T DO IT ALL ON OUR OWN. REALLY WE CAN’T.

Gaynor Alder — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 14:32:40 +0000

People say I’m strong, but let it be known that I do fall in a heap sometimes (because I’m honest like that). Just when everything seems peachy keen and life is going swimmingly well, I’ll take on too much. Keep things too close to my chest. Drink too much. Smoke far too many cigarettes than are good for me – and what do you know? BANG. I crash, followed in hot pursuit by burn.

Why? Because I’m used to managing things on my own. Translation – clamming up until I reach breaking point before I ask for help. Hardly a healthy pattern is it? Certainly not smart.

As modern women, magazines have cut through the superwoman myth, telling us that it’s okay if we can’t hold down the career, motherhood and a social life – and god forbid, time for ourselves. But has this really infiltrated our psyche, and allowed the peace of not having to do it all on our own free us? Do we deep down still expect more from ourselves than is humanly possible?

For me, as someone who works a day job, whilst working towards a dream of becoming a financially self sustained writer on the back end of chronic fatigue syndrome for a decade (which I have thankfully recovered from), things sometimes fall through the cracks. And, holy hell, on top of that I beat myself up for not having frizz free hair seven days of the week, perfectly manicured nails or tending to my laundry basket as much as it demands.

As much as I know many of these things don’t really matter, they still quietly wreak havoc on my psyche and have a picnic terrorising my thoughts:

Psyche: “Seriously, are you really going to leave the house with hair looking like that?”

Gaynor: “Oh, but please just let me hit snooze on my alarm a little longer. Pretty please. I’ve been working hard all week long.”

Psyche: “And tell me, what are you going to do about that bag of dry cleaning that has been sitting in the corner for weeks?”

Gaynor: “I promise I will get to it soon. How does tomorrow sound?

Psyche: “When was the last time you called your friends? They’ll disown you soon.”

Gaynor: “I know, yes, I’m such a bad friend.”

Instead of calling a friend when life gets on top of me, I bottle it up and try to manage it all on my own. This is especially crazy when I’m surrounded by beautiful friends who would give their right arm to listen to and support me, as I do them. So why don’t I lavish the same love on myself, as I do them?

Perhaps it’s just my DNA. The way that I am. But, there’s also my inherent fear of burdening people after being burnt by some shabby friends in the past, and not wanting to be judged when I lay things out exactly as they are, no holds barred.

However, those friends who weren’t there for me and showed me their true colours are no longer part of my present. The friends who are in my life now, all offer something different, but one thing is consistent – they love and respect me and want what is best for me – and they will never judge.

This is the beauty of friendship – we have different friends we can turn to for different things. One will comfort you and make you feel safe as you let down your guard and cry into a box of tissues. Another will shake their pom poms for you and give you advice to help you get back up and reach for all that you deserve. Another may dish out some tough love when you need it most (but in just the right way for you). Another will crack a bottle of vino and light your cigarette as you grapple with a crisis. And another will spend hours on the phone with you, just listening and letting you pour your heart out to them so that you can find the strength to dust yourself off and keep on going.

No matter what type of friend they are, one thing is for sure – we can’t do this thing called life without them. We are not superwomen and we can’t do it all on our own. So stop beating yourself up, yes, right this very instant, because no matter how together everyone around us may look, we all fall down. We all struggle from time to time. We all have moments when we think we can’t cope. However, one thing is for sure, it’s our friends who keep us going.

But don’t forget, the very best friend you can have in this world is yourself. So when that little voice in your head starts giving you a hard time, give it its marching orders, because, hell, we can’t always be frizz free god damn it.

Image Credits: 1

TELL US ABOUT YOUR BEST & WORST DATE (& WIN)

Gaynor Alder — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 13:09:30 +0000

Want to win a VS Sassoon Goddess Slimline Hair Straightener? Well, we here at The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide want to hear about your best and worst dates. Simply leave a comment below and tell us about the date that had you running to the toilet to call a taxi and the date that left you weak at the knees.

Me? My worst date without a doubt is the guy who told me after thirty minutes that he could channel birds. Yes, that’s right, apparently he and the birds could talk to each other. Needless to say, I made like a seagull in the quest for a hot chip and got the hell out of there. There was half an hour of my life I couldn’t get back.

Luckily, my best date didn’t involve convening with wildlife, rather it was a scene straight out of The Notebook. After dinner we walked down to the beach, and when we turned around at the end of the walk there was a sunset accompanied by a rainbow. We then danced cheek to cheek under the gazebo whilst we hummed the music (and he busted out some pretty good moves I must say) and then we sat down and looked out over the ocean for hours. (The night he grabbed me as I was about to cross the road on Flinders St, and kissed me in the rain for a good five minutes with traffic and people passing us by, wasn’t too shabby either.)

What’s your best and worst date?

Oh, and if you have a dating or relationship dilemma/problem that you’d like the MWSG, our new resident relationship expert (qualified psychologist) and readers to answer, simply click here to send it to us. Names will remain confidential.

CONGRATULATIONS TO LYNNE LILLINGTON, THE WINNER OF THIS COMPETITION.

This competition is now closed. Click here for current competitions on The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide.

FROM THE MALE PERSPECTIVE: THE MODERN WOMAN’S SURVIVAL GUIDE

Gaynor Alder — Mon, 23 May 2011 07:43:08 +0000

Phil Petrilli writes:

The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide could just be the Holy Grail to the greatest mystery that man has pondered since his banishment from the garden of Eden- the female psyche.

To men throughout the ages, women remain the most puzzling, alluring, complicated, breathtaking and frustrating spectacle he has ever encountered. Even more so this enigmatic creature handles everything life throws at her with elegance, grace, a bit o’ gumption AND does it in shoes that defy every engineering principle known to man.

How does she do it? They turn to the virtual oracle of beauty and wisdom, Gaynor Alder. The resplendent Ms Alder takes a nail file and tweezers to the real issues facing many women today and rediscovers lost wisdom, timeless poise (and few rogue hairs in places that defy belief), to help today’s modern woman embrace her new social status as the queen of freakin’ everything . In doing so she just might educate a few curious male readers along the way…

CUTTING DRAINING FRIENDS OUT OF YOUR LIFE

Gaynor Alder — Thu, 05 May 2011 14:55:01 +0000

After recent discussions with a close friend who is struggling with a friend who offers nothing to her, but drains her of her beautiful energy, I began to lament on the impact such people have on our lives.

As a naturally giving person, I’ve attracted many people in the past who’ve wanted to latch onto what I have to offer. However, these types of people left me drained, and were often big black holes who didn’t actually want to solve their problems for themselves, but rather wanted me to solve their problems for them.

As anyone in my inner circle knows, it’s VIP entry only to walk down my red carpet. It may sound harsh, but au contraire, once you are a friend who gets past the bouncers and shimmies your way up behind the red ropes of the VIP bar, I’ll lavish you with more love than you’ve ever known. Nothing is too much trouble. Your problems are my problems. Your happiness is my happiness. I’ll walk the end of the earth for you. And I’ll expect nothing in return.

But, only so many people can take this place in my heart, and rightfully so. The people in my inner circle are there for a reason. They are not only fun, fabulous and beautiful, but they have substance. They have my best interests at heart. They have integrity. They have loyalty. They are there for me too.

However, there are many who have tried to infiltrate the walls. Some have slipped through, and whilst they may have hurt me with their shallowness or drained me with their problems and done my head in with their crap, I’m safe in the knowledge that they never scaled the heights of the women I call my besties. The women I share my all with. The women I love more than life itself. The women that will always be there no matter what.

I believe that we all need to set standards for the friends we have in our lives, and take a zero tolerance approach to sub standard specimens trying to infiltrate our inner circles. Not in a Paris Hilton kind of way, but in the name of self respect for ourselves.

Sex and the City coined the term frenemies, and it’s a term I think we all have a lot to learn from. There are people who on the surface may seem fun and giving, but delve a bit deeper, and they are engaging your friendship for all the wrong reasons. Whether they are secretly envious of you, want something that you have that they don’t themselves, suffer with low self esteem and latch onto you to be their counsellor, or are just good time friends, these types of people need to be kicked to the kerb. Now.

Friendship, real friendship is rare, which is why many people say they can count them on one hand. I’m lucky enough to count mine having to use my second hand as well. When these friends come to me with a problem it never drains me. For, they mean so much to me, more than anything else in this world, that helping them through what they are going through is a joy and a privilege. Because them being happy, makes me happy, and when they are not, I will do everything in my power to comfort them, uplift them and make them feel better.

Life is too short to share it with people that bring you down and offer you nothing in return. Life is too short to spend time with people that don’t have your best interests at heart. Life is too short to be around people who are only ultimately in “friendship” for themselves.

So, what stops us from rightfully cutting these people out of our lives? Guilt. Guilt, namely because we don’t want to hurt their feelings. But what you need to ask yourself is why you are compromising yourself and your feelings for the sake of someone who doesn’t consider your feelings when they do they what they do, over and over again, to compromise you?

Do you have any one way friendships in your life that drain you?

LADIES: BEWARE OF THE EGO MANIAC

Gaynor Alder — Mon, 02 May 2011 14:55:44 +0000

A good friend of mine recently had a run in with what I call an ‘Ego Maniac’. Let it be known that she is one of the strongest and most together women I know, but even she fell prey to this dodgy specimen. For these types of men are crafty and pull on your heart strings in ways that you never thought possible.

For even the most discerning of us, can fall under the spell that these men weave. However, once she was enlightened to the fact that he was offering her nothing more than a SAO biscuit covered in pink icing (did your mum ever try to pawn off vanilla slice as sao biscuits with pink icing and custard?) she quickly deleted his number from her phone.

She may have been kicking herself like a Prada lover bypassing a half price Christian Loubiton on sale, but at the end of the day, she’d still be wearing Prada. So next time a guy wearing Windsor Smiths approaches you attempting to blind you with his verbal gymnastics, you kick him to straight to the kerb.

The Ego Maniac sustains “relationships” purely to feed his ego. If you’re interested in him, then he isn’t interested in you, but if you’re not interested in him, then he suddenly becomes interested in you. He will then chase you incessantly, only to dump you as soon as the challenge is over leaving you hiding under your doona and nursing a serious blow to your self esteem. If that isn’t bad enough, once he senses you’ve gotten over him, he will start tugging at your heart strings and playing mind games with you, in order to gratify his ego once again. You never know whether he likes you or not, as this is the game he plays with you to keep you hooked on him.

When you’re eventually happily married to your soul mate, the Ego Maniac will still be out there trying to hold down relationships that can never compete with his ego. He’s a textbook case and there will never be enough room in his life for anything more than himself and his ego and the poor girl who may end up with him will always play second fiddle to this.

We’ve all had one somewhere along the line. Mine is still single and unable to commit to anything more than a dental appointment. Every now and then he sends me the odd text message in the hope it will remind me of what I’m missing, just in case I’m not happy with my perfect, drop dead gorgeous, intelligent, funny, kind and caring partner who worships the ground I walk on and bows before me as I enter a room. In saying that, he does still think he’s god’s gift to women, so as long as he has a mirror he’ll be just fine.

You deserve more. It’s time to make these men history and let them learn the hard way that you can’t always get what you want and only the good guys get the girl in the end.

WHY HASN’T HE CALLED?

Gaynor Alder — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 10:20:39 +0000

It takes me hours to get ready for a hot date to perfect that effortlessly stylish and natural look. I engage in a starvation diet in bid to lose 3 kilos in a day, requiring one to obsessively step on the scales at half hour intervals through out the day to chart one’s progress. I blow dry and straighten my hair to within an inch of its life; and shave, tweeze and pluck every superfluous hair from my body (including emergency waxing of nether regions).

I obsess about what to wear, trawling my wardrobe and anyone else’s I can get my hands on, inevitably having to do a last minute dash around the shops breathing into a brown paper bag to abate anxiety attacks in quest for perfect shoes to match the outfit. I’m not planning to sleep with him of course (ahem, what kind of girl does that on the first date?) but I make sure I have my best underwear on, because we all know that whenever you wear your everyday knickers, that we’ll end up in the throws of passion leaving yourself a small window of time to warehouse suspect knickers (requiring Lara Croft gymnastic manoeuvres with your feet and his doona) before your trusty well worn cotton briefs destroy the moment.

After the date, having exhausted my repertoire of witty banter and charming display my best self, I ring everyone I know (and more than likely have ever met) to conduct a post-mortem, dissecting the date in every minute detail, trying to ascertain whether he likes me, will he call and furthermore when will he call?

And then nothing.

Not only am I playing it cool to him, I’m also playing it cool to myself. I’m not waiting for his call I tell myself, whilst I keep busy (even though everything I do is really only a pretend distraction from the fact I’m waiting for his call). I stop to check my messages, but I’m not checking for messages from him, I’m just checking for messages in general.

However, as soon as the phone rings, I drop everything to run and answer it, knocking over anything and everything in my way. Before answering, I pause to take a few deep breaths in an attempt to sound poised, however it’s not as easy to disguise my disappointment when it doesn’t turn out to be him.

To: hels@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.com.au, sezzy@gmail.com,  ang@iprimus.com.au, kate@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.com.au, ness@hotmail.com, amanda@iinet.net.au, anita@hotmail.com
From: g@y7mail.com
Subject: Emergency Summit: Why hasn’t he called?

- He saw my cellulite that I painstakingly tried to conceal by only conducting certain flattering sexual positions

- He doesn’t want to look too keen

- He may call during the week – must not obsess, over think this option or hang by phone

- He put the wrong number into my phone – perhaps I should call him to double check?

- He may never call again and I shall endue major blow to my self esteem

To: g@yahoo.com.au
From: hels@hotmail.com
CC: dk@yahoo.com.au, sezzy@gmail.com,  ang@iprimus.com.au, kate@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.comau, ness@hotmail.com, Amanda@iinet.net.au, anita@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: Emergency Summit: Why hasn’t he called?

Ok stop eating now! First of all you need to stop analysing darling – yes I mean right now. Yes you had an amazing night and would like more but we can’t control what goes on in other people’s minds and definitely not the opposite sex let alone understand it.

I could tell you lots of reasons why he may not be calling but in the end it really doesn’t matter. You’re fucking amazing and if he doesn’t want to be part of that, well it’s his loss – I know it sounds cliché but it’s true, true, true!

Love me xxx

To: g@hotmail.com
From: dk@iinet.net.au
CC: hels@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.com.au, sezzy@gmail.com,  ang@iprimus.com.au, kate@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.comau, ness@hotmail.com, amanda@iinet.net.au, anita@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: Re: Emergency Summit – Why hasn’t he called?

You know my thoughts my love. He may call, he may not. That is beside the point. The task before you now is to find another contender – another competitor for your affections. I say move on then when he calls you’ll be in a much more empowered position to respond with an air of coquettish indifference. In my view, you should always have a couple of contenders on the sidelines, but you already know my position on this one.

To: g@y7mail.com
From: sezzy@gmail.com
CC: hels@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.com.au, sezzy@gmail.com,  ang@iprimus.com.au, kate@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.comau, ness@hotmail.com, Amanda@iinet.net.au, anita@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Emergency Summit – Why Hasn’t He Called?

You’re not the 711 open 24/7 for his convenience only. I say give him a week, and if he doesn’t call wipe the fucker’s number from your phone love.

Image credits: 1, 2

WHY OUR RELATIONSHIP SCARS ARE MORE PRECIOUS THAN WE REALISE

Gaynor Alder — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 03:47:19 +0000

A friend recently wrote to me lamenting on the scars we have endured from past relationships, and how instead of trying to dispose of them, we should savour them for the growth, beauty and splendour they inevitably inspire in us as we reach new relationship heights.

Whilst horticulture is a dirty business, one can infer it is most important to keep your roses regularly pruned and the weeds at bay to ensure each petal when in bloom is admired for its unique beauty and the alluring fragrance captivating.

Without this cultivation one’s rose bush is merely a lecherous host for the thorns, which to an inexperienced green thumb is a constant invitation to repeatedly prick themselves. As each prick becomes more painful the inexperienced green thumb soon learns that nurturing the rose bush will enable it to grow, and when it begins to blossom in all its splendour the once lecherous thorns now beautifully compliment the new bloom and beckon to be picked to enable new growth. It is then the stems are delicately trimmed and the thorns tendered to ever so gently and adorned in a vase in all their beauty.

Fark we suffered a few prickly farkers along the way - many a night spent entertaining each other’s analysis paralysis. In the event the sorry prick engaged your tears a slow and painful assassination was plotted and agreed that execution would only occur when the dish was ready to be served frozen.

My emotional scars (ugly) are now commanding the respect they deserve and as such, request a safe place near my heart. I never quite realised how precious they were, and to think I was desperately trying to dispose of them. How did I get this so wrong? Who would have thought this romance gig could be like this, I’ve definitely got this new one right, he is so a keeper, in fact I should find a safe place to keep him.”

I couldn’t have put it more eloquantly myself. Love. Her. Work.

Image Credit: 1

LEARNING HOW TO FALL IN LOVE AGAIN

Gaynor Alder — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 13:52:09 +0000

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return” – Moulin Rouge

For the past few years I’ve been a coquettish minx of the night, kicking men out of my bed with my Dolce and Gabanna heels and avoiding commitment like someone had just asked me to chew off my own toe nails.

But now I find myself with a real competitor for my affections, and it’s left me running for cover. For someone who has been able to conduct casual sex with the utmost of finesse, and get in and out (literally) without so much as flicker of emotion (yes, that was great, but please don’t be calling me or anything annoying like that) I was floored when I found myself kissing the man in question in the rain on Flinders St for a good ten minutes with traffic and people passing by and dancing under a gazebo whilst he hummed the music in my ear like a scene from The Notebook. There in those moments, time stood still and my heart burst open, and it was exquisite.

How the feck did this man manage to infiltrate my walls, and succeed where no man has before? Why is my heart shutting down again, and is it possible for me to open it again, and let love back in. Yikes! Did I just mention the L word?

I have known the man in question for over a year, but never for one moment did I think he was romantically interested in me. That was until he told me one night how he felt about me, and I was floored beyond belief. You might as well have told me that Jordan had given up botox.

I of course gave him a one night only pass, but he refused and said that I deserved so much more than that. Had he lost his marbles?! He was turning down a one night stand?! However, t’was not 5 minutes later that there was a knock at the door, after telling the taxi that he just got in to go home, that he was passing up the opportunity of a lifetime and that he was getting out.

The one night stand became a window of 3 strikes you’re out, to the status of “summer fling”. Even after spending a week together house sitting for a friend, I was still as cold as ever on the romance front. But then something changed. I started talking to him online at night.

It was in these conversations that I discovered someone that in all the time that I known him, I had never seen before. Deep. Beautiful. Tender. I won’t tell you all the beautiful things he said about me, because they are private, and he is the kind of person that holds things close to his heart, but I will tell you this. They came from a very pure place. So pure that they moved me to tears.

We started going out in the evenings. Walking on the beach and watching the sunset. Going to dinner. Sitting on the foreshore and watching the moon’s light glisten over the glassiness of the still and calm water. Just being with each other and spending time together. Laughing. Talking. Oh, and yes let’s not forget the dancing.

This is all sounding so swimmety swell, so why are you not falling head over your manolos for him, and why on earth did you run out of the car the other week and tell him to forget about you?

Well, I wish I had more control over my heart, but I don’t. You see, I had to shut it down in order to cope over the past few years. It was something I had to do for self preservation until I could get myself to a position of strength, and I here I am. Yet, the thought of romance now entering my life has me spiralling out of control, and my heart has become so good at protecting itself from myself, that it goes into auto pilot and pushes away anyone or anything that resembles romance.

But, it’s time to start talking to my heart, and telling it just exactly who is boss. For, I can’t let it hold me back anymore. There will be some hoops to jump and emotions to move through, but if I don’t do it, I will stay where I am now. Sure my life is grand, and I am happy, but my heart is numb to love and romance, and it’s not who I really am.

For I believe in love. It’s more important than anything else, and it’s the driving force in our lives. For people don’t remember when you die how much money you earnt, the targets you achieved at work or the house you lived in – they remember how you made them feel and the love that you shared.

I also have someone in my life who puts me first. Who adores me. Who worships the ground I walk upon. Who gets me. Who is trustworthy. Who is willing to be patient with me as I work through this and put his heart out there knowing that there are no guarantees, knowing that I may come out the other end and he may not be the one for me. But I tell you this, no matter what happens, he has made me feel more special than anyone has ever before, and I’m sure there’s something in that.

LETTERS TO JUNE: I STILL MISS YOU – SO MUCH

Gaynor Alder — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 13:58:32 +0000

Dear June and Alan,

I was thinking about you both over Christmas, and today I find myself ever so sad and shedding tears that you are no longer with us. I spoke to my friends about you at Christmas, and told them how much I missed you, and they told me to cherish the beautiful time that we did have together.

But, it doesn’t mean that I still don’t wish that we could spend more time together. Make more beautiful memories together. Because that’s the crap thing about people dying. You always have your memories, but the longing to be with them again never goes away.

I can’t tell you what I’d do to be back in your beautiful home in Churchdown in England. I always felt so safe there. So loved. So happy. Then there was all that fun we had together. So much fun.

I think about going back to the UK, and I don’t think I could do it. Because without you both there, it would just make me ever so sad that I couldn’t hop on the National Express and visit you. England to me is nothing without you. But then, there are Mary and Bob, your friends of a lifetime, that I know would be so happy to see me, as I would them. Your niece Rachel, your sister Marion and your son Adrian, his wife Clare and your grandson Archie. Together we would raise our brandy glasses and reminisce. I hope they are all doing okay without you both.

There are so many people here in Australia who I know miss you just as much as I do. I spoke with your son Darren on Christmas Day and told him I was drinking my wine out of a brandy glass on Christmas day in honour of you both. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him and Regina, Megan and Ellie, this first Christmas without you both.

Death is one of those parts of life we must accept, but it still sucks. Losing you both within 3 months was incomprehensible, but I know that you are both together now. I never could imagine you without Alan – despite how much of a brave front you may have been putting on.

You were both so beautiful. So lovely to me. So kind to me. I will never forget it.

Love Gaynor xx

P.S I still email you all the time with all my news, just like I always did. Even though you can’t reply, I know that you’re still always encouraging and supporting me.

Image Credit: 1

ROMANTIC CRISIS: PLEASE HELP

Roxanne Allan — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 13:42:02 +0000

Posted by Roxanne Allan

*Allegra has written to ask Gaynor, Editor-in-Chief, and her readers if they can help with her romantic crisis.

“What began as a quiet, friendly conversation with Mr. Z quickly escalated in a ping-pong match of commonalities. You see, after only moments of cheeky flirting, we discovered numerous mutual friends from various states and to top it off, we had similar moving patterns: Queensland, New South Whales and now Victoria. Game. Set. Match.

Needless to say, we swapped digits and arranged a ‘date’ over breakfast. Bliss! Right? Well, unfortunately not. My fellow ping-pong professional was not on form at all come date day. In fact, he didn’t even show up to the game.

Determined to not let this man get the better of me, I sent him a ‘I don’t care that you ditched me but am worried for your safety – perhaps you were struck by lightning’ message. He wrote back, thank goodness, asking to reschedule. I accepted.

Come our next engagement, he cancels – 10 minutes before meeting time. But before you gasp and start rambling insane profanities at the screen, hold up, it gets worse. His reasoning behind said cancellation is that he had a fight with his girlfriend and really wanted to come but, ‘sorry’. Girlfriend? GIRLFRIEND? I was gutted. Mr. Z you are a dog.

Fast forward to three nights later and I’m walking on the beach with him, gazing gaily into the starry sky. Please don’t ask how or why, it just happened. He called and I was screaming yes down the phone before I could gather any coherent thoughts and stop myself.

It was a lovely evening. He was sweet, funny and played all the moves. And his moves were good, let me tell you. Good enough to see me leaving his house at 4.30am with a smile plastered on my face and a message on my phone telling me to drive safely.

I’ve seen him since and he treats me like I am the only girl in the world. But I am a bundle of confusion and guilt.

His relationship? Well, it’s still ‘Facebook official.’

Do you have any advice as to what I should do?”

Can you help Allegra win this ping pong match?

Image Credit: http://www.annetaintor.com

REWIND: FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS – CAN YOU REALLY PULL OFF CASUAL SEX?

Gaynor Alder — Wed, 03 Nov 2010 13:41:52 +0000

The laws of nature dictate that when one sleeps with a member of the opposite sex long enough, they will get emotionally attached. This ladies, is what makes the convenience of having a regular “FB” (and no, I’m not talking about Facebook) virtually impossible.

As a woman who has no current interest in a relationship, I’m not impartial to the odd well timed one night stand. I love leaving the next morning and walking down the street with a bounce in my step looking like the cat that got the cream.

But too many one night stands and I would start to feel like a tart. I could also do without having to navigate strange men’s bedrooms praying that they have clean sheets; avoiding the awkward exchanges with their flatmates in the hallway whilst running to the toilet in the middle of the night with nothing but a sheet wrapped around my naked body; and also searching for my knickers in the cold hard light of day, so I can put the rest of my clothes on and get into a taxi.

Enter the FWB – Friends With Benefits. Whereas an FB is a straight sexual transaction (you’ll be pushing it to get breakfast in the morning), the FWB is no strings attached sex, but with the added bonus of being able to go to a movie together, do dinner and have an actual friendship. The FWB is one step away from the SBF (surrogate boyfriend), but that’s another story in itself.

But it’s usually nothing more than a concept, because in reality it will nearly always go pear shaped (just ask Jerry and Elaine). However, occasionally, v. occasionally, someone is able to pull off casual sex without eventually wanting more than a good shag on Wednesday night. Yes, they can act like a lady, yet have sex like a man (thanks to Steve Harvey for helping me to coin that phrase).

Well, that woman is me. Somehow in my 30s, I have the act of casual sex down to an art form. I can do the mercy shag with a friend, have one night stands and even repeat sex with the same person, without getting emotionally attached. How do I do it? Besides being rather emotionally closed off to romance, I know how to choose the right subjects and how to outsmart oxytocin. Oxy what, you ask? Well, there’ll be more of that in my book (I do apologise for being like a reality TV show – “we’ll be back just after this break to tell you whose been evicted”, but I know you’ll forgive me).

I’ve had my FWB since 2007. We’re the best of friends, hang out, look out for each other, and, oh, we have sex too. He’s the relationship without the relationship. Now, many of my friends think he is a real catch – and he is. But we could never be with each other romantically, and we both get that. We are more like best friends on school camp together, sneaking up to the top bunk in the middle of the night with our torches and counting out our lollies together . I am sure if we hung out when we were 8, we would have ridden down to the lake together to catch tadpoles after school. Oh, and, yes, we do a lot of laughing together. Like last night when we walked down to the 7/11 in the middle of the night to buy slurpies, whilst retelling jokes from the Steve Harvey stand up we had just watched.

There is no romantic commitment and we’re both free to sleep with other people (but our friends are off limits, because that would be just wrong). Not that we do sleep with other people all that often, because, let me tell you, we got it going on in the bedroom. There’s no head damage, no expectations of each other, no hour long phone calls to friends analysisng where it’s going, and wondering if one of us has feelings for each other (yes folks, I did that a lot in my 20s). And, no, I’m not in denial. It just is.

Come on, surely there must be a chance between the two of you? Everything sounds so peachy keen, you must have thought about something more with him. Well, sure, I am sure both of us would have considered it at some stage early on, but now, we both emphatically know that we’d drive each other nuts. Like really nuts. I could tell you all the ways he irritates the hell out of me, and the things I do that get him going, but then we’d just sound like an old married couple. We’re just wired differently, and we accept that. I like calm and easygoing, and he can be uptight ( he would beg to differ and will probably yell out, no, I’m not, when he reads this, but he is). Don’t worry, it won’t end our friendship, actually, it’s a bit of an injoke between us.

Sure, I will probably flip out when he meets someone who he wants to be in a relationship with (I know Katie is on standby for that phone call), and vice versa . That’s only natural. There’s still a bond between us that will be broken when one of us finds someone else, but we’ll both genuinely be happy for each other. Because he deserves someone special, and he feels the same way about me.

Ultimately the reason our arrangement works is because of who we both are and where we are both at, and I concede it’s a rare combination. I too have tried casual sex in the past (namely my 20s) and seen the best of intentions unravel. The key to a successful casual sex arrangement is choosing the right person, who understands that there also needs to be respect in the situation, which is why I much prefer an FWB to an FB in my hour of need.

Image source

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3266/2696327511_23c69e00b8.jpg

REWIND: THE MALE SPECIES NEVER CEASES TO AMAZE ME

Gaynor Alder — Tue, 02 Nov 2010 13:37:40 +0000

The past few weeks have seen me patron a number of Melbourne establishments into the early hours. Naturally, when one enters a bar with a friend who has the face and legs of a supermodel (her waist starts around my eyebrows), they are going to be descended upon by men like a pack of seagulls fighting over a hot chip that’s been left on the ground.

Whilst some men were fun to chat with for the evening, some were plain repugnant. The Physical Education Teacher from Britain needed to brush up on his repertoire – “Is that your drink?” wasn’t exactly the path to my heart, especially when his lack lustre chat up lines were delivered with a mouthful of spit – he turned conversing into a new sport, where one had to duck and dive his every word.

But, he was tolerable compared to the two “men” who thought stealing my hairspray and lighting it up with their lighters was fun. “I’m sorry we stole your hairspray, let me buy you a drink.” “Okay, sure.” Ten minutes later …. “Can we have your hairspray again?” “Look, listen here. I accepted this drink on the premise that we had moved past the hairspray. Now you’re just pissing me off. The drink doesn’t mean that much to me you know.” I of course promptly walked away. I am then tapped on the shoulder by one of his equally charming friends who says, “Gaynor, you know that guy you were talking to is the owner of this place”. “Umm, that’s supposed to mean something to me because…?”

Quickly moving establishments (working on the theory of a different postcode providing a better standard of male clientele), I was soon to meet Adrian. Sweet, adorable and cute little Adrian. Sweet, adorable, cute and TWENTY year old little Adrian. Ding, ding, ding – stop the bus!! I could almost be his mother (well, not quite, but I am sure sleeping with him would be illegal in many countries).

He followed me around all night like a puppy dog, and I danced with him for a little while because he had some good moves, and, well, his continual disbelief that I was 33 didn’t do him any harm either (nor my ego truth be told, even though it knew it was being duped by the flatter them so they will sleep you tactic).

I did draw the line when he led me away by my hand to ask, “So, are we going home together tonight?” “No, Adrian, we won’t. 1. You are jail bait. 2. You live with your parents and 3. I don’t think your equipment is up to the job.” I did admire his optimism though.

I saw the look of disappointment wash over his poor little face – he was thinking of all the things he could learn from me in his bedroom, whilst I was thinking of it being all over in two minutes when the excitement of him seeing my exposed bra strap became all too much for him (that was of course after he would of quickly ran into his room and hid all his pornography under his Spiderman doona). I’m sure he’ll be a lady killer one day – just give him a few years.

Across the other side of town, on a different night, my partner in crime was being wooed by a punter of her own. 33. Barman. Model. Writer. You can just imagine the smoothness in which he moved in to initiate conversation, before subtly plying her with free drinks. I’m sure I could fill in the next few paragraphs will all the charming and witty things he said to seduce her but let’s cut to the chase. They went home together. Oh, but, yes, there is one important part of their conversation I must point out – he was single, of course.

So, they head to her place, but when he gets into her bed, he places a very strange order – “Would it be okay if we just cuddle?!” WTF? It reminds me of the case of the “hand holder” I heard about the other week – a girl I know went on a few dates with a guy who proceeded to tell her he has a girlfriend, so they can go out together and hold hands – but definitely no sex. She promptly replied, “If you’re not going to the destination, get off the bus, you’re holding up the queue”.

So, here’s this guy laying next to a woman who looks like a Victoria’s Secret supermodel, and he only wants to cuddle. Right. Okay. Let me get my head around this. You are of the understanding that this is a one night stand, and that you weren’t invited up here to read me your poetry. Hang on a minute. You do know what a one night stand is don’t you?

After fumbling around more awkwardly than a teenager having sex for the first time who is also trying to not wake his parents, he decides that he may just take the bus ride to the final stop. One problem. One big problem – or should I say one little problem, one very little problem.

During the obligatory post mortem on the phone next day, we ascertain that he must either be gay, lying about his age (google searches quickly disproved both those theories) or just hideously inexperienced. Understandably, my friend (let’s call her Victoria for the purposes of this article) is suffering from a serious case of buyer’s remorse. She went in for a night of wild reckless abandoned sex, and all she got was a face full of pash rash (now boys, that’s just plain bad manners).

To add insult to injury – she had to drive him home in the morning, and instead of scuttling out of the car like a rabbit with this tail between his legs – he sat in the car to chat for 20 minutes. Chat? I would have booted him out in my Dolce and Gabbana heels quicker than you can say “can I get your phone number?”

It was upon her arrival home, that the real horror set in. Pash rash, pimples, no make up and no tan. Now, she was really hell bent on redemption – and it was nothing that a pair of Bettina Liano jeans and a pair of 5 inch heels couldn’t fix.

Walking back into the bar a few nights later in said outfit, she came face to face with the perpetrator of her facial disfigurement, and also with the face of his what do you know – girlfriend. It was time for an assassination – this one needed to be taken down for the sisterhood (and don’t we love her for that) – to protect other unsuspecting girls like the one waiting for him out on the couch, who is of the belief that her financially struggling yet deep and meaningful artist of a boyfriend is a keeper.

Fueled by his casual admission that he sometimes has 3 to 4 girls on the go, it was time to bring out the big guns. “You know that pash rash you gave me and the staph infection you thought you had on your lip, well it’s actually a fungal infection.” Terrified of anything ruining his model good looks, he desperately inquires as to what he should buy from the pharmacist (being that Victoria used to be a nurse). She promptly instructed him to buy Daktarin (tinea cream for your feet) and to apply it religiously on his face, at least 10 times a day. Model Boy won’t be strutting down the catwalk anytime soon.

What I think we have here ladies, is a new breed of man. Cut from the same cloth as “Dirty Lying Bastard” – this is the cheater who believes that only going to 2nd or 3rd base isn’t cheating, thus they can cheat without guilt. This way they can have their cake and eat it too, and what harm does it do anyone they ask? Why ever didn’t they think of that before I wonder?

Ladies, beware of the “Hand Holder” – coming soon to a bar near you.

REWIND: ARE YOU A RELATIONSHIP SLUT?

Gaynor Alder — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 13:21:22 +0000

The below is the post I wrote for Jessica Downey on “All The Single Ladies” in Chicago. Jessica is a self confessed serial single girl, and her website will give you the lowdown on single life and dating in Chicago. Even if you don’t live in Chicago, it is full of great advice and insights for the modern single woman.

Without further adoo, here is an excerpt from my guest post for Jessica:

“Petrified of being alone, some women jump straight from one relationship to another, without taking the time they need to heal.

The problem with being a “relationship slut” is that you end up hauling baggage with you and inevitably dumping it on the next person.

Inevitably, if you haven’t worked through your relationship issues, you will just keep repeating them with other people. It’s like you are trying to put your foot down on the accelerator to escape the pain of the last relationship, but you have a trailer full of junk that is weighing you down, and the wheels are just spinning in the dirt and you are going nowhere fast.”

Click here to read the full article (go on, you know you want to)

POLL: IS IT A DEAL BREAKER IF HE WON’T GO “DOWN TOWN”?

Gaynor Alder — Mon, 25 Oct 2010 11:26:56 +0000

No, I’m not talking about dumping him because he won’t put on his hat and gloves and accompany you down town shopping. Yes, we here at The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide want to know how important it is for a guy to go down town on, what shall we say, ahem, your lady bits.

Now, amongst my friends, there’s a consensus that a lot of men don’t like doing it, but the men who do do it, love it and approach it with all the gusto of a six year old and a melting ice cream. A male friend of mine actually said that if a girl didn’t like him doing it, then he considers that a deal breaker. Well, there’s a turn up for the books. I like the way he thinks. Lucky for me, he’s also my occasional friends with benefits.

Amongst my friends, ALL are of the agreement that if a man doesn’t like, nay, love going down, then it’s a definite deal breaker. For all those who may say, oh, that’s a bit shallow don’t you think, well, I’d like to respond and say that we’re talking about a life time of sexual happiness here, and I’m not afraid to admit that that’s important to me, and not something I will compromise on.

If his equipment is up to the job, but he just may be lack lustre in other areas, well I can teach him a thing or two. But, this going down bizzo is not negotiable. Love it or leave I say.

My friend and I were also wondering what the reciprocation requirements were? i.e. Does going down on him carry equal weight as him going down on you, and thus how often should you reciprocate? These could be useful stats for those amongst us who don’t enjoy going down (myself not included, I am giver and a taker) – i.e. is it two blow jobs a week in exchange for him going down town 6 times?

What about men? How many of them would consider it a deal breaker if a woman wouldn’t go down?

What do you think?

Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.

DEAR DOLLY AND OTHER CRISES: NEW ADVICE COLUMNS

Gaynor Alder — Sun, 24 Oct 2010 01:20:57 +0000

The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide has some new advice columns for its lovely readers. Yes, that’s right, if you’re in the midst of relationship drama or dating dilemma, want to know how to have your cake and eat it too, not sure what you want to do when you grow up or just need some advice on a problem – The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide has got you covered (especially if you’re too embarrassed to tell your friends about your problem (all reader questions are published with an alias) or just need an objective opinion.)

Not only will I be putting in my two cents worth, but there will also be guest commentators from time to time who will be experts in their chosen fields. Do not fear, if you’re worried you might just end up with my crummy advice, the real beauty is that the readers of The Modern Woman’s Survival will be invited to comment and offer their advice too.

Does My Bum Look Big In This?

Surely there’s a better way to lose that ten kilos than substituting food for shakes and feeling so faint from hunger that you end up sliding down the side of the breakfast bar and start imagining that inanimate objects such as pens and staplers are actually food.

Surely there’s a better way to get back into your skinny jeans without fearing all carbohydrates as evil and turning into a snappy moody cow because your brain is suffering from a severe serotonin shortage due to lack of said carbohydrates.

Well, yes there is! Oh, gosh, I said that rather confidently didn’t I, and, well, let me confess, I haven’t quite worked it out yet myself. But thankfully The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide has a fabulous health expert lined up to answer all your health, fitness and well being questions – actually, hang on a minute, yes diet too, because even though I think it’s a dirty word, we are all still obsessed with them, so may as well talk about them, if not just to liberate womankind from their evil clutches.

When I Grow Up

This is for work and career advice, but ultimately to inspire and help women to lead fulfilling and rewarding careers doing what they love. A topic I am extremely passionate about, so passionate about, that I even used the word passionate (for some reason I find that word tacky, if not for its sheer overuse) and could write a chapter in a book about it (oh, hang on a minute, I did).

It also makes me want to get up on my soapbox, and the only other thing that makes me feel that way is when retailers start putting up Christmas decorations in August.

In this modern world, we need to be able to do what we love, but also keep the roof over our heads – and not just any shabby old roof either. Here in this column, I want to challenge the notions and the beliefs that imprison so many people and keep them stuck in lives and careers that lack substance and soul, and ultimately leave them veering head onto into a mid life crisis.

But, we don’t do mid life crises. No, we do the quarter life crisis instead, and the difference is that the QLC is a blessing in disguise, and the earlier it gets you, the more confusing it is and the more it throws you around like you’ve been thrown into a tumble dryer with a couple of bricks, the better, because it’s shaking you up, and clearing the way for you to follow your true path.

So instead of running scared, it’s about embracing the questions and confusion, because more often than not, it’s just you breaking free of all the things you’ve been told to be true, and all those things people expect you to do so that you can be “successful”. Real success is learning to stand on your own ground in the face of disbelief and doubt from others and living the life YOU want to live.

Real Men Only Need Apply

For all your Sex and the City type problems such as conducting thorough post mortems of dates – does he or doesn’t he like me and more importantly will he or won’t he call, and all that jazz.

Dear Modern Woman

Think of this as your agony aunt type of column – problems with friends, life, money and any other general life questions.

Gee that all sounds so swell, that if you don’t actually have a problem, I’d be making one up if I was you. Now, I don’t profess to have all the answers, but, together with experts and support of all our readers, we can put our head up, shoulders back and tits forward as we navigate together through life’s ups and downs, in order to live the most fabulous life we can.

So, get to it, and fill out the form below.

[contact-form-7]

DATING DILEMMA: SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO?

Gaynor Alder — Mon, 18 Oct 2010 13:08:55 +0000

*Jessica has written to ask if the readers of The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide can help her with her romantic crisis.

“I’m lost on the guy front, I mean lost in the middle of Narnia without a map or golden compass to show the way. I don’t understand them at all. To be honest I’m falling in love with a man who doesn’t feel the same for me.

I feel like an idiot but I can’t seem to help myself with him. The last time I felt anything for a guy was the relationship before my child’s father (about 4 years ago). I’ve also not had her father on the scene since I was pregnant, and now this man has come into my life and I want him all the time.

I would happily spend my life unraveling who he is and see it as a life well spent. I have never felt this way for someone. I’ve casually dated since the birth of my little girl and had a fling or two, but this man, oh this man. It sucks. I feel like I should cut my losses and run but that’s what I always do – I run away before it gets to involved, too much, too tricky. I just leave, and for the first time I want to stay I’ve just managed to have these feelings with someone who doesn’t feel the same.

Do you have any advice as what I should do?”

Can you help guide Jessica out of Narnia?

*Jessica, is of course not her real name.

Image credits: 1

LEARNING TO LET GO OF YOUR EX

Gaynor Alder — Sat, 16 Oct 2010 15:06:35 +0000

“It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style.” – Oscar Wilde

Last night I had a dream about my ex (oh, please don’t let this be one of those boring stories where someone rehashes their dreams, because we all know nobodies dreams are interesting to anyone but themselves).

It has been nearly 4 years since I left him, so why on earth was I dreaming about him? I should be done, right? Yes, I’ve been with other men. I moved on. I’ve built myself a happy life. I forgot about him in the way you do as the days, months and years pass after the end of a relationship, until the memories eventually fade to nothing.

But, in some ways he’s still part of my life. Not in my thoughts, not in my every day, or in my heart, but I shut myself down from a new relationship in order to protect myself from ever being hurt like that again, and that’s affecting my future.

At the end of my last relationship, I was left nursing a truck load of pain in the middle of a grave and cruel miscarriage of justice that slapped me over the face so hard, that it broke me. It was hardly conducive to signing on the dotted line for another relationship.

So, yes, getting back to that dream I was talking up before.

I felt a pain in my right side and noticed a long gushing wound, where a zip had literally been sewn into my body. But it was coming undone, and the stitches in my skin were bleeding, and it hurt, hurt like hell.

I got on the train and found myself getting off near his house (isn’t it funny how everything looks different in dreams than they do in real life but you know it’s the same place?)

I walked past his dad’s house and there were flowers outside because he had some sort of terminal illness. Then I came to his house and knocked on his door. I didn’t want to go in, so we stood on the stairs and talked.

I asked him how he was and he told me of his new job, his new relationship and all about how well it was working for him. There was a part of me that wanted to run. Run as fast as my legs could take me, because whilst I wanted to know the answers I was afraid he would try and hurt me with his words – and I drew that line in the sand a long time ago.

But, I knew I had to stay and ask the questions that never got answered – the closure I had to walk away without after scraping myself off the front porch that last day I saw him. Deep down, I already I knew the answers (because I knew him better than he knew himself back then) – but I just really needed to hear it at the time to help ease the senselessness. It’s funny the things your heart needs sometimes to heal.

But, as dreams do, I was taken somewhere else. He was running down the street but didn’t see I was there and collided into me. I was holding a packet of Tarot cards and they flew up into the air, but only one fell back down to the ground. Love.

The rampant symbolism of this dream would have a therapist beg me to book a session with them quicker than they could say, “was he always running away from his love for you?”

But, I don’t need to go back over our relationship because I dealt with that a long time ago, and after all, this is a post about letting go. I know the reason why I had this dream is because I need to let go of what is holding me back from entering a new relationship.

I don’t know if I am throwing the forgiveness word around, but I can have hope – hope that our relationship taught him something and this has helped him to be in a happy relationship now – because there’s goodness in that I believe. There’s also a sense of freedom, knowing that I made a difference to his life, even if it does benefit someone else besides me – because then it wasn’t all for nothing. But more importantly, I have hope for myself. Hope that I can stop being so god damn afraid, and, hell, it’s about time I got back on the horse.

It’s taken a long time for me to get here, but that’s the nature of letting go. Letting go, really letting go takes time. Forgiveness and healing happen of their own accord, and I think that many people tell themselves they’ve let go, forgiven or moved on, but are really in a state of denial. For you can’t bullshit your heart – your head might believe that number you’ve pulled on it, but your heart knows. Your heart always knows.

This is why years after the fact, you can suddenly be struck down with memories as your heart and mind reprocess things, in order to for the rest of the healing to take place – and when this happens, you find yourself letting go – naturally, easily, organically. The scars begin to mend and your heart starts to let the sunshine back in.

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