We all grow up thinking that love cannot hurt us. We see instances of love in our own families: parental love as well as romantic love between parents. We see love in all the princess movies and in the older kid shows and we see love on the street when a couple holds hands. We grow up thinking that all love is the same and that it’s simple to fall in love— and to keep it.
In middle school we might form our first crushes and maybe even date around. It’s an awkward time, but some of us wanted to explore these feelings and some of us did not. But middle school was always the perfect in-between time to still feel like you’ve got love figured out while still questioning everything.
Than high school hits like a ton of bricks and you go alone to your freshman homecoming dance. Or, you take a date who cheats on you and leaves without letting you know. But maybe that was just me. Either way, high school is when many of us first realize that love is imperfect.
Although I knew it wasn’t all that and more, I still got myself into relationship after relationship and for that I’m not proud. But I won’t apologize for it either. For me, it was in college where I found myself: who I was best equipped to date and the kind of person I wanted to share my love with. I met a few guys freshman and sophomore year at community college and when they barely worked out, I took to online dating.
Online dating is a whole other universe. There I met…well, we’ll call him Caleb. There, on Tinder, I met Caleb. Now, Caleb seemed sweet, kind of like a bruised little puppy who needed fixing and I wanted to be the one to fix him. Turns out, you can’t fix anyone.
Caleb and I started dating and about six months in. The “perfect” boy who bought me everything I wanted, complimented my every move and always picked up the bill, however, suddenly turned frantic and scary. He started blaming his pain on me and telling me I was the cause, or that if he hurt himself, I’d be to blame. He made me feel trapped and unwelcome in my own life. I had no way out because if I brought up that I wanted out of the relationship, or suggested his needing help from someone other than just me, he’d threaten to hurt himself, me, or somebody else. He threw his personal suffering onto me. I tried to carry the weight of his pain the best I could, but I had to tell somebody else and get him help. Whenever I tried, he’d scream at me incessantly. I fell out of love and stayed anyway for an extra three-and-a-half months.
The monetary and gift giving got worse and worse and he’d buy me anything, probably thinking it would make me love him again or want to stick around. I think he also thought that gifts would mean I had to offer sexual acts. I have so much stuff left over from him that still hurts to look at, or that I’ve given away to simply get them out of my life.
The point is, love is not a slammed door. It’s not guilt-presents or empty-threats or cursing you out. It’s not having to change your garage door code after you finally break it off because you’re afraid, and it’s not sleeping on your parents’ floor for weeks after because you’re scared of what they could do to you alone in your room. Love is not fear.
I’ve since met somebody new and he’s incredible. I’m in love like I’ve never been before. I feel safe, wanted, and whole. At the end of the day, never settle. Never let anybody tell you that love is anything less than what you saw all around you as a child.