I’ve had three formative romantic relationships in my life. One I won’t talk about here or now because it has very little relation to the other two. But the other two… well, you’ll see…
The first of the two was in college. He was a great boyfriend, a Southern gentleman to the max. We were in that sweet spot of the early 2000s of dating, where a boy called instead of texted and where dates were called dates. He went to a school 45 minutes away in the days before cell phones, so he would have to buy long-distance cards to call me. He would set a date, then come pick me up at my dorm. We had a wonderful relationship, although we were night and day different people. He was soft-spoken and laid back. I was wound up and danced around him with full-bellied laughter. He was raised in the South by a man who was friends with George Bush (the first one). I was raised by two parents from Columbus, artsy people who met through their drama teacher. He loved country music, I couldn’t stand it other than the ridiculously ironic Gourds “Gin and Juice”. He was in “the” Southern fraternity, I had opted for a service sorority. Still, I adored him, and he adored me.
One night, as I was already dressed for a date, he called to let me know he wouldn’t be picking me up. He was done. Nothing to talk about, he didn’t want to see me ever again.
Fast forward several years later and I was now in a very different situation. I had met a guy on the internet back when that was something to be embarrassed about. We were still young and we were dating just for the fun of it. I liked him and enjoyed spending time with him, but I knew he wasn’t forever. We had casual dates where I would pick up food for us and he would play video games as I watched TV. We were fine with that. I didn’t expect anything more. But over Christmas he went home with plans to come back in time for us to spend New Year’s Eve together.
He called the morning of New Year’s Eve: “I’m staying here. I’m not coming back.”
The first was someone who was important to me because he has always been the standard by which I measure a healthy relationship. He wasn’t my forever, we had a conversation a few years later that would give me some closure. He had broken up with me because a trusted friend told him I cheated on him. It wasn’t true, of course. But the doubt was enough for him. We both agreed, our differences would have broken us up eventually. But we also agreed we would have been together for much longer. We were happy and we were young. But that phone call is one that is still imprinted on my heart. The reminder that at any moment, the bottom can fall out.
The second, well, it’s a story I tell often now. I took that breakup hard. Harder than the first. I didn’t eat for weeks and cried myself to sleep. Over what? A guy I had casually been seeing for a few weeks? But eventually this relationship is what led me back to Christ. You see, his phone call came because he had run into his ex-girlfriend. She was a solid Christian and he was not (at least not then). So when he got back, he let me know that she was not going to take him back. We became best friends. But in that time we also came to Christ. Him to impress her and me to impress him. (You know that part in My Best Friend’s Wedding where he asks her who is chasing her? Yeah, that’s this moment.) I will forever be grateful to him, and even to her, for being the catalyst by which I came back. But the question that still remained was the obvious: Why be so crushed over a man who you barely knew, barely liked, and didn’t see a future with anyway?
I can tell both of these stories without emotion. They’ve become a part of me and a part of my healing. But that’s why it took so long to figure out how these stories are related and what it means for me now.
Several years ago, in a counselor’s office, I asked if I was bipolar. She asked why I would think so. “Well,” I said, “My highs are very high and my lows are very low.”
“No, Amy.” she said. “Your highs are you. Your lows are because you’re carrying trauma and every time that trauma is hit again, you collapse into it.
In 2018 two major things happened that finally pieced things together for me. I had a coach who, for reasons out of his control, could not come to a meet. This started an avalanche of issues for us, not the least of which was that any time he wasn’t at the gym, wasn’t there for me as a friend, or even sent program late, it hit me hard. After several sit downs to talk about this, to talk about why it bothered me so much, we decided it was best for me to find a new coach. The damage had been done and the trust was gone.
Then, I became involved with someone in a long-distance relationship. Travel was a part of his job, and a part I understood well. After all, the first time we met in person was in a completely different time zone across the country. I loved his passion for his job, it was one of the things that attracted me to him. But very early into our relationship, he had to go out of the country. The rational brain part of me understood this as part of his job. The rational brain part of me understood that either way he was still not in the same city with me, and that his leaving the country made no difference in our relationship. The irrational part threw a temper tantrum.
Here is my trauma. In every relationship, particularly romantic but also otherwise, I have these thoughts: Please don’t leave me. Please don’t give up on me.
And I have had the same fantasy with almost every relationship that has ended: The guy shows up. He shows up on my driveway. He shows up at the airport. He calls out of nowhere. He is there for me.
But it doesn’t just affect my romantic relationships. If you want to mean the world to me, show up.
It took a long time to get to the point where I could put my finger on what was going on. But it’s been helpful. It’s helpful to be able to explain to people what it means to show up. It’s helpful to be able to explain to people why not to promise me you will. It’s helpful for me to process in those moments where I’m on the edge of irrational (or already there).
For me to get to this point took 4 men, 3 therapists, and a lot of prayer, and I still am not sure the originating trauma. So I don’t expect to be healed next week.
I wish I had some wisdom for you if you’re going through the same thing or something similar. I wish I could bubble wrap us all or demand that there never be a trauma again, but I can’t. What I can say is that there are therapists much more qualified than I to help. And there is a God much larger than I who will stay by your side while you figure it out.
Faith and Fitness 