I realize that I’m a few days late, but I have some Valentine’s Day thoughts to share. Valentine’s Day is always a difficult day for me, whether I’m coupled-up or not. This year I’m not in a relationship, so I had plenty of time to reflect on past romances. In the initial incarnation of my book, I’m Sick, Not Crazy, I weaved in a subplot of my relationships getting healthier as I did the things that made my body healthier. However, after some initial feedback, it looks like that plot may end up being my second book, but since this is my blog, and I can write whatever I want, I have a few things to say about love.
When I was 18 years old, I married my high school sweetheart. Even writing that line makes me feel painfully embarrassed, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. We’d been dating the entire four years that I was in high school, and I was raised in a conservative Christian home, so marriage seemed like the obvious and right next step. I was excited to get down to the business of being a wife, but the very first week that we were married, I realized I’d made a grave error. My ex-husband was in the Marine Corps, which had been the source of small problems between us while dating, but after the wedding, he began treating me like a drill sergeant treats a recruit.
During that first week of our ill-fated marriage, he became angry with me because I forgot to do something that he asked me to do. It was a small something, and I offered to do it as soon as he brought it up. Instead of accepting my offer to complete the task, he backed me up against a wall and screamed in my face for what seemed like a half an hour. I held my breath and closed my eyes, bracing myself for the punch that I expected, but didn’t come, while tears streamed down my face. Not only did I never forgive him for that, but it happened again . . . and again. Over the six years that we were married, he humiliated me in public, spoke to me like I was an idiot, screamed at me, and generally abused me. I didn’t realize that it was abuse at the time. I believed what he told me; that it was my fault, and if I could just be better, he would treat me right, but no matter what I did, things failed to improve. Now that I’m a therapist, and have training in matters of power and abuse, I realize that he didn’t abuse me because of anything I had done. He abused me because of him; because of his own internal feelings, and there was nothing that I could have done to change them. When I was 24 years old, he left me for another woman that he’d gotten pregnant, and I was relieved.
After my ex-husband left me, I met a man at work that I’m going to call Justin. There was an instant and strong attraction between us, and after he put up some initial resistance, we started dating. One day I was putting on makeup in his bathroom before work, and the bottle of liquid foundation slipped out of my hand, flew through the air, and splattered everything around me, including the carpet. Frantically, I started trying to clean it up, hoping to have it done before Justin saw, but I heard Justin coming into the room, and my heart started to pound. My ex-husband would have lost his mind over something like that. In his mind, there were no accidents, no mistakes, and no forgetting. Instead, Justin laughed and started helping me clean up the mess. I fell in love with him, hard, in that very moment, and our relationship is one of the more positive experiences of romances I’ve ever had. Justin and I had beautiful long talks about everything, and I believe that he loved me just as strongly as I loved him.
Unfortunately, he kept finding ways to sabotage the relationship. He told me that he didn’t ever want to get married and have children again (he already had two daughters from a first marriage). At age 24, I definitely envisioned having children of my own, so I broke up with him. However, he kept changing his mind, and after breaking up and getting back together over and over again for the next 10 years, he finally proposed marriage. We started planning a wedding, and I thought that I was actually going to get the relationship that I had always wanted with a man that I thought I couldn’t live without. It wasn’t meant to be. A few months before the wedding was supposed to occur, Justin announced that he was going to move to Texas because his ex-wife was going to be retiring there after getting out of the Navy, and he needed to be near his daughters.
If they had been little girls, I would have completely understood, but they were aged 16 and 18, and I was in the middle of establishing my career as a therapist. Plus, I was never going to be in a relationship again where my needs were not considered. Justin telling me that he was going to move to Texas, and that I could choose to either come with him or not, triggered my abuse trauma. I didn’t have the language for it at the time, but I felt it in the deepest part of my being that I couldn’t form a life with a man who didn’t talk to me before making a decision about where we would live as a couple. I gave the engagement ring back.
Justin contacts me here and there, but we’ll never get back together. Not because of his moving to Texas just before we were supposed to get married, but because of what happened afterward. After Justin left, I felt bereft and didn’t know what to do with myself. I needed something to put my energy into, and I found it in the local San Diego swing dancing community. The love I’d felt for Justin easily transferred to dancing, and I was dancing 4 to 5 nights per week, until one night a man I was dancing with dipped me so roughly that I sustained a serious whiplash injury. Within a week of the injury I was so sick that I couldn’t keep any food down, my vision doubled, and my cognition was so wonky that I couldn’t even make basic decisions, like whether to turn right or left. This went on for over a year, and at the worst of it, I was certain that I was going to die, whether of starvation, or by my own hand, I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to say goodbye to Justin before it happened. I called him and told him that I was sick. His response was to tell me that he couldn’t keep doing this. I didn’t expect him to do anything except say goodbye back, but instead he made even my illness about himself. That was the moment that I knew it was really over between us.
After a year and a half of an illness that nearly killed me, I was walking down the street toward Mission Beach and I met a man we’ll call Andrew. He was beautiful. Probably the most attractive man that I’ve ever dated. We had a lot of fun together, and traveled all over the world: Australia, England, France, Thailand, and more. Andrew and I moved in together after 3 years of dating, and lived together for two years before I moved out. Living with him was impossible for me. He spent all of his time in front of the television, completely numbed out. The TV noise was overwhelming to my sensitive nature, and living with someone so absent made me feel more lonely than being alone.
After moving out, I decided that I must be doing this dating thing completely wrong. I’d missed the training that most people get in early dating by being with my ex-husband so young, and for so long, so I did what I always do when I need to learn something new–I took a class. Dating coaching was extremely helpful and motivating, and I spent most of my time outside of work on dating apps and going on dates. After an exhausting few months of fruitless dates, I met a man I’ll call Steven, and fell crazy in love with him. Steven was almost divorced when I met him. If he’d told me on the first date that he was in the middle of a divorce, I wouldn’t have gone out with him again. Unfortunately, he waited until a few dates in to tell me, and I was already hooked. I’ll never know if Steven felt the same way about me that I did about him. I believed that he did for the 10 months that we dated, and he was the one that initiated each next big relationship step. He suggested that we go on a trip to Kauai together. He suggested that I go with him to Connecticut to meet his family. He suggested that we move in together.
That last suggestion ended up being the death knell for our relationship. Steven lived about a 40 minute drive away from me with no traffic. With traffic, it would have taken me about an hour to get to work from his place. He worked about a 10 minute drive closer to where I lived, so it seemed logical to me that we could move somewhere in between where I lived and where he lived and we would both be happy with our commutes. However, Steven’s comment about where we should live was, “I’ve decided that I’ll watch the condos across the street and we’ll move in there when one opens.” You’ve decided? Flashbacks to Justin deciding to move to Texas, and my ex-husband backing me against the wall to scream in my face whenever I did something he didn’t like engulfed me. After giving it a day or two to think, I approached Steven and told him that his location posed difficulties for me, and that we should talk about where we would live together and make the decision as a couple.
This proposition seemed completely reasonable to me, but in my heart I had already decided that if he insisted that we live in his area, I would drive the hour to work each day because I loved him so much. All that I wanted was for him to be willing to talk to me about it.
Instead of talking to me about the issue and coming to a resolution, he told me that he “didn’t have it for me,” and that he really wanted to re-engage in fighting with his ex-wife. I was beyond shocked . . . and heartbroken . . . and broken.
It’s been over a year since then, and I’ve been engaged in the deepest and most intense self-healing work I’ve ever done, and that’s coming from a licensed psychotherapist. What I’ve discovered about myself is that I’ve been relying on others for my sense of value. This strategy was the one that I was taught by movies, and songs, but it’s unsafe because I can’t control the behavior of these other people. When they leave me, I lose my foundation, and I’m left shaking and alone. Unfortunately, I’d been abandoning myself for these others all of my adult life, when what I really needed to do was stay with myself and love myself first. Loving myself first sets the model for the love that I receive from others. When they see how I love myself, they know that they have to love me with that same intensity and kindness, and nothing less will do. Most importantly, if they leave me in the end, I still have myself to love, and my foundation is still strong.
I don’t know what your history is with romance, but no matter what is going on with you, I invite you to also love yourself first, and to cultivate your relationship with yourself. The more you’re good to you, the more that you will inspire others to be good to you. Best of all, if you are your own best partner, you won’t be hungry for love, and you will only accept the very best.