How I Learned To Love – Part 1

I don’t remember the first time I heard the saying, “you can’t love someone else until you love yourself,” (as well as the corollary, “if you don’t love yourself, no else will”) but it was well before I met my husband Tim. I understood it, but hadn’t lived it very well.

Sure, I’d had a boyfriend or two in high school and college (but mostly crushes from afar). I was a late bloomer in that department: awkward, shy, scared even…certainly unsure of myself on many levels. My weight was an issue, as well. Actually, that’s not completely accurate: it was my insecurity about my weight and body that was an issue.

It says a lot that the first guy I really fell in love with (and lost my virginity to*) was gay and younger; I was a senior in college and he was a freshman. Obviously that relationship was not meant to last, and there was some drama and heartache towards the end, but I have some fabulous memories from that time.

Once I got out of college, I started going out to clubs and such and met a lot of guys, some of whom I dated once or twice. Then came Tony, for whom I fell hard. He had a great family and cool friends. We had a lot of fun together. We dated for about a year, and then he broke up with me the day before New Year’s Eve. I was crushed. I considered that my first “real” (adult?) relationship.

I met more guys…especially foreigners! (Remind me to tell you about Rami from Turkey). Most of them wanted one thing. As insecure as I was, I sometimes gave in.

Then I met a guy from Brazil. This was in 1988. After four months of dating, we eloped. He needed a green card, and deep down inside I knew that, but I had convinced myself that he loved me. It was an awful marriage, but I desperately clung to the idea that it wasn’t.

Even though he’d go back to Brazil without me…

Even though he wouldn’t allow me to meet his family or even speak to them on the phone.

Even though he wouldn’t spend time with my family…

Even though he’d go on vacations without me (because he could afford it and I could not)…

Even through he called me nasty names and accused me of bad things because I had once dated a black guy…

Even though he cruelly teased me…

Even though he cheated on me…

Even though I didn’t like who I’d become in this so-called marriage…

Yeah…I loved myself that much.

That so-called “marriage” lasted about four years. I came to my senses when he said he was going back to Brazil indefinitely. I had him served with papers and we were divorced in early 1992. He wasn’t even in the country.

Meanwhile, I met ANOTHER foreigner (this time from India), and he had a green card. I made sure of that. I remember the day he told me, “You have a lot of love to give,” and I was smitten. Of course, he didn’t tell me that he wanted the love I had to give, but he was seemingly so different than the guy to whom I’d been married. He was kind and polite. But then, the holidays came around and he went back to India for two months, even though at that point we’d been in a relationship for well over a year. I stuck with him.

Even though there were all kinds of red flags flying…

Even though I saw him out with other women when he’d told me he couldn’t see me because was away at school getting his Ph.D…

Even though when his mother visited, he stiffly introduced me as his “friend”…

Even though he told me his family would be arranging a marriage for him…

Even though another Christmas and New Year’s Eve came and went, he in India, me home alone…

Towards the end of 1994, the guy from India and I were on again/off again (mostly off) and I knew it was going nowhere. I’d had enough and decided that I was going to have a fun, romantic New Year’s Eve if it was the last thing I did!

To be continued…

*Those who have read my book know that I technically lost my virginity much earlier but I don’t count it because of the circumstances.