Nine years ago I was asked out by a nice guy from church. He was a year older, 17 to my 16. Despite being 17, he had no license or drivers permit, so his mom drove us to our first date. As I will say throughout this all, I had no idea what I was doing, but by the time we went on our first date, as much as I thought he was nice, I knew I wasn't really interested. And because these things never end easily, he was far too embarrassed to ever spend more than 5 seconds in my presence again. But, of all the options that have presented himself, definitely the cutest. But too awkward. And now he parties and smokes weed, so that wouldn't have worked out. But solid first date.
Eight years ago I was working with a guy who was a. shorter than me, b. annoying, c. not a Christian, and d. asked me out in the middle of a shift we were working together. Having no interest, I said no and he asked me to think about it, leading to the most awkward hour and a half of my life not thinking about it and instead texting my friends because I knew this wasn't going to happen and awkward. To cap the day, he yelled at me across the lobby of the rec center "I hope this doesn't make things awkward"! It actually didn't, because I couldn't even.
Seven and a half years ago, I needed a date to prom and knew a guy from my friend's youth group thought I was cute so I asked him and then we hit it off and he kissed me at the end of the night. I wasn't even sure if I really liked him, but he was super into me and I figured why not. I drug my feet a little at the beginning, but finally relented (okay this was all over the span of two weeks, high school time am I right). He had had sex twice in his previous relationship and I said that's fine as long as you don't pressure me to do the same (all over text, because communication). His dad had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and we were three months away from leaving for college. The whole time we dated I couldn't really decide if I liked him that much, but I liked him enough to keep it going and so I went to college with a long distance boyfriend. Sheltered from actually spending time together, we were regimented to simply Skyping and talking. In hind sight, this relationship would have probably been way shorter if it wasn't for this- or not, but I say things would have progressed. From my perspective, as a somewhat insecure Freshman, I loved the security of knowing I had a boyfriend who loved me. I loved having someone care about me and being the girl with the boyfriend. When he found out his dad's cancer was terminal in the sense of one to two months left to live in October, our relationship took a more serious turn and he prepared to face one of the hardest realities of his life. I didn't love how he dealt with it- I wouldn't text him if I knew he was drunk, and I didn't love the people he hung out with. But I stuck by him. At Thanksgiving and Christmas, I came home to see him in tough circumstances. His dad was quite literally on his death bed- a hospital bed arranged in his living room. Stuck between realizing how few moments he had left with his dad and fighting a chronically bad relationship with both his parents, it was a tricky balance of seeing each other and realizing the gravity of what was happening. None the less, we continued dating. I found out later his dad told him that he liked me, but that he should know there are other girls out there and to just consider not getting roped in just because you met in high school. He promised me as we both went back to school that he would be there when we both came home for the summer. That spring we almost broke up right before I trip I had secretly booked (without our parents knowledge) to go visit him. The in person dating issues were finally catching up with us. At 18, I didn't even know if I wanted to kiss a guy, let alone make out, let alone be felt up and so on and so forth. Despite his promise to not pressure anything, after two months of dating he confessed he had hoped we would have taken physical steps (starting to run the bases) that I intended to keep until marriage. However, we had three months together, so it didn't really amount to much. When we had been home for the holidays, again it was a tricky time so nothing else was pressured. But for two new college students, and perhaps for him, this was a golden opportunity to see each other without any parental supervision. My idea was that I would stay with a female friend, or sleep along on the couch in the living area of his 6 person dorm suite. His idea was that we would both sleep out there, even if we were just cuddling. My idea of not sleeping in the same bed, probably combined with the peer pressure he felt having a girlfriend that wouldn't have sex with him and his idea of how this should go almost ended it. But alas, we kept things alive. All semester, his roommates and teammates berated him constantly about how he had a girlfriend, a waste of time, a long distance girlfriend, an even bigger waste of time, but most importantly a girlfriend who wouldn't even sleep with him. Not one to stand up well to peer pressure, this only exacerbated the situation. The visit ended up going well, and then we were in the home stretch of months until a summer back together. In April, I had a gut feeling- the ones I can usually run my life by because I know myself and my gut feelings. Less than a month before we were set to be reunited- long story short both transferring to the same school for different reasons (convenient though- but really, separate reasons with a sweet twist), I knew it wasn't going to work and I needed to break up with him. I knew it deep down that it wasn't going to work, that we weren't meant to be, and that I needed to end it. It wasn't that something had changed in our relationship, it was that I truly knew that this wasn't it. But, how can you tell a somewhat insecure 18 year old who is finding identity in her relationship, who has endured 9 months long distance and is 1 month away from her first anniversary with her first boyfriend and will have no more long distance that she should cut ties? Logically, she should wait until they are reunited and feel it out. Anyone would say so. But I knew. Of course it seems like easy revisionist history because easy to say now, and of course I didn't tell anyone because I was too afraid, but that's where I was. And so we were reunited, and for the summer I fought myself, knowing it wasn't right, knowing I needed to end it, but being far too afraid to end it. Finally, towards the end of summer, my excellent communication skills came to a head and I just got super awkward until he asked what was wrong and I just said I wasn't sure. Did I ever follow up on these feelings, ever talk to him in person about it, or attempt to articulate what my issues were and how we could work through it? Nope. I just said that, pretended it didn't happen, and let the train continue to crash as I moved up to the college we were now both attending. The day we moved up, I didn't feel super great, figured it was just nerves, and a week later was diagnosed with mono which overtook the first month at a new school as a transfer student. All this to say, my level of vulnerability only increased and my desire, despite knowing what I should do, increased to hold on even tighter. As I struggled to find my footing in a new school, it became evident that as a couple we did not know how to date in person. Expecting him to be a mind reader, I would sit and wait for him to initiate seeing each other, expect him to make time for me, and was woefully disappointed at every turn. When we would see each other, it became evident that his desires were mostly physical, constantly pushing the boundary lines as far as he possibly could. Rather than talk things through or try to re-steer the ship, I continued to let my feelings bubble up on the inside, only having them come out in moments where I totally lost control and sobbed uncontrollably, unable to hide my feelings. I didn't advocate for what I needed, I didn't stand up for what I wanted, and I didn't try to make things better. It was as if I accepted I knew it should end, but this acceptance made me hold on even tighter every day in vain. After a rocky first semester, we were once again home for winter break. It was a weird place, we were both so in it and so in love but also so uncommitted, as if we were watching the end of the tracks come but pretending we really wanted this forever. I wasn't happy, but I wouldn't dare tell anyone. I wanted the security I thought I had by having a boyfriend. I ignored the fact that the week before Thanksgiving he decided he wasn't going to talk to me for a week, without telling me beforehand, and then getting mad at me when I called him crying because I was so confused and hurt. I ignored the fact that he told me to break up with him because he didn't want to be married. I ignored the fact that when I came back from a retreat and texted him that I was back, expecting him to want to see me or at least say welcome back, he said ok. I ignored the fact that every twist and turn, I felt less and less valued, but yet became more and more afraid of ending it. Things came to a head Valentines day weekend. We were driving home for his mom's birthday. On our way home, I told him that my parents weren't even home and he offered I could stay at his house with him and his mom. But on the way home, we got in a fight, I cried, and we rode the rest of the way home in silence. I requested to stay at my own house alone. We never resolved what had happened, and more pretended it didn't. The next weekend (or two, I can't remember), the two of us went up to my family's condo for a weekend just the two of us to ski. Looking back, it was the exact weekend I wanted to have with a boyfriend. Just the two of us skiing, hanging out alone in our own place. I could overlook his constant physical advances and the fact that we hardly talked because I liked the idea of it. Looking back, it wasn't really that happy of a weekend, but it was the last good memories we had. Which in a way, that speaks to a lot of the relationship. Especially the last year- I could kid myself that it wasn't a piece of shit because I felt special sometimes, and there were good times. And all I ever shared were the good times and the good moments. I internalized all crap- in part to save face, in part because I wanted with my whole heart to pretend that it was good, and to really believe that I could get married and have a high school sweetheart. I made myself believe that all of the mess was okay. But it wasn't. And finally, I hit the wall. Well, just another one, but I asked him if we could talk, thinking that I was going to maybe finally stand up for what I needed, but really just crawl back enough to feel enough fulfillment that I could pretend this wasn't a shit storm. When he came up to my room, he said he wanted to take a two month break and my world imploded. I sobbed, I said I didn't understand, and I cried a lot. Far deep down, I had always known that this wasn't going to work, but I had spent a solid year suppressing those feelings and pretending crap wasn't happening. I kid myself that I wanted this. And in a month I am not proud of, I tried desperately and without real hope to convince myself that he would come back and that things would be okay. But that's not how it worked out. And after pestering him for a month, and realizing that the two month break was more of putting off the inevitable, to lessen the blow, we broke up and my world shattered in a lot of ways. The relationship that i had put so much self worth into, the image I had of myself and portrayed of happily in love, the envy of so many to be in a two year relationship broke. I had to admit that I had failed. That after two years, the man I had convinced myself I would marry, dumped me. I was no longer in the group of girls with a long term boyfriend. I was no longer the innocent girl I had been when I had started the relationship. I looked back on the past two years with regret and anger. I knew I had compromised, I had put up with shit, and that I had held on to a relationship that was never going to give me what I wanted. But I loved the security I felt I had in it, so I had held on. And I was not proud of myself for that. I couldn't even look at him without being angry. I was so mad at myself and he was the perfect punching bag. I had to accept that after putting two years into the relationship, I was coming out with nothing but emotional baggage, a lot of healing to do, and the admission to tell any future boyfriends that yes, I spent two years in a relationship for what. My dreams of being that girl who got married right out of college were crushed. My dreams of being an air force wife and moving around the country were crushed. I had a year and a half until graduation and I suddenly had to decide what I wanted now that it wasn’t contingent on anyone else. I hadn’t dreamed of a career, or making plans for myself. My plans were all tied up in being his wife. That was my real dream. And now I had to decide what I wanted for me. And possibly just me.
The easiest solution was to just find someone else to fill that gap and the dream. The opportunity presented himself quickly. Less than a week after breaking up with my boyfriend of two years, my friend of a friend of a friend needed a date to the Army Military Ball and I said take me.
Five years ago, I cried for twenty minutes as I tried to apply makeup to go on a second date with the military ball guy I tried to convince myself that this was a stand up idea, mostly because I wanted to feel someone was interested in me and pretend I was ready to move on. I convinced myself that I was definitely ready to get back out there, even as I cried and hated the unfamiliar feeling of already pursuing someone else. Somewhat on their own, and somewhat because of my inability to really give it a chance, things fizzled out within a month or two.
And thus began the summer in which I didn’t let myself cry over the breakup and did my best to pretend nothing happened and that I was fine as my heart hurt in a way and for a length of time I didn’t think possible. I told myself we’d be friends, that it was okay. But I was not okay. And the longer I tried to keep up the façade that I was totally fine with this, and that nothing was wrong, I kept losing pieces of myself that weren’t willing and able to accept that I had failed, and it was okay. And that I was going to have to find my own way when I graduated, and that that was okay. I started my junior year of college by discovering corn, wheat and pine nut allergies that caused me to enter my junior year with a rash to the severity that my doctor thought I had a skin fungus, and metabolism that finally caught up with me to the point that I gained 20 pounds. As I continued to grapple with where I was and where I was going, I returned to my old standby of eating to numb the pain. I hated a lot of things in my life, as if I was opening my eyes for the first time and realizing where I was. I hated where I lived, I hated my major. I hated feeling lonely all the time, and I began to hate my body that could no longer fit in my clothes. I became anxious in everything. My second semester junior year, I spent most of my second to last semester of college skiing in the mountains or going to visit my parents. Despite the positives in my life and all that was going well, I craved the ability to run away from the mess that had been my relationship that had permeated so many aspects of my life, and the spiral that I had let myself into. I wanted so badly to just get out- to leave college, to leave Colorado and just get a fresh start. My mind saw the mess of my time at college in Colorado as a mess I couldn’t recuperate from, and more of something I just wanted to put behind myself so I could have a fresh start. My efforts to leave the state behind me were helped by my getting an internship in Texas, where I gladly retreated for the summer away from all reminders of what I felt was a mess. I felt new hope as I took on the challenge of an internship I hoped to convert to a job in Washington- my new long term plan to run away. I sought the security I felt in the state- the friendships and good memories I held before I had returned to Colorado and felt I had made a mess of things. I succeeded in my internship, and came back to Colorado ready to end this damn thing in style. I entered my senior semester without a care in the world and had probably the best semester of my college career. My lack of care and time to reflect over the summer brought me back with excitement. As ready as I was to leave, I went out in style and successfully ended my college experience. I had no boyfriend, no perfect story arch of college like my sister had graduated with, and hardly anything to miss. But I had made it through and felt hope in what was to come. As much as this is supposed to be a dissertation of relationships, this year and a half as I ended my college time was really about me just trying to grapple with being on my own and having to make my own plans, accepting that no one was going to sweep in last minute to save me from starting my adult life single
And so after 3 months of traveling, skiing, and generally enjoying my extra semester not spent in school, by a twist of fate I was back in Texas. As excited as I was for the ultimate fresh start- the start of me being an adult, financially independent, and living in a new state, I immediately put the pressure back on to find a husband. I boosted my self image by telling myself how impressive I was to be 21, graduated, have a brand new car, be financially independent, and making nearly the median US household income as a starting salary. Everything seemed to fall into place, and all that was missing was that pesky boyfriend to be a husband after a year. I didn’t want to live in Texas, and resigned that my fresh start would be complicated by my desire to only stay there a year. Of course, I knew I shouldn’t date if I was going to move after a year, but I was also desperate to date. I was two years into being single, and right before I had graduated, my ex of two years had proposed to a girlfriend who looked strikingly similar to me when we had been dating. Since gaining 20 pounds along with cutting my hair short and dying it dark brown, we no longer resembled each other, but it was still jarring to see pictures. I was two years on- the same amount of time we had dated for, and I was not over it. Half of me was more than ready to just run into my husband and shotgun a wedding. I kid myself that I would immediately find him so that he could fit into my new plan of pulling of a marriage by 23- though not my perfect plan of straight out of college, if I worked quickly I could redeem myself. Reality would not allow this.
Three years ago I downloaded Tinder and proceeded to talk to a guy for a month or two. My heart still ached as I tried to talk to him because deep down I knew I still wasn’t over my ex, but that it had been too long to not be over him. He was engaged, he had moved on and lived my dream- married right out of college. It was jarring to watch my dream come true- down to the wedding colors, with my ex as the groom and me scrolling through the photos on Facebook with another girl in my place. In a way, it killed that deep down desire I had that it would work out again. I knew it never would, I knew that made no sense. But I was afraid that it would never work out again. And so I talked to a guy, who ultimately would never ask me out, and realized how woefully not over my ex I was. Eventually, I deleted the app and decided to spend my time in Texas focusing on myself and my MBA, that I told myself I would finish right as I was meeting my husband, so that I could have it done in time for us to get married.
Two years ago, after having a Christian dating app on my phone for a year that I rarely checked, I finally matched with someone, and was thus asked on the first first date three years after breaking up with my ex. It became clear quickly that even though I had been single for three years, I in a way was still not ready. This was compounded by my desire to move as soon as possible out of Texas fighting my desire to just get married already. Luckily our date was arranged like two hours before it happened which was for the better, because I still nearly passed out in the build up. Having not been on a first date for 5 years, my last one being prom, I didn’t know how to gauge if I actually liked the guy or not. I figured why not, and we proceeded to go on two more dates before my desire to move finally overcame my desire to be married. As stressed as I was that at 23 I was still not on my way to the altar, my practical side kicked in and said the guy would be waiting for me in Colorado.
Despite my passionate, burning desire to leave Colorado since my breakup, and perhaps before, I found myself moving back. I wanted to ski, I wanted to not live in Texas, and most importantly, have friend again. In addition to the 20 pounds I gained and never lost in college, I gained an unspecified few more in Texas. My anxiety and ways of dealing with it through food compounded probably close to another 10-20 more pounds on my body. I lived alone and had anxiety about my neighborhood, my neighbors, my job, my lack of friends, and my lack of boyfriend. It was a lonely year and eight months in Texas and as excited as I was for the fresh start, I could look clearly and see that I hadn’t done much with it. My anxiety held me back from making friends, and my attitude of being ready to leave as soon as possible prevented me from truly enjoying my time. I felt once again I set myself in a place that I just wanted to get out of.
I moved to Colorado that December without the desire to immediately get hitched. Due to logistics, I told myself that I would restart my search as soon as I moved permanently and finished my masters. I temporarily held back my anxiety that I was nearly two years older than my sister when she met her husband, and had just passed the age at which she had gotten married, and I was still single. Although in the back of my head I still craved the husband, I let myself enjoy my life and settle in. Colorado wasn’t what I expected. I think I assumed I would come back to friends that I had kept in spotty contact with and just have plans and friends and a life every weekend. In reality, I never reached out to the friends that I craved to be near and instead spent many weekends alone in my condo and visiting my parents for hours. I had thought it would be a super easy transition, but underestimated an unfulfilling new job and relearning how to live with people, especially friends, when I craved to just live alone.
Finally, that summer I decided that I would restart my husband hunting. And one year ago, I finally found the manifestation of everything I had on my resume for my husband. Christian, tall, engineer, skier, outdoorsy, one year older than me, and in the same industry. The only problem was him. While my mind could start naming our children based on his profile, in reality there was no way. But I wanted it to work so badly, that I kid myself that it was totally fine that we talked for a month and a half before he asked me out. And then we talked for another month without him asking me on a follow up date. But, having had a great first date and not yet willing to give up my dreams after talking to someone longer than I had in my two year relationship, I pushed through and ignored all the issues and quite honest lack of real interest on his part. On our third date, that he curtly told me I could plan, he gave nothing and I gave a sack of nerves that came from putting a world of pressure on someone who had a few red flags and lack of interest. Frustrated and now slightly freaking out at the prospect that I was definitely not getting married and was now quickly approaching true mid twenties, I went into a weird space of not searching, but constantly having anxiety about my lack of relationship. Upon getting my dream job, that increased my commute to an unsustainable 25 miles, I realized that I would indeed need to move once more to be closer to my job. I might as well wait to I relocate was my new justification for my lack of ability to reinterest myself in dating.
That October, my life changed when I realized there could be a cure for my food allergies, and I frantically planned to move to Utah temporarily before realizing I would not need to move. My move was punctuated between the idea that I would meet my husband in a whirlwind romance in which I would change jobs in order to stay in Utah and acceptance that I loved my job and wanted to live in Colorado and was only prolonging the time until I would meet Mr. Right. In the spring I relocated to the town next to my hometown, where I never expected to move back to, but was excited. I felt like things were finally falling into place. I had my dream job at my dream site, I was financially stable, debt free, and with a Masters degree. I was living in a gorgeous house, working out a ton, and lost all but 10 pounds of the stubborn weight I had gained and then some in college and the time after. I was right in between friends and family. I felt as though everything in my life had finally fallen into place and that I was finally comfortably settling into the time in my life where I wasn’t trying to constantly change where I was living or my job or any other aspect of my life. The only thing missing I told myself was the husband. And of course it was. After putting so much value into having a husband or a relationship, I knew by Murphy’s law, and by the grace of God it was to be the only thing missing. In a total panic after hitting 25 and still being single, I was accepting of where I was until my sister told me she was pregnant. Realizing that I was only a year younger, and she had now been married for two years and was going to have a child made me question the validity of the life I thought I was so excited to have, because I was so clearly falling far behind in life steps. How sad would it be, I told myself, if I was still single when she gave birth to a child? We’re only a year apart, and my ego cannot take being so far behind. So begrudgingly, I found myself once again on dating apps with no real hope and no real frustration. For the first time, and especially before my sister announcing her pregnancy, I felt truly happy to be single and was truly I felt enjoying my life. There was the dull fear of still being single, but it was so overcome by the other joys in my life for the first time. As I reentered the dating app game, my friend told me she had met her boyfriend on a certain one, and begrudgingly I tried it. Stage call enter CS.
When I first saw his profile, I was mildly interesting. Blonde isn’t my usual type, but the master’s degree, undergrad in engineering, and skiing seemed like enough boxes checked to pursue interest. The only problem became that it felt strikingly similar to the last guy in sense of lack of forward momentum. First the app kicked us off after a week of messaging and he asked for my number, and then kept messaging me on the app. So I just texted him. And then texted him for a month. There were reasons that an in person meeting weren’t scheduled- he had family and friends in town like every weekend, or he was gone for the weekend, and then traveling for work during the week. My resolve to not tell anyone, assuming it would fizzle out were quashed when my sister caught me texting him. Nothing is going to happen I told her. We’re going to text forever, maybe probably not go on a date and that’s it. I’m wasting my time I said, irritated but realistic. Don’t waste your time, she advised. So I continued to text him with no expectations.
And then he finally asked me on a date. Rather than my preferred confident, what day are you free, okay here’s the time, place, and activity, he continued to ask what I wanted to do, where, and when, instead of just deciding. He delayed scheduling a time until the day of, by which time I had assumed this was not actually going to happen and made other plans. The coffee shop closed before we even had a chance to go, and we ended up going on a hike. I went into the date in a blaze- I expected to be wasting an hour of my time just to justify spending the past month and a half texting a guy that I expected nothing from. But as first dates have always gone for me, it went well and there was enough potential to see each other again.
I can’t say I was excited as I was with the last guy. I was still extremely skeptical and guarded. Maybe this was due to my lack of need for something, or more my general irritation of his desire to ask me to offer input on every single aspect of the date. Nonetheless, the next date happened and we ended up spending four hours making easy conversation and talking about just about everything. With my trip to Europe quickly approaching, we agreed to see each other during the week the following week before I would leave for two weeks. Could a little bit of potential endure a two week separation and come back and actually be functional? We met one more time. I had extreme anxiety for this date, mostly because I knew in my heart that I had never made it past a third date, except for my two year, less than functional, relationship. It went well, despite my severe anxiety, and after a long hug goodnight and text from him when we got home, I realized this was actually maybe probably happening. I spent two weeks in a different time zone texting him intermittently, both willing my parents to ask me who I was texting and willing them to not find out. With my return to America approaching, I waiting on pins and needles for him to set something up, but nothing came. I landed in America and figured after texting a guy during my two week Europe vacation that if he wasn’t going to do something about seeing me, I might as well. He responded quickly saying he already had something planned if I was interested, and next thing you know in my jet lagged glory and $6 gray shirt, we found ourselves at a baseball game. My brain on overdrive but also extremely clouded in jet lag, the date went way better than it had any right to. Two days later, free of my brain haze, I realized I really liked him and that I had been half there on the date and it was still good. He didn’t try to hold my hand, which somewhat irked me, but otherwise all flags were green. Except for the fact that I knew his parents were divorced, and he was still yet to bring it up. Low level anxiety of wondering if he would ever have the guts to keep things moving along started to develop, but I realized I was on my way to a fifth date. I planned a hike in Golden to see the fall colors and rudely forced him to drive on a date I had planned, and once again the majority of a day spent together went way better than it had any right to.
As the dates have continued on, I’ve realized that I simultaneously have no idea how to date, and am just doing what I think is right, while I push back others opinions on how this should all be going. Why isn’t he holding my hand is my most FAQ in my head, but at the same time the dates keep progressing.
His schedule does as well, and as hot as his wild ambitions for his career are and his impeding graduation with his MBA, his travel schedule, volunteering at church, and general business clashes harshly with my slow work schedule and lack of social life and desire to increase my business level. While I cannot deny he is truly going out of his way to make time for me, I feel self conscious about my lack of career ambition compounded with my very relaxed schedule. But again, he keeps going for it so there’s that.
When his weekend home between two business trips aligned with him spending the entire weekend volunteering at his church, I brought a chili dinner to his house and was greeted with a meticulously clean apartment of a single engineer and saw perfection. If only he had held my hand as we walked around after dinner. Realizing that six dates really made this a thing when there was definitely a seventh on the way, I hinted heavily that I’d be happy to try out his church and next thing you know we went to church together and he still didn’t hold my hand, we had a three hour dinner, and then watched TV together for an hour and a half and he neither put his arm around me or held my hand. It’s not that physical touch is my love language, but it definitely is. With him finally in town during the week, I asked him to come over for dinner on a weeknight, and then hell broke loose. And not really, I’m just still processing 7 single spaced, size ten font pages later.
Having a crazy busy week, I had a feeling he might cancel dinner. I went to bed Tuesday night thinking that if dinner still happened, that I would bring up the what is this conversation. I wanted to have it before I told my parents, though I was quickly starting to realize that I had already probably waited too long. I was ready, and it didn’t seem like he was going to initiate anytime soon and I want him to hold my hand, I reasoned, so it was going to go down when he came for dinner. But then I fell asleep and woke up at 12:30. I checked my iPad to see the time, but really to see if he had texted me back as he always did after I went to sleep. And there was a text, saying that he couldn’t do dinner but he wanted me to meet his friends over brunch that following weekend. To be fair I was planning on him meeting my friends in a couple weeks, but more importantly wanted this relationship defined before anyone else was brought in. I want to make sure he wants kids, he wants marriage, and that he’s not going to date me to no end. And here it was, a pure expression of him moving things along and being interested, and here I was half awake thinking my gosh I cannot meet your friends until you tell me if you want children or not. My middle of the night brain is far from good. But I was also so flattered that he wanted me to meet his friends. I figured, as made sense to my brain that ended up staying up over two hours that night as I envisioned myself going home with him for Thanksgiving, that I would tell him in the morning that I would love to meet his friends as long as before we met them, like an hour before in my mind, though I never articulated it, that we would discuss what this was. If I was honest with myself, I wanted that conversation to occur comfortably before. For example, come to dinner at my place Thursday and we’ll decide what this is and then on Sunday I’ll meet your friends. But with his crazy work week, it wasn’t going to happen. In my mind I combined the events, he read it as slow down brother what is this, I said nope we’re still doing brunch but also we’re not, he continued to hardly text me through his busy week. I still thought we were going to brunch, until I texted him Saturday to a concerningly long pause about what the hell man brunch is tomorrow give me some details. As I’m about to walk into church he responds yeah no brunch, you said that’s not happening. To which I lived my fear that I would slow down a relationship, that I realized he’s spent the week having me cryptically say yeah I’m not ready for anything, and then not plan a date because I called off his. And I went from picking the perfect outfit to meet his friends in to realizing not only am I not meeting them, but he booked up his entire weekend so I can’t fix this immediately. Which is good, because I panicked. The relationship just feels so fragile and new still and I don’t know what I’m doing. I am already afraid of it not working out because he’ll realize he doesn’t like me, or he won’t be able to get to that place. Which is why I need a discussion of where he’s at so I just know what he wants and what he expects. And I can say what I need. Because my goal this time around has been to speak up for what I need and not let it fester, because I naturally fester but have had a lot of time of reflection realize I can’t do that.
So my concerns boil down to that his parents are divorced, he won’t hold my hand, and I’m afraid he doesn’t want kids or commitment. But it’s weird to look in the eyes exactly what you’re looking for. A couple years older, a career oriented engineer who had a stay at home mom, an avid skier, and solid Christian guy, and someone who is so easy to talk to. Who was an outgoing, social personality to me being a hermit cat. I’ve never been a gusher. And by that I mean when my friends go on a date, they can talk about it for 20 minutes. When I go on a date, I say I like him and it went well and that’s about it. I look at it very practically. And very practically this is exactly what I want and I feel like I’m established enough to say realistically that this would work perfectly and I’m down. But I’m scared. I’m scared because so much could go wrong and I just want to know where he’s at and why he won’t hold my hand. But what it comes down to, is even though I hate that he plans everything so last minute, is that he plans it. And he is intentional. And even though he sucks at texting way more than me sometimes, which I didn’t even think was possible. And he asks thoughtful questions and he has a sense of humor and he’s steady. And he’s kind. And my extreme anxiety before every date is waning and my fear that I’ll mess it up (though this past brunch incident did nothing to help anything) is waning too. And so I’m telling my parents tomorrow and they’re going to plan our wedding on the spot, but I think I’m okay with it. Because every date that I’ve gotten to and said I’m not going to tell them because I just need to know how this one goes has gone well, and I think they’re going to keep going well. And as much as I hate myself for laying in bed at night and picturing the rest of our lives together flashing before my eyes, this is really the closest I’ve been to the rest of my life actually happening. And it really comes down to me containing my deep rooted hope that I’ll never create another dating profile, never go on another first date, but also skepticism that anything will ever work out. I just need to be me, because so far that’s been enough. And so far that’s worked. So pray for me that I can redeem my panic and meet his friends next weekend. That I can introduce him to my friends and family. And I’m probably not going for thanksgiving anymore, but if I get a list minute invitation you know I’m there. As long as he’s not just going to date me forever, wants kids, will never get divorced, and will hold my hand.
In nearly 8,000 words, that’s my dating history and where I am today. In a week the end portion of this will look very different, and I am very excited for that. Unless he wants to date me forever, not have kids, and never hold my hand.