it’s july, and all i can think about is february. well, more specifically valentine’s day.
the holiday season of love is my favorite, and how could it not be? i think there’s a misconception behind valentine’s day. i don’t know who started the notion that the day can only exist for those in relationships. no, valentine’s day is about love. love for yourself, love for your mom, love for your best friend, the love of love.
valentine’s day is for the burst of your heart when noah and allie kiss in the rain. it’s a day about everything good in the world. maybe i’m an optimist, or a romantic, but i don’t care. i’m currently working towards a bachelors in psychology; science says that we live longer when we love. and boy will i be ancient when my day of death arrives.
but here’s the truth: i’ve never actually been in love. not really. i have never met someone and loved them long enough for it to be real love. i seem to have the three month curse. (upon reflection i’m not sure it’s a curse rather than knowing when to walk away).
see, i have what you call anxious attachment, a testimony to what could be blamed on my hopeless romantic heart. let it be known i do have standards, ones that have been influenced by books and books of boys written by women (thank you emily henry). as a result of this though i faced the lessons of all lessons: boys can say all the right things, but they’re empty promises until proven otherwise.
id like to set a scene for you.
i had just finished my freshman year of college: i was in Paris with my best friend on a train to London, and we discovered rosé (of which i cannot drink anymore, but i’d rather not tell that story).
in the midst of our giggles i had a genius idea, i would text my fifth grade boyfriend with the snappy hook “hello childhood lover”. it seemed like a wonderful idea. instead of sending the text then, i waited on the idea until i was 1. sober 2. had wifi. what could go wrong? (this would be the last thing i ever do “for the plot”)
that night felt like i was living a nora ephron movie. he responded with such silly quips i rarely heard from a 20 year old boy, let alone one from my small hick hometown.
he said all the right things, he told me he wouldn’t treat me like the boys who had broken my heart. he held me gingerly, promising me flowers, remarks that blushed my cheeks, rehashing our fifth grade hearts, and planning our first date.
our first kiss will always stay stored close to my heart. i had just dazzled him with the pitch perfect trouble tones finale number. we were lying on his bed, laughing together, when he started to smile at me, and one heartbeat later, his lips were on mine.
we smiled so much our teeth would clash our kisses. we lay together, sharing a form of intimacy i had never felt before. as he tried to braid my hair, i realized this was all i ever wanted.
i was living one of my books. naturally, i wanted to marry him.
for context: the christmas before, i made the mistake of dating a “nice boy”. one who i promised my friends, “he looks cuter in person”. and he broke me. this summer romance was my first baby step to trying again.
so i took his words as they were and i believed him. why wouldn’t i? i had known him basically half my life. and up until this point, i had never experienced being treated the way i deserved.
but then the sweet boy i had fallen for ceased to exist. his good morning texts dwindled out as did his response time. he didn’t bring me flowers, instead he mentioned his ex girlfriend. and my heart sunk. i had done it again.
it only took three months for my summer romance to end in a meeting in a parking lot.
dating your elementary school boyfriend sounds like a romcom waiting to happen. until you remember you’re definitely not the same girl you were when you were 11.
i had escaped our small town, i was going to school across the country in a big city, dreams of getting my masters, and a 20 year plan set in stone. i was not one to make myself smaller for boys, and i would not be compromising my dreams. (even if he was 6’3, blue eyes, with beautiful blond hair).
i was not the same girl he once knew. yet a piece of me held reverence and removing him from my life completely. i couldn’t see past the boy who promised me flowers.
i spent hours unpacking the words he wrote, grasping for the golden boy he gave me a glimpse of. but eventually i did hit a wall, there was nothing left to hold onto and i was done looking for signs that he still cared.
in a turn of events, after i let go he was everywhere. no actually. coincidentally(?) he took a job at the entrance of my neighborhood to do lawn work.
up until this point i had succeeded at “no contact”.
until one special friday evening.
my parents wanted to go out to dinner; somewhere fancy to celebrate a small win (we like to celebrate the small stuff in my household). so i sat in the backseat, a delicate ribbon in my hair and my new lovely dress (thank you barbie summer). i held my breath as we pulled up to the exit of the neighborhood praying that he wouldn’t be working.
but there he was, frozen, and looking right at me, with the hose in his hand still spewing. in that moment i felt the world stop. i felt his longing stare. the moment was all i needed because when i looked at him i didn’t miss him, i missed me. i missed who i was before we rekindled.
my car drove away, as did i, leaving him in the dust of my past.
another heartbreak and a halloweekend mistake later, i spent the next eight months hiding from boys, which takes us to the present.
i love love. it’s my favorite part of being a human. but i’m terrified of handing my heart out again and again. because there are only two outcomes from a first date: heartbreak or marriage, right? or is there a secret third option? one where you walk away, heart intact, with the knowledge that this person wasn’t for you.
xx
isabel
your vulnerability shows how much heart you have izzy!! amazing lovely first post, can’t wait for more ❤️❤️