My nails are so long I’m at the “accidentally liking thing on Instagram” phase. Texting “no” takes me about 5 minutes. However, I feel very feminine, so what gives? I go through these long nail phases about once or twice a year and once I get frustrated enough with my inability to type at the speed of sound, I usually cut them all off to tomboy status. Sometimes I need to check myself when I struggle buckling my own seatbelt, so I say aloud, “Jenna, you’re not Rihanna, so what the hell are you doing?” Rihanna probably never has to buckle her own seatbelt. She probably never brushes her own hair. She isn’t picking up her dog’s poop. She isn’t washing dishes. Who are we kidding, I’m not washing dishes either;) You get the point though. Rihanna can have beautifully painted talons, because SHE’S RIHANNA.
It’s quite funny actually, but there are so many things Rihanna can do that we can’t and I started thinking about that. For instance, wearing only chainmail on the red carpet. Not a good look for a regular person. Also, taking selfies looking pensive surrounded by a cloud of pot smoke is art when you’re Rihanna. Not that I’ve tried to do that one, but it certainly wouldn’t look like art. I probably shouldn’t reveal this but I definitely tried to recreate a particular photo of hers one morning last year when my girlfriends and I woke up after my birthday and I still had shoes on. Rihanna’s version was expectedly more glamorous. She’s barely covered with a comforter with only her feet exposed and the caption read: Woke up in my Tom Ford’s. Mine, was slightly less baller status. More homeless status actually. Let’s just say my comforter looked like it had mascara on it. Think I must have been crying that birthday night. As if that’s not brutal enough, my caption would have read something more along the lines of: I didn’t want to wake up, but woke up in my 2 year old Converse.
I understand RiRi might not be your cup of tea, so you’re judging me right now. That’s ok. I know she’s edgy, but she’s an icon and that can’t be denied. I admire risk-takers when it comes to fashion choices and opinions. Even if they miss the mark or I don’t agree. I would much prefer that over going through life unnoticed. That’s my Rihanna rant for the day:) It took me 3 times as long to type because of the nails.
Onto something a little more serious for a minute. I’ve had a lot of girls writing me about my breakup. Honestly, so many strangers reached out a couple of months ago when I shared my heartbreak on the air, it was overwhelming. I was so blinded by grief and just trying to get through life each day, that I didn’t respond to many of your messages. I just needed to tell you THANK YOU. I did read all of the messages and it comforted me more than you can imagine. Grieving just takes time and it was seriously dark for a while there. Someone who is going through a breakup of her own wrote me yesterday and asked how I am so strong and so easily able to get through it and go on working like I have. It struck me as crazy because I don’t see it that way at all. This job is tough, because I have to be “on” everyday, but I don’t want that to be interpreted as strength or that I was fine. For the last two months I was quite the opposite. I just had to wake up everyday and pretend to be ok honestly. There is just no quick fix for getting over something like that. I don’t know what the turning point was in the last couple of weeks, but the lights finally came back on.
It just goes to show, that there really is no formula or right way to get over a heartbreak. As much as I may have sounded in good spirits most days, I spent 2.5 months being an emotional mess. I made a decision when this happened to actually grieve and not just avoid the feelings. I thought maybe getting it all out would get me over it. I definitely had doubts here and there about that game plan. I really got it out if you know what I mean. Suddenly there was a turning point and it took me a few days to realize things had changed.
I remember a specific moment where I was trying on a dress for a formal event I had to attend and I had a feeling of excitement about it. It was such a foreign sensation. Driving home I got to thinking about how I haven’t been shopping much because I didn’t have anyone to dress up for. Girls understand this theory. You get excited about dressing up and going out because you want a particular person to take notice and be impressed. All the compliments in the world don’t matter unless this person thinks you look beautiful. It hit me in that car ride alone that I didn’t care if he saw me, I actually didn’t even think about him when I looked at myself in the mirror in that dress. I was suddenly just happy to dress up and go out with a friend.
Typing that out makes it seem like such a small detail, but the point is I felt like living again. Sometimes you don’t realize until you’re actually on the other side of things, that you’ve been living life with someone in your heart and head, when you aren’t in theirs. When I got home that night I had another realization. I didn’t remember the last time I cried about it. When you cry morning and night about something you forget what it’s like to not. I actually still haven’t cried and that was over 2 weeks ago. I haven’t cried about anything. Is it possible that I’m all cried out? I did enough crying for a lifetime in the past year, so maybe it’s not a terrible thing. Losing Kidd was the most traumatic thing I have ever had to deal with at that point in my life. There’s a sense of peace at some point with death though, because that person is just no longer there. It’s a finite and tangible thing. The worst breakups, I’ve learned, are eerily similar to the death of a loved one. A person in your life has died, yet they are still living. It’s hard to wrap your brain around. It was just too much to handle at some point and I wasn’t prepared to deal with it. Now that my heart finally washed ashore and I can breathe again, I wanted to share that story and maybe give a glimmer of hope to those of you that are in the same sinking ship of emotions as I was.
There’s no easy way out. I think you have to drown for a bit. Just like you can’t force yourself to love, you can’t force yourself to stop loving. Cut yourself some slack and cry when you want to cry. Stay in every night for a month or TWO if you need to. At some point, you may feel like doing something you used to do. Capitalize on the good days because there will continue to be bad ones. Don’t look at old photos. Don’t read old text messages. You don’t have to go buy a new laptop and get a new phone solely because you want to delete those reminders, but it definitely helped me a little:) At some point, the bad days will be fewer and farther between. You may go out for a bit and then it starts to creep back in. It was a practice day, so go home, grieve and don’t feel bad about it. Some people prefer to pretend life is fine and go out partying to distract themselves. That’s not wrong either, it just isn’t a formula that works for me. It’s only delaying my grieving process. Personally, I need to feel it all in order to not feel at all. When you do have moments of normalcy, try new things and new places. I haven’t been back to single a restaurant, listened to a single song or even looked at a website that reminds me of that person. It will take time, but it genuinely helps to create new memories. Just ignore the people who say “you are better off in the long run”. I hated hearing that. I know the intentions behind that statement are good, but it’s so trite and honestly can be said….better. It may take a month or a year, but that sensation that someone knocked the wind out of you will subside and you realize that you’re starting to live a little more with each passing day. After all, life is for the living. Thanks again for being so kind during that rough time. Now I just need to figure out how to cry again…
On a lighter note, I’m going to leave you with my latest obsession. The man bun. You know I’m back to boy crazy when I spend an hour on Instagram looking at hot guys with facial hair and man buns. Apparently man buns are very different from bronytails. Who knew?! Well now we do!