So the holiday season has officially begun; parties and adventures abounding, along with the mysterious pressure to find a mate.

I went to a couple of parties on Saturday and had the good fortune of meeting some new and interesting people.

Of course, when you’re single there’s a lot of pressure to mingle, whether you’re feeling it or not. Well-meaning folk want to hook you up, and others just think it’s sad you aren’t hanging on someone’s arm.

I admit I’ve caved to the pressure a few times to be more enthusiastic or dress up more in an effort to at least look like I’m trying. Put on lipstick. Suck in belly. Smile. Etc.

But an opportunity came up early Saturday night when I met a beautiful, very attractive and intelligent man and I thought, “Okay, Athena.  Okay. Do that thing you’re supposed to do.” You know, the “be interested in what they’re saying, try to make lots of eye contact, look impressed.”

Turns out, it wasn’t hard, he was genuinely interesting and funny. Pretty soon I was doing the, “Okay, Athena, he’s got some potential. Well groomed, educated, clearly knows how to bathe, which is ten steps up from most of the dudes foisted on you by friends. Even better, this guy wasn’t foisted; he was just comfortably having a conversation. Sweet!”

But try as I might, I had little to contribute to the conversation. The pressure mounted. Crap. All my friends try so hard to make these things happen for me, why can’t I just try? Meet a nice guy and make friends happy. “Seriously, Athena, could you at least put some effort into it?”

And just as I was about to open my mouth…

Hotguy’s – equally hot -boyfriend arrived.

Several things happened simultaneously.

I thought, “Oh, thank god! He has a boyfriend!” and I stopped sucking in my belly.

While at the same time, I thought, “Aw! Shit! Not one, but TWO hot guys totally off limits. Epic fail, Athena. Why do you never pick up on the signals in time?”

And thirdly, I totally relaxed and started actually having fun. Anxiety gone.

I don’t understand the pressure, I really don’t. Where does it come from? I don’t feel the need to find anyone. Single life is perfect for me right now. But why do I cave to the feeling that I need to make other people happy by taking their minds off my wellbeing and hurry and get a partner so my friends will stop stressing out about my happiness.

I’m happy. But they are starting to make me think – maybe I’m not, since they obviously don’t believe me. And it gets much worse around the holidays, which leads to extra-long baths and avoiding my phone, because I can’t take anymore well-meant blind dates. Then of course my reclusive behavior further fuels the myth that I must need a boyfriend.

There’s just no winning.

The second party was a family affair with some wine and a sofa by the tree. Later as the guests departed, I lingered with the last stragglers and we caught up on life and living. A great way to end the evening and a wonderful start to the holidays.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

May your season be full of friends and family, love and cheer!!

A couple of nights ago, as I sat in bed with a batch of raw cookie dough, weeping uncontrollably and stuffing my face while crying in to the phone with a friend. “I don’t know what’s going on! What’s happening?”

Then woke up the next morning to my period and went, “…Oh.”

Sneaky little uterus. Why did I fight so hard to keep you?

The stupidest thing about it is that I SCHEDULED it. I knew it was coming and still the signs snuck up and bit me in the ass with chocolate-chip cookie dough and half a box of tissue. WTF?

To be fair, this is the first full period I’ve have in months, and the first true cycle I’ve had since my surgery, the uterus tumor and the Lupron treatments, injections and chemically induced menopause – so, yeah, it’s a little rockier than I remember.

But I’ve come to the conclusion, that female body has a built-in “forget the signs” trigger. Like, if I knew what was going on early enough, I’d figure out a way to stop it or control it. So it has to be all sneaky-like and surprise you every damn time!

Even my personal trainer knows before me.

Even ex-boyfriends have figured it out before I do.

And I’m the one that lives it. It’s like my brain has a denial chemical.

A Jedi denial hormone. “This is not the period you are looking for.”

And I cry, eat raw dough, and dutifully recite, “This is not the period I was looking for.”

I’ve been on the suppression therapy for nine months now, and we still have to schedule these events a few times a year until we can go off the progesterone altogether and see if the surgery took or if the tumor is growing back. But holy crap, it’s defiantly a million times better than it was a few years ago before all this started.

The good thing, about being blindsided by my own scheduled bleed is this: it clearly means that after all the trauma and the long fight to keep my reproductive organs – my natural hormones are still responsive, my ovaries are functioning. (we weren’t actually sure they would still work)

While it feels like a total bitch as I’m bent over with cramps or crying into my bowl of ice cream – it’s the whole reason I fought so hard, endured so much, and took the dangerous route of not having a total hysterectomy at 32.

In other words, it means I’m one step closer to full recovery. And that’s an excellent feeling.