L-O-V-E

I have never been in love. I’ve come to terms with that recently. I’ve been in two serious relationships. And I said I love you to both men. I thought I meant it. I wanted to. But I didn’t. I was only willing myself to. Neither was representative of how I define true love now, or even how I’d define lust. What those relationships were, at the time, was conformity. Being in them made me feel like I was on the appropriate path for a woman my age. But you can’t just decide to be in love. You have to feel it. 

Being in a committed relationship, one headed towards marriage, seemed to be what I was meant to be doing. So when the first opportunity came, I went for it. I didn’t think too hard about how I felt. I acted lovestruck, but didn’t really feel it. And I don’t think he did either. Not for who I was on the inside. People don’t ridicule and chastise the ones they love that much. At least not in a healthy relationship. But I mistook possessive infatuation for passionate affection. I should have known. But I didn’t. 

I first realized things were getting serious with him when he became offended that I was still going on dates with other guys. We hadn’t clearly defined our monogamy at that point, but he thought it was obvious. Soon, I began whittling down the rest of my life and independence to suit his many needs, and insecurities. In the process of gaining my first boyfriend, I lost myself.

After I met his mother, a big deal for him, I knew to expect the big three words soon. Indeed, they came during our first visit to his mother’s place, about four months into our relationship. We went for a walk, which always sparked our best conversations, then settled down at a beach that he’d visited frequently as a child. The night before we had gotten in a fight so big that I slept on the couch. I believed we were going to break up. Yet, sitting on a bench the next day staring out at the waves, he said it. “I love you.” There was a high that came for both of us in making up after our huge, frequent fights. But this was perhaps our biggest fight thus far, and our biggest makeup. I certainly wasn’t going to ruin it. Without hesitation, I said it back. It was cinematic, it was perfect. It was hollow.  

He smiled and kissed me afterwards. We walked giddily back to his mother’s house, hand in hand. All was right in the world. I felt safe and wanted. I didn’t know I was also supposed to feel something deeper, something more than I was. All I knew is that I wanted to be desired. As a serious partner, not just a fun chase. 

I’ve always been the kind of girl that said “I don’t need a man.” So much so, that a lot of people assumed I was a lesbian. In truth, I was influenced by movies, by books, by what society told me love was. I wanted romantic love. With a masculine man. The kind portrayed in all the movies I saw. Confident and strong, with a soft side that I would uncover little by little. The two men I eventually dated were both chivalrous. Traditional. I had a type. Not based on knowledge of self, but one based on media.

When I was younger, I thought I would meet “the one” in college, like both of my sisters had. But that didn’t happen. Not when I went to a school that was 60/40 girls to guys. A school that had a reputation for transforming nice guys into arrogant pricks because they had so many beautiful women interested in them. (See Skidmore Complex on Urban Dictionary for more information.) 

My pride was too strong to vie for these players. Instead, I vowed to take these guys down a notch. Not give them what they wanted, or expected. I wanted to reject them. After they yearned for me. 

Needless to say, these were not the stepping stones for securing a husband. But I went to graduate school directly after undergrad, in Portland, Oregon, and decided it was due time to get into an actual relationship. Only problem, hipsters weren’t, and still aren’t, my type. And they dominated the small city where I lived. 

Then one fateful day, I went to a classmate’s birthday party, where I met a friend of his visiting from Seattle. I thought he had Maximus vibes from the movie Gladiator. He looked strong and handsome. A little rough around the edges. He was kind to me, made efforts to talk to me. He called me beautiful and admired my work in addiction counseling. 

I didn’t think anything would come of it, because we lived in different states. He didn’t think anything would come of it because he assumed I viewed him through drunk goggles (I was sober). But we exchanged numbers, and before long, our visits became bi-monthly. We were both each other's types, on the outside.

He held doors open for me, planned romantic dates, and always valued my femininity. It felt nice having someone to dress up for, who really appreciated it. He liked providing many opportunities to do so. He liked to show me off. 

He was initially off put when I told him I’d never been in a relationship before. It stressed him out to think he’d have to “teach me all the rules,” like how we needed to act around friends of the opposite sex, etc. etc.. 

I was put off too. I didn’t realize there were conventional expectations that applied to all relationships. I thought every couple formed their own rules (or lack thereof if it were just up to me). Healthy boundaries, sure. Strict  rules? Might as well attach a leash to my neck and call it love.

I guess that should have been my first red flag. But I was a newbie, a guppy, at 23. A late bloomer. When a dominant, older man told me “this is how things are done,” my inclination was to listen, not to argue. I tried to abide as best I could. To please him because I thought that was the mature thing to do. That was adulthood. The more I pushed back, the more he’d point out why I required these rules. Because they didn’t come naturally to me. According to him, our relationship wouldn’t survive without them.     

If you know me, you know I’m not an avid rule follower. I like to push boundaries, think outside the box. Even if I try with full concentration to follow rules to a T, I’m probably going to do something wrong. My first boyfriend confirmed this. He constantly told me I wasn’t normal, that maybe my brain wasn’t wired right. He didn’t care about “good intentions.” He wanted results, instantly. 

He wanted me to know and anticipate his needs and think about situations the way “any other right minded person would.” Like notifying him of my whereabouts, especially if it would involve other guys. Like not partaking in activities that would devalue his claim over me. He wanted me to be on time. He wanted me to be tough towards other men but passive towards him. But not too passive, that he’d be bored (he never had to worry about that). He wanted to change me to fit his needs. He wanted me to be pretty and feminine but not pretentious. Someone he could take to a dive bar or a fancy restaurant. His ideal woman. A walking contradiction.

In turn, he always dialed back his lifestyle for me. Always mentioned how he drew serious boundaries with other women, even friends, for my sake.  He would instantly let me know if someone flirted with him, and how he put a stop to it. He prioritized time with me, over other opportunities. Because we were in a committed relationship and that’s what good partners do. 

But here’s the thing. I didn’t feel the anger that he wanted me to feel if  he told me that some girl was “all over him.” I didn’t feel jealous if an ex or female friend wanted to spend time with him. I didn’t feel it because I trusted him. The way I wanted him to trust me. So I could be myself, and  interact with other guys without feeling like I had a straight jacket on.  But these were part of the “rules” I unknowingly agreed to when I committed to being in a relationship with him. 

Boundaries were even placed on how and when I saw my female friends. He thought they pressured me into things I didn’t want to do. They thought the same of him. He blew up when he found out I attended a naked bike riding party, even though I was fully clothed. It was quite the scene, me in clothes, surrounded by people wearing only spray paint and hats. 

My body was only for my boyfriend to see. He made this very clear by squeezing my ass in public if a guy was ever looking my way. I was his property.  

You may be wondering why a free spirited girl such as myself got into a relationship with such a controlling, old-fashioned man. What can I say, I was young, naive and optimistic. I wanted to fit in, to have a boyfriend, finally, because everyone else had  one. I was behind.  

And, it wasn’t all bad. I wouldn’t have stayed with him for three years if he hadn’t showered me with love and made me feel taken care of, just like the men I’d always dreamed of being with.  I appreciated the way he planned dates, and wrote me love letters. He loved surprising me and I loved being surprised.

It was hard for me to end the relationship. I wanted to keep the caring affection, but remove the toxicity. Eventually I realized that they went hand in hand. As unthinkable as I thought it was, the same process followed in my next relationship. Wearing a different disguise, I didn't see it coming. In the end, my next serious partner made my first boyfriend look like an angel.   

But, I never had to worry that either of my ex’s would skip out on having something nice planned for an anniversary, or romantic event. Which brings me to Valentine’s Day.  

Yes, Valentine’s Day is known for being a little superficial, but to me it was one of the perks of being in a relationship. For the first time in my life I finally didn’t have to be single on the commercially designated “day of love.”  

As a preteen and teenager I was secretly excited for the experience of being in a relationship on Valentine’s Day. I hoped to end up with somebody that would want to celebrate it. 

I finally got exactly what I thought I wanted, with two different boyfriends. Love BOMBING.  Reservations at high end restaurants, flower bouquets dropped off at work, old world red wine. All the things girls dream of, right?

The thing was, this actually wasn’t what I wanted. I just didn’t know myself well enough then. None of those experiences showed me that the men I was with really knew me, or cared to. It felt like I had been plugged into an algorithm they applied to all their relationships.  

I just wanted to be seen, for me. 

One Christmas, a couple years ago, I was gifted very expensive, dainty earrings from my boyfriend. He told me he had spent hours searching for them. They were beautiful, but not really me. I found myself jealous of this witchy red amulet a roommate of mine had received. I’m sure the amulet was significantly cheaper than those multi-karat gold earrings, but being gifted something like it would’ve demonstrated that my partner really knows me. I am abnormal, as my ex’s loved to tell me. So why did they treat me the same as they would any other woman? 

That’s how I know neither of my past two relationships were real love.

In order for them to have truly loved more than just my body, I had to stay in the lines, be someone I wasn’t. I had to shut up and appreciate the gestures that “all women are supposed to want.” They didn’t care what I really thought. They wanted appeasement. They wanted surface. They were satisfied enough with me pretending. And that may be the saddest thing of all. For them and for me. I still have trouble understanding it. 

I was a trophy girlfriend that they “couldn’t take anywhere.” AKA, I had become a bad trophy. Too opinionated, too crazy, too defiant. My insecurities allowed my ex’s to subdue me at times, but they would always cross a line. And then I would erupt. Like a volcano. Whether we were in a public, refined place, or not. 

Maybe I don’t need fancy reservations, and a guy that always holds the door open for me. Maybe I want to hold the door sometimes. Maybe I want to go somewhere off the beaten path. Maybe I want to be valued for the very things that make me different from everyone else.  

Ironically all the Valentines Days that I have been in a relationship have been the most disappointing. 

When I think of romance now, or what I’d like it to look like…it is thoughtfulness.

I think Valentine’s Day is the perfect excuse to change the script  for what romance is. It could look like a bouquet of red roses and a reservation at a French restaurant. But it doesn’t have to.

And for those single this Valentines day, like I am, who’s to say the day of love is only for the couples? I have so much love for my family and friends. These people have stuck around way longer than any boyfriend of mine ever has. 

Every year my parents send me tasty treats on Valentine’s day that I love (they know me well). And usually I do something fun with my girlz. Galentines! Even if I can’t get together with family or friends, I can always buy my own dark chocolates (what I really wanted when my ex’s bought me flowers).  

Winter is long and cold, so I will take any holiday to distract me and make the days pass a little quicker.

And Valentine’s Day, to me, is supposed to be about nothing other than love. Not only romantic. How we choose to go about it remains in our hands. 

If you’re single, I hope you feel inspired to celebrate other kinds of love. Love is everywhere, if we choose to look for it.  

<3 Melinda

 “I know what you’re looking for, but I’m 

 complete” ~Ariana Grande

“Don’t waste the time I don’t have.” ~Billie Eilish

"You don't own me" ~Lesley Gore