M. Aline

We all have this notion of love that we chase. Whether it’s that rom-com movie type love or that unrealistic fictional book type. Growing up, we observe the relationships around us. Our parents, other parents, friends that get married before you…you get the point. Our perspectives on love and how it should be forms the moment our brain is developed enough to process inwardly.

Mine in particular got tainted at such a young age that even now as a soon-to-be-22 year old adult, I get uncomfortable with the slightest bit of affection. Retraining myself to be more receptive to my loved ones has been a journey, and one that is far from being finished. I have gotten better in the sense that I am more willing and able to give people hugs without acting like I’ve never hugged someone before. However, my instinct still results in me going stiff when being hugged more often than not.

While my older sisters were attending the usual high school sports games and going to see the latest cinematic masterpieces, I was staying after school for math tutoring and doctoring softball injuries. I tried to learn how to skateboard—that never really worked out—and then thought I could ride my bike with no hands…as you can imagine, that didn’t go as well as I expected it to. But I was that kid who stayed in at recess because I wanted to read in a quiet corner or knit my dog a beanie (which he actually wore without complaint). The point is, my sisters had their lives and I had mine. As most siblings do.

You’re probably scratching your head as you ask yourself, “Where is she going with this?” and “what does this have to do with dating?” I’m getting there! My point in explaining all of this is so you have a bit of a better understanding as to how my attachment style was formed. After many years, I’ve come to realize that I’m actually afraid of commitment and that is very likely the reason I am still not with the man God has ordained to one day be my husband.

And when I say “afraid of commitment,” I don’t mean in your typical “afraid of being tied down to one man forever” way, but rather “afraid of opening up, being vulnerable, and knowing that man is choosing to stay instead of leave” and “afraid of a man committing only to later realize I wasn’t the woman he truly wanted to commit to.” The details of my childhood trauma run much deeper than many understand. Though only a handful of people really know what that trauma looks like, those details are unfortunately parts of my life that I wish hadn’t stuck like glue and formed me into who I am. I’m not as carefree and confident as I would’ve been had certain things not happened. Instead, I’m a child of insecurity that needs to be wrapped in a blanket of often reassurance.

For a while, I could hardly talk about my first relationship. Mostly because I was ashamed of what I allowed, but mainly because it led me down a path of bad relationships—or situationships, I guess you could say. It wasn’t until the past four or five years that I truly feel like I’ve moved past it and learned to make better decisions. In saying that, let’s rewind to the tumultuous year that was 2016. It was May and our church was holding a picnic after church one Sunday. Long story short, that’s where I met Clayton. I should’ve been more cautious and taken into full account the fact that he was three years older than me because that would’ve made a big difference in a lot of ways. Nonetheless, I didn’t think too much on it and didn’t really care, as with many young girls. We got to talking and ended up exchanging numbers. He invited me to youth group and that was the beginning. We’d talk when we were at church and talk over the phone when we weren’t. He lived nearly an hour away and neither of us had a license yet so we didn’t see each other outside of church until we were official.

After we agreed to be exclusive is when things started going awry. We started dating in July, despite my parents’ unease (I wasn’t really allowed to date until I was 18, but I negotiated a deal with my parents that we’d always be chaperoned if they’d let us date. They were reluctant but ultimately agreed). A few months went by and he kept having to get a new phone. He expressed that he had anger issues that resulted in a lot of broken or lost-at-lake phones. I didn’t think anything of it until I started witnessing his temper in person.

His brothers could say the slightest thing, even if it was just a joke towards me, and he’d flare up. Standing, balling up his fists, red in the face…he was ready to fight. There were times I’d start moving away because I was afraid he’d “accidentally” hit me instead, and there were times I stayed put and thought that if he were to hit me I may have deserved it. I admit looking back now I was in a suicidal state of mind and I’m not proud of that. But also, I was only fourteen years old. I was in the prime of my teens and struggling with the most severe level of anxiety and depression I’ve ever experienced to this day. I wasn’t thinking clearly. My mind was still developing. And to help make matters worse, my Papa Hughey ended up passing away a few days before Christmas that year. My boyfriend, come to find out, was very narcissistic and spilled his problems onto me constantly. Hardly ever did he ask how I was doing or what I was going through. Keeping in mind, he’s supposed to be older!

Well, we got past the new year and closer to his senior prom. We’d already exchanged the first “I love you”’s, gone kayaking, seen a movie, and attended a concert together. I began to grow anxious the closer it got because I started to question whether he planned on asking me. It wasn’t until mid to late March that he had asked me, if I remember correctly, and prom was in April. Within that month, I saved every bit of babysitting money I could and bought my first nearly-$200-dress and shoes.

Prom rolled around quicker than expected and the morning of, I had a gut feeling something was going to happen. I ignored it and tried to go about the day as normal, but anything that could go wrong DID. We spent most of the day taking pictures around town and finished just in time for lunch. We hadn’t gone on an actual first date yet so my parents had agreed to let us have lunch unchaperoned considering we were going to prom. My first actual date. I was so excited when my parents dropped us off at Cheddars. But it was when we were sitting across from one another and he reached into his coat pocket that the rest of the evening grew sour. “I forgot my money at home. You don’t mind paying, do you?” He asked. I nearly choked on my breath as I waved it off and said, “That’s okay. I don’t mind. That’s why I saved up anyways.” He told me he’d pay me back later (which he never did) and then proceeded to order the most expensive appetizer on the menu. Our bill came out to a nauseating $50.

We get back to his house and he’s actually sick to his stomach for whatever reason (I wouldn’t find out until a week or two later what the full reason was). He took peptobismol, and then his nose started bleeding. He had chronic nosebleeds that happened quite frequent. It was one thing after another, it seemed. Blood ended up staining his white button-up so I helped him clean it up once his nose was no longer bleeding. Not too shortly after that, it was time to head to the school for the party. I wasn’t too enthusiastic anymore as I was anxious with worry over him and the previous events of the day. But the night was just starting. And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

Not even ten minutes after we walked in, the principal asked to speak with Clayton privately and all I had to see was his guilt-stricken face to know something happened that he wasn’t telling me as he told me he’d be back and walked off. His brother, Dan, and his girlfriend at-the-time, Mia, immediately came over with the same guilty look but said it was Clayton’s place to tell me. After twenty minutes of him being gone, I started to get super anxious. I got to the bathroom for a quick cry only to be crowded by girls I didn’t even know. “Awe, she’s crying” I heard from one girl, as if it were a joke, while another girl reached out to touch my arm and said, “I think we can help you” to which I quickly shook my head, murmured that I was fine, and walked out. As soon as Dan and Mia saw me, their expressions became ones of concern. I was going into a full blown panic attack. As I slid down the wall in my long, sparkly midnight blue dress, I placed my head in my hands and began sobbing.

Clayton comes back after a good twenty, thirty minutes in the principal’s office and apologizes as we walk down the hall to exit the building. His parents had to pick us up, and they were remorseful for whatever Clayton had done that had us kicked out before the night could even get started. While Clayton had told me it was a fight he got into that caused him to get expelled and how we weren’t technically supposed to show up because of that, I found out the real reason a few weeks to a month later. And it may have been longer considering I broke up with him in August. I’m not too good with timelines and the older I get, the more time gets away from me. But I do know that within that time, I had gone to his brother Dan’s graduation and then a family get together before we broke up. Keeping in mind that throughout this relationship, though he never physically abused me, he did attempt to force me into situations that I wasn’t okay with and thankfully put a stop to. If I had told my parents, they probably would’ve broke us up themselves.

Nonetheless, I ended up finding out through his brother that the real reason we got kicked out wasn’t due to a fight, but because Clayton had sexually harassed a girl at school. That was where I drew the line. I don’t appreciate being lied to and disrespected. I also felt like I had been cheated on in a way. So I walked away and never looked back. Come to find out about a year later, he was hanging out with another girl behind my back. What, at that point, am I supposed to think?

For about two years, I continuously blamed myself for the relationship going sour. I thought maybe if I had done certain things differently, he wouldn’t have reacted in such a way. But truthfully, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Sooner or later, he would’ve showed his true colors. Looking back now seven years later, I realize that HE was the problem. And the sad thing is, I genuinely saw myself marrying the guy. We had plans that when I turned 18 and he was 21, we would elope and move to Florida so he could be a marine biologist. Thank God I saw the exit before it got blacked out in darkness. I truly believe that if I had stayed, it would’ve only been a matter of time before I became his punching bag. I could’ve been in a physically abusive marriage and Lord knows if I would’ve made it out alive.

However, even though I only went through the emotionally abusive side of things, that in itself has repercussions. There is an unspeakable level of trauma that comes from that type of relationship that isn’t easy to just get rid of. It has affected my attempt to date as I’ve gotten older and made it nearly impossible to believe that there will one day be a man who will treat me right without me even having to ask. A man who allows me to lean on him and bare my soul without judgment. Deep down, I feel as if he’s right around the corner. Just waiting for the next page to turn and the new chapter of life to start so he can step in and carry the suitcases I’ve overpacked. But on nights like tonight, I feel anxious and afraid that he may not even exist. That I’m being given false hope in thinking he’ll show up in the next few months when he may not show up for another seven to ten years. Unfortunately, dating as young as I did and not having much luck with finding guys who aren’t just looking for a hookup these days has led to seven years of absolute singleness.

In these seven years of singleness, there have been many guys who have crossed my path and one whom I fell in love with over the course of four years…so my seven years of singleness have been somewhat heartbreaking while also fulfilling. While there are many guys I wished I hadn’t met, they also showed me what I want and don’t want in a husband. I say all that to say, I’ve been single for seven years now (which funnily enough, seven is the Biblical number for completion) and as crazy as it may sound to some, it doesn’t sound crazy to me that I’m ready to be with my husband. I know, I’m only 21, but I’ve lived more of a life at 21 than I honestly wish I had. I’ve gone through enough to feel like I’m scratching my 30s and close to adopting a house full of cats (despite my deadly allergies to them). I felt like an adult at 15 years old, yet I was in the prime of my teens. And though I can sit here and wish I don’t feel the way I do and didn’t have to mature as quickly as I did, the harsh reality is that I can’t do anything about it. Maybe if I had gone through those circumstances a bit later in life, I’d be content in waiting ten years. But I feel a thread pulling me closer and closer to where he is. And I struggle to pull back. I pray that this isn’t some false feeling, but gut feelings aren’t typically false. As anxious and afraid as I sometimes get, wondering where my husband is and if I even know him or if I have yet to actually meet him, I truly do believe that this year is my year. I claimed it at the beginning and I don’t know what all it entails, but my word that God gave me for this year is COMMITMENT and I intend to see it through in whatever way that He intends for me to.

I’m not going to lie, I’ve been procrastinating writing this post since late October, early November. Don’t ask me why this post in particular has taken me four months, but God has a reason for everything. And a lot has happened in the past few months and just in the past year that makes me terribly dizzy. Some things were definitely better left unsaid and if I could take back some of the things I did, I would. But I can’t. That’s life. I’m trying to be more mindful of my future decision making and how it will affect my relationships with the people I love. I finish this post in saying that dating, if I’m being completely and totally honest, gets harder as you enter your 20s. When you’re a teenager, you chase this idealistic dream of love that typically results in a heartbreak that stings for years to come. Entering your 20s, you start to look for deeper connections and often find yourself trapped in months to years worth of meaningless relationships—or in my case, situationships because a lot of guys just enjoy tormenting you with flirtations—because neither of you want the same things. You can try dating younger, older, and the same age but you will continue to find that most men are the same until that one guy comes along and changes everything.

As I near 22 years old, is it so terribly troublesome to want to be pursued for once? I think not. But I have yet to meet a man who is willing to pursue me instead of me pursuing him. And maybe I’ve been too modern in the past in feeling like I have to push in order for something to happen. I shouldn’t have to push. I don’t know if I’ve met my husband yet, but I can only do so much pursuing before my husband must pursue me. And if I’ve met my husband, I’m almost certain he’ll know before I do. He’ll fall quicker and harder. But he will have to be the one to step up and pursue me because I’ve wasted too many years chasing boys who claimed to be men only to treat me like the butt of a cigarette. I also have to keep reminding myself that every wrong guy I cross paths with brings me ten steps closer to the right one.

If you’re in the same position as me, we can both agree that dating stings. Especially in your 20s. But somewhere out there, your someone is waiting. Your glass heart will transform into a diamond at some point. Stop chasing and trust God’s process. It’s in His timing that we are transformed. A new chapter of life is starting. Are you ready to enter it? Because I am.