What my First taught me about my Last

He had smooth hands and a big toothy, open mouth laugh. We dated for close to 5 years — each year was filled with its fair share of mistakes and milestones. He was the valedictorian, and I was the recovering gothic girl in a tiny conservative Christian school. He went to Harvard — or as he liked to refer to it as “a school in Boston” — I went to UC San Diego — or as I liked to call it, “UC San Diego, it’s the third best UC, just after UCLA and Berkeley. It’s a pretty good university. It’s like number 1 in Biochem or something.”

On our first date in middle school, we watched Napolean Dynamite in the theatre on a summer afternoon. Tickets were matinee. I met him there. My brother came with us. My mom picked us up.

In middle school, he wouldn’t ask questions when I would come over with fresh cuts under my wrists. He would call me back each time I hung up on him. In high school, he used to say how pretty I looked without makeup, even though I had at least an inch of eyeliner under my eyes. I would give him a coy smile. After our first kiss, my family took us to get Mexican food. My face was hot. He took me back after I broke up with him to date another guy in the summer. I stayed with him as he enrolled in every AP class offered, every existing water sport and every club on campus.

After we got our acceptance letters, we used to go to a nearby playground and stand on a painted map of the U.S. “We’ll only be 10 steps away,” he would say as he walked from the east coast to the west where I was standing.

I ended things with him over Skype two years later because 10 steps were further than we thought and four years were three years too long. I was empty and needed someone on the same coast. This would be the second time we break up, and it would be the last.

We were each other’s first kiss, first love, and first heartbreak.

The memories I hold with him harbor scars and laugh lines I’ll bear for a lifetime. Each mark tells a story of a lesson learned. Here are a few:

He will influence you, for better or for worse

As I briefly stated above, he was a brilliant achiever; he thought deeply and was passionate about many things. I would often zone out during his tangents, so I can’t really remember much of the content of his excited banter. But generally, this was a case where peer pressure worked in a way that was beneficial. I wasn’t ambitious at all growing up. I had no expectation as to what I wanted to do with my life. Being in a relationship with him opened my eyes to the world of academia and success. Because of him, I started joining memberships in school clubs, taking AP classes and college courses at the nearby community college. I went from an average student freshman year to having a 4.3 GPA senior year. It’s a miracle that I turned my grades around and even got into that “third best UC,” a miracle that I credit to him.

He used to have a Rubik’s cube on his desk. When he wasn’t looking, I would peel off the colors and rearrange them to pretend like I was able to solve the puzzle. After a while, the colors lost their stickiness, and the cube looked like it was shedding its winter coat. I’m not sorry for what I did.

If you need someone, you probably shouldn’t be with them

I wasn’t myself when I was in this relationship, meaning, I siphoned my identity and self-worth from him. I was his moon. This happened naturally as I was insecure and battling my own demons. He was kind and loving, but we were young and I used him as a veneer to mask my debilitating self-worth.

Because he was my boyfriend, because he thought I was beautiful, because he was a ‘good Christian,’ because he loved me, I was worth something. I needed him in order to feel loved.

This is dangerous in relationships because, a) it’s exhausting and unfair for the other person and b) it’s unhealthy and selfish of the individual.

I needed him like I needed air. But you can’t just breathe in and breathe out a person. A person is a living, beating, feeling individual.

Insecure teenage girls are unintentionally evil, and one should avoid them at all costs or suffer the consequences

I was an insecure girl who used the resources — and people — around her to appear confident, beautiful and strong. I caked my face with makeup, starved my body to stay thin and spent too much money on clothes. Because my worth was wrapped in what he, or others, thought of me, I felt this incessant need to be meticulous with my appearance.

When your worth stems from the words/actions of another person, this also presents the temptation to pull worth from other men. If he didn’t tell me I was pretty one day, I found it from other guys. I cheated, not because I didn’t love him, but because I was like an addict trying to find a fix from whoever I could find it from. At a certain point, it’s just never enough.

You know that game you play at camp or church retreats with the pipe with holes in it. The point of the game is to fill the pipe with water, plug the holes with your fingers and fill the bucket underneath. The team with the most water in their respective bucket wins. Without everyone on the team using their fingers to plug the holes, all the water spills out.

Anyways, if I didn’t do a good job of describing that, I was that pipe with holes.

It’s true when they say you can’t love others when you don’t love yourself… because you don’t know how to. You’re just a hole-y pipe leaking water; taking everything, but retaining and giving nothing.

Your self worth isn’t measured by your “purity” or your body

For reasons I won’t state here, my body was intimately braided in with my transient measure of self-worth. This in itself presented an awkward, chemically fueled contradiction: if he didn’t touch me, I wasn’t good enough, but if he did, I was just a piece used for pleasure.

Ultimately because I saw physical touch as something that further ‘tarnished’ the morsel of was left of my purity, I saw myself as just that. A body meant for someone else’s enjoyment. Anyone’s pleasure. I was just a shell, and this was further confirmed by the way men treated my body.

A second after our breakup, I jumped into a 9-month relationship with someone I had just met. He was the type of guy you never see yourself dating, someone who was the reflection of everything that hurts in your chest. A guy who made me feel pretty and inadequate in the same breath. “I got you on sale,” he said one day, referring to the fact that he swooped in during my breakup. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat and threw the rest of my lunch away. I would later wake up at 4 a.m., walk across the still-sleeping campus in the dress I wore the night before, with my colored contacts painfully suctioned onto my tired, mascara glued eyes.

Eight months later, I would drag a knife across my arm in the tub and watch the blood stain the water around my knees because his search history confirmed to me that this body wasn’t enough. And if this body isn’t enough, I am not enough.

These lies scream loudly in my head and around my ears. I want it to end. I want to stop disappointing the people I love. I am worthless.

Whether or not someone thinks you’re pretty or handsome or worth talking to doesn’t affect your inherent value as a person. Whether or not you ‘put out,’ is not basis for affection. You’re valuable, because you’re valuable, because you’re valuable.

Your body is not a currency for love.

These lies would take many years of redemption and inner-healing to disassemble, the idea that my worth could somehow be connected with the way I looked or how much of myself I could give away.

What if she/he breaks up with you because you don’t want to have sex? Let them.

Don’t be with someone who completes you, do life with someone who inspires you

If you’ve been following along, you’ll see how I’m getting at this point that you can’t find someone who completes you. They will not fill you, nor will anything else for that matter. Not beauty, not power/success, not relationships.

In high school, he was my everything. All my friends knew that all my weeknights and weekends were dedicated to him — but he was also in a LOT of extracurricular activities. I would often get sad or begin to resent him because he was busy doing the things that he loved. Why couldn’t he spend every waking minute he wasn’t in school with me? Why couldn’t he blow off that important mock debate for Valentine’s Day? What is obviously was more important?

Right?

God saved me the summer going into my junior year of college. Only then was I filled, and God began the process of healing and wholeness in my spirit and body. And as God continues to redeem me, it’s only through His love that I can begin to love myself and others.

Because Daniel and I aren’t soul vortexes sucking the life from each other, we actually get to run this race together and spur one another on. We get to love one another out of the overflow, not out of measurements or repayment. From this, we can strengthen each other and inspire the other to be the best we can be. Yes, I can come home and find refuge in his arms, but Daniel is not the sole provider of my strength and peace… does this make sense? There will be countless times where the other person will come home sad or angry or just in a bad mood, but there’s a difference when the person is rooted in a love greater than themselves. They are able to inspire joy and rest, because they are connected to the Father.

I think this also applies to practical life lessons. We moved across country, because I believe Daniel will be a phenomenal doctor. But some days he comes home defeated or incredibly tired because a difficult exam or he’s studied for 72 hours straight. I can either choose to expect him to spend his free time with me doing things because I want to spend time with him, or I can understand that he might be exhausted and want to unwind. One choice is based on my expectation for him to entertain me, while the other is my attempt to love selflessly. I can only do the other when I am healthy and know that I am loved regardless.

This also gives me the freedom to dream and plan. What are my gifts? What do I want to present to God at the end of my life? How can I support my husband, while achieving the things I desire? These are heavy questions that I’m still trying to decipher, but now I am inspired to go after them. Daniel brings out the best in me, not only because of who he is… but also because I simply get to be who I was always created to be.

Is your (unmarried) S.O. holding you back? Do you exhaust each other? You might be trying to complete the other.

I don’t know if you’ll ever forget your first love, but maybe that’s a good thing

I don’t think I’ll ever stop caring for him, and maybe that’s a good thing? This doesn’t mean I should dwell on the past and constantly be nostalgic. This also doesn’t mean I should play the “What if’s” or “What could have been’s” game. But I do care about him, similar to the way I care about my friends I grew up with. It’s like a version of homesickness, or a fond remembrance of childhood/adolescence. Rose-colored teen angst. We all share hilarious memories of screw-ups and firsts, heartbreak and failure, growing up and moving away. We’re creatures who were made for relationships, and I think you’re allowed to embrace your past and those in it. When I feel something that reminds me of who I was back then or see something that reminds me of him, I often pray for him.

Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy, because you deserve it. I hope you found someone who loves you well and inspires you to be the man I always knew you would be.

It’s the past, and instead of running away from it, I am trying to learn from it. Why did it end? What can I gain from it? Do I still cringe when I revisit some things? Absolutely. Do I regret any of it? Not at all.

The reality is now, and right now, I’m in a healthy, loving marriage with Daniel. The fact that I can love him and accept his love, is amazing. And much of the success I have with him now, is due to the self-inflicted bruises and scrapes I incurred from my past.

Learn how to forgive yourself

Most normal people have memories that make you want to dig a hole a stick your face in it. You stick two imperfect people together and stupid things are bound to ensue. Maybe you broke someone’s heart or maybe you’ve gotten your heart broken. Maybe you sent too many drunk texts or called at inappropriate times. Maybe you thought it would be a good idea to be friends too soon. Maybe you poured your heart into a letter and sent it years after. I don’t know. Whatever stupid thing you’ve done or are doing, you’re fine. Don’t let regret blind you from the healing process. You’re human and you’re learning to mend a painful break. It’s going to take years, so don’t kick yourself while you’re down.

Grab some wine, take a hike, soak in a bath, buy some expensive candles, make new friends, take some classes, travel, date yourself. One day, the cut won’t hurt as bad or the scar won’t be so dark. You’ll look up and see how much you’ve grown and how easy it is to smile again. The air will be sweet and then, you learn to love again.