I was on the subway recently when a stranger came up to me and asked “is that ring on your finger real? How old are you?” This was not the first time someone has asked me about the diamond ring on my left ring finger. They also usually ask questions about how old I am. I always answer honestly. Yes, it’s real. I’m twenty-three. And, yes, I got married my senior year of college.
I met my husband, Tyler*, when I was in kindergarten. We grew up together, but we weren’t really close. When we were in the 6th grade he asked me to our school’s Winter Wonderland Dance. I said yes and we spent the evening (which I guess was technically our first date) drinking punch, talking with friends and dancing. During the song “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith he asked me to be his girlfriend in that horribly immature-but-you-think-is-mature way that is oh-so-very middle school.
We dated throughout middle school and high school. We never set out to date as long as we did — it just sort of happened. We never had a reason to break up, so why would we? We always took it one day at a time and were aware of how young we were. Other couples in middle school were saying “I love you” after a week of dating, but Tyler and I didn’t say “I love you” until we were 16. We felt, even at a young age, that we were too emotionally immature to say we had those feelings. We had lives and friends outside of each other, but, at the end of the day, he was my best friend. My dad died of a long battle with cancer when I was in 10th grade and I felt as if Tyler was the only person who I could find comfort in.
When we were 17, our futures began to be defined by college acceptance letters. I was accepted into New York University, my first choice school, while Tyler was accepted into Stanford, his first choice school. Despite our love and bond {we had said “I love you” by that point) — which was undeniably strong— neither of us could justify saying no to our first choice school, even for the person we felt to be the love of our life. We decided to stay together, but to go from spending almost every day together to living in different time zones was more difficult than either of us could have ever anticipated.
Once I moved to New York, I began to feel something I had never felt before in relation to Tyler. I felt… doubtful. And antsy. And nervous. I had never so much as held another guy’s hand and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever do that. Even more, I was beginning to want to do that. I knew that I eventually wanted to end up with Tyler and I knew that I loved him, but all of the sudden my life felt very small and planned out. I would have panic attacks in my dorm room, but avoided telling Tyler — or anyone — about my anxiety. I wish I had. I know you’re not supposed to live a life with regrets, but it’s difficult, if not impossible, for me to not regret telling Tyler how nervous the future was starting to make me.
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Instead of communicating, I wound up getting in a relationship with a guy in my program at NYU. When I tell this part of my story with Tyler (which I rarely do), I feel like I’m telling the story of someone I don’t even know. I can’t believe that I did these things. It makes me feel ashamed. What began as a drunken kiss one night turned into a full-on affair. I would make up lies to Tyler, telling him why I couldn’t talk on the phone (“I have to study,” “I have a headache,” “It’s my friend’s birthday and we’re all going out”), but I would really be spending the night with someone else. I always ended my lies to Tyler with “I love you.” I did feel guilty, but I felt out of control. It’s how I imagine an addict must feel.
After about five months of cheating on Tyler, we were both home for the summer and had three months to spend together. I spent all of June trying to tell him, but I never could. My guilt was beginning to affect me physically. I was having trouble sleeping and eating. I lost 15 pounds. When I did eat, I often couldn’t keep my food down. Obviously, Tyler knew that something was up, but I assured him I was just stressed and missed my dad. I finally told him what happened on the 4th of July after a barbecue at our mutual friend’s house.
You know how there are certain moments that are forever imprinted in your brain? Like snapshots or a scene from a movie? Telling Tyler I cheated on him for five months is one of those moments for me. It still, three years later, visits me in nightmares. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.
I told him in a meek voice and watched his opinion of me change. Suddenly I went from “the love of his life” to “the person that betrayed him.” The only person I could blame was myself. This man, who had never so much as raised his voice to me, began screaming at me for what felt like forever. Finally, he demanded that I leave his house and told me that he never wanted to see me again.
“Please,” I begged. “This is us. We can make it through this. Please.”
“No,” he said, in an icy voice that I had never heard before. “You killed us. There is no us anymore.”
I called him countless times that summer. I begged for him to see me. I didn’t care if he yelled at me and told me I was worthless. I just wanted some evidence that one day he would be willing to work through this. He didn’t answer any of my calls. In early August, he wound up changing his number. He blocked me on Facebook and changed his email. I tried to talk to his parents, but they told me to just leave him alone. I hated myself. I slipped into a deep depression, losing more weight and staying in bed all day. When I went back to New York in late August, I felt like I had no idea who I was, like I was just going through the motions of my life instead of actually living it.
By December, Tyler and I had not spoken for nearly six months. In a very impulsive decision, I bought a plane ticket to California. I had no idea where Tyler was living. The only place I knew that I might be able to find him was the restaurant where he worked, so I went there. I asked the hostess if Tyler was working and, I swear, I could hear my heart when she told me yes and that she would go get him.
When Tyler saw me, he looked completely shocked.
“Hey,” I said weakly.
He just turned around and began to walk away from me, but turned around almost immediately. “Let’s go outside and talk,” he said.
Outside, I couldn’t see the person I loved anywhere in his eyes. It felt like I was talking to a stranger.
“You had no right to come here,” he said. I tried to talk to him, but he interjected. “No. You don’t get to talk. I’m not ready to talk to you yet.”
“When will you be ready,” I asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe never. I’m sorry that you came all the way to California, but you cheated on me and now you have to live with the repercussions of that.” With that, he turned around and walked away from me.
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I did not speak to Tyler for five more months until I got a call from him one day. When his name flashed on my phone, my heart stopped. I was just coming to terms (as much as I possibly could) with the fact that I would never hear from him again.
“Hello,” I answered.
“Hi,” he responded. There was a long, heavy pause. “So I’m in New York. My flight got in an hour ago. Would you want to get dinner?” His words were normal, but his tone was not. At dinner, we spent the first ten minutes wearing painted smiles and asking polite questions until, finally, I told him that I couldn’t pretend everything was okay.
“Why are you here?,” I asked. “I’m so confused.”
He went on to explain to me that he wasn’t happy in California and, more specifically, that he wasn’t happy being away from me. He was transferring to Columbia. However, he also explained that he didn’t trust me and that he didn’t know how we could start again.
“I loved — I love — you so much,” he said. “And I understand why you did what you did. But I don’t understand you for lying to me. I don’t forgive you for talking to me on the phone, telling me you loved me, hanging up, and then having sex with someone else. I want to try again, but just know that it will be hard for me.”
And it was. It was hard for both of us. Rebuilding our relationship was no easy task. For the most part, we never talked about my cheating (we agreed that, if we were going to try again, there was no point in talking about it over and over and over again), but there would be nights where Tyler would wake up in the middle of the night and wake me up, demanding answers. “Why would you do that? How could you do that to us?,” he’d ask, especially during the first few months we were together. It killed me to see him like this and all I could do was reassure him of how much I loved him — how I never stopped loving him, but I just got scared.
A year later, in June, Tyler and I were walking the Highline in New York. “I’ve been thinking about something,” he said. “Wait. Hold on. I think better on one knee.” He proposed to me and I said yes. Originally, we planned to get married after college. However, I decided that I wanted us to get married on our 10-year anniversary, which was December of 2011.
Suddenly, we had less than six months to plan a wedding. Neither of our families objected to us getting married and I think a lot of that had to do with us dating for so long. I’ve been dating Tyler for over 50% of my life. We were not two strangers getting married. Our families, however, did make it clear that, if we were making this decision, they would be cutting us off financially. As my mom said, “I love you and support you, but I’m not going to pay for you to play house.” Tyler’s parents initially were more skeptical of us getting married so early, but after explaining that he’d still be going to medical school, they felt more at ease. I think they would have preferred us to wait (they kept saying “what’s the rush?”), but they ultimately accepted that it was not their decision to make.
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In total, there were 43 people at our wedding and it was held in Tyler’s childhood home. After all the drama we went through together, I didn’t want to stress out about the wedding. I was the total opposite of a Bridezilla. I picked out a dress at H&M and did my own hair and makeup. The only detail that was important to me was that a picture of my dad was hanging on my bouquet. Other than that, I was just happy to be marrying the love of my life.
Prior to getting married, Tyler and I had already lived together for a year. I didn’t think getting married would change that much, but it has. I got a major job opportunity in California, but since Tyler was already planning on going to medical school in New York, I had to turn that opportunity down. I’d be lying if I said a part of me wasn’t sad, but my commitment is ultimately to my husband and the family that I hope to one day create with him. We have no interest in having kids for a long time. As of right now, we are just interested in being husband and wife.
I understand why people roll their eyes or ask a lot of questions when they see a ring on my left finger. I kept my last name professionally (I’m an actress), but I use Tyler’s last name personally and legally. I can feel people judging when I say the word husband, but, at the end of the day, I’m the one living my life. Some of my friends and me have gotten less close since I’ve gotten married, but none of my best friends. Tyler and I still make an effort to spend time individually and in our separate lives. He knows all my close friends very well and I know his, but they aren’t his friends and his aren’t mine. We are friends with a few couples and it can be refreshing to spend time with them, but we also feel that it’s important — especially since we’re so young — to spend time as individuals.
At this point in time, I am not sure what’s next exactly. I know we’re waiting a while to have kids. Tyler starts medical school in the fall and I just graduated college and am on the job hunt. I know that, no matter what, I have my best friend’s support.