Women, find yourself before you decide to go find a man.
I didn’t do it this way and a lot of us didn’t…doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.
But a confident woman who knows who she is actually knows what she is looking for in a partner. She isn’t looking to validate herself with a good looking lover. She knows what her deal breakers are and so she easily rules out any companions who do not fit.
She knows she is valuable and unique. She understands herself well enough to have an idea when someone isn’t compatible with her.
Lastly, she loves herself already so when she does find a partner and God confirms, she is able to love out of an overflow of a healed heart. She isn’t trying to soothe the wounds of the past with sex and lust… And who knows…maybe once she is whole she realizes the gift of singleness is grand.
Whenever I see good dating advice, I feel regret.
Regret because I didn’t follow the good advice. Regret because I made huge mistakes. Regret because I ignored things that should have been addressed. Regret because I never gave myself the option of breaking up or waiting for something different. Regret because I feared to be unloved. Regret because I feel like I got married too soon, too young, too naive — and I didn’t realize any of this until after I got married.
It’s funny to say that out loud: I regret getting married when I did, I regret dating the way I did, I regret the choices that I made and where I ended up. All of those things are true, but once the eternal covenant is made, there’s no Plan B, no what if, no way to turn back time and try again.
But I need to say the regret out loud. I need to name mistakes as mistakes, bad decisions as bad decisions, if not for my own benefit then for the benefit of others.
I didn’t do the dating thing right.
I was verbally abusive and manipulative.
People were right to tell him to break up with me.
I was far too insecure to know what I wanted out of life or marriage.
Marrying during a catastrophic existential crisis was a terrible idea.
And it hurts — it kills — to say “I shouldn’t have” and “I wish I’d done,” especially when other couples are happy, and not in therapy, and still madly in love with each other, and telling everybody that marriage is the best thing that ever happened to them.
Saying those things, it feels like a betrayal of the one you love most, but it’s not. I love my husband. I’m in love with my husband.
Love doesn’t make it any easier.
It makes it more confusing, because you don’t regret marrying him, but you do, in a way, but not because you regret him, even if you sometimes do. You recognize that it’s not his fault, not even when you yell at him that it is. You recognize that it’s not the marriage’s fault, either, even though it’s so dang difficult every day. (“If you’re in a relationship, sometimes you probably feel like you’re fighting a caged death-match with an invisible spider monkey. And the monkey is rabid. And you don’t have any legs. And then a buffalo jumps in there and starts head-butting everything and your face catches on fire and there is a general atmosphere of chaos.”)
It’s a you problem, and always has been, even if the marriage exacerbates the problem and salts the wound you’re trying to heal.
Marrying before you’re ready, before you’re healed, it’s like trying to bench press 250 on a broken arm, all while trying to smile for the camera the whole time. Maybe marriage would be easier, maybe life would be easier, if I knew who I was and what I’d believed, and had the courage to be that way instead of melting down into existential angst.
I keep telling myself, I thought marriage was for broken people?
Maybe I’m a different kind of broken.
It feels like there’s a textbook brokenness that marriage only strengthens — and I didn’t have that textbook brokenness. I didn’t have textbook anything — an ENFJ marrying an ISTP; a recovering fundamentalist marrying a cradle Catholic; a narrative, empathetic soul marrying a facts and figures brain.
Even now, writing this, I’m giddy over him and who he is and how different we are and how that makes me laugh and challenges me — but that doesn’t take away the regret, and it doesn’t take away the fear that because we weren’t a textbook case, we’re doomed.
I’m a rule follower. Life ends if the rules aren’t followed. I have no imagination beyond the rules. I have no idea what to anticipate, so I don’t know how to react. I have no skillset for improvising life or trailblazing my own path.
When your story doesn’t follow the rules, doesn’t make a neat equation (do x to get y), when it goes completely off the rails into uncharted, unadvised territory, it makes you want to stop dreaming, trying, and hoping.
This is how I think: I broke the dating rules, and now I face the consequences.
This was all weighing on my shoulders, unconsciously, when Amber Picota shared the block quote of advice. Everything, everything about her advice is spot on, everything I didn’t do and didn’t understand and should have.
But for the first time, I didn’t feel only regret. I felt hope.
This good advice wasn’t, for once, in the context of the woman who followed all the dating rules and ended up with the marriage of her dreams. It was in the context of, well, having broken the rules — regret, journey, mess, change, the sensibility that only comes from doing it wrong the first time.
“I didn’t do it this way,” she can admit. “A lot of us didn’t.” (Raising my hand.) “Doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.”
Oh, thank God.
And this is the hope, this is the challenge, this is what I grit my teeth to do every day: My marriage, my life will look different and messy and atypical and never the poster child for good Christian anything…but it doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.
Maybe it’ll even be interesting, for once.
“You mean,” said Lucy rather faintly, “that it would have turned out all right – somehow? But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?”
“To know what would have happened, child?” said Aslan. “No. Nobody is ever told that.”
“Oh dear,” said Lucy.
“But anyone can find out what will happen,” said Aslan.
I have lost the opportunity to know what would have happened had I waited, and healed, and collected my confidence and self-knowledge, but I can still find out what will happen now that I choose to heal, grow, and stabilize with a good, loving man.
That is still a choice I can make well, and not regret.
NB: I discovered this in my drafts folder. I wrote this a year ago, right at the end of the Seven Months of Marriage Hell where I felt on the brink of separation. I’m really happy to see that my conclusion proved true so far, and our marriage is doing fabulous!