Getting back together & through & To
Our story, part 1 – dating days (Act II)
(You can read Act I here.)
We spent close to two months apart. Nothing about our break-up showed me that we would ever get back together, let alone speak to each other. I woke up to the facts and saw that he treated me like crap, and although I was heart-broken, I was much more upset with how I had let myself be in that kind of relationship for as long as I did. I remember this season with such fondness, really, as it was a coming-into who I was – letting myself break open and grow into who I would be. I let myself feel the grief, the pain, the heartache – and received a lot of love in those months. I still remember the morning after he broke up with me. There was a knock on my door and a car pulled up outside – two of my good friends were there to take me out for breakfast. I cried to them. I cried out to God on my dorm room floor. I sang my heart out in my college choir, letting the words take root down deep in my bones. I became less anxious, less worried about what he was doing (or not doing), freed up from his dysfunction and all the ways it impacted me during our relationship.
Although I can’t speak to everything on Z’s side of the story, I know this season was similar for him, too. I noticed a change in demeanor (OK it was a small Christian campus, plus he sat directly behind me in choir every day) and I could tell a lot was shifting in and about him. It seemed he was getting honest – with himself and with others. It was sweet to see him softening rather than growing colder in this season. I was glad for him from afar, grateful that this break-up could be a catalyst for his own needed undoing.
I remember driving back to campus from being home over Thanksgiving break, a good five-hour stretch of time alone in the car. I had space with God and with myself where I resolved to never be with Z again, and I fully accepted this new season of not being in a relationship. I loved my friends and felt carried enough by them that I knew I would be OK. I spent those days diving deep into my own relationship with God, my sense of self, and my community. Those were raw and real days, where I cried a lot and laughed harder. I knew there was more in store for me and I was finding God in this darkness.
A couple weeks after Thanksgiving break, because we were still in choir together, we had several back-to-back rehearsals for the school’s Christmas program. At this point, I was used to him being around but not paying him any mind – we were not talking at all (nor did I plan to in any way). That’s why I was completely shocked when we passed each other on the steps outside of choir and he said, “Hey.” I looked up and muttered some greeting back. He asked if we could talk sometime. I paused, said I would think about it, and he asked me to text him when I was ready – to which I quickly retorted, “I don’t have your number anymore” (GOT HIM). Then almost under my breath I clarified, “Who am I kidding, of course I know your number” (I’d had it memorized from our dating days). I agreed to meet up in a couple days.
Our campus pastor at the time was very aware of our situation and graciously offered up his office after-hours for us to be able to meet privately without interruption (again, small Christian school problems). Even then, we were ourselves in that we wanted to be intentional with the time we had and make space for real, honest conversation. My memory fails me for what it felt like leading up to it – I wish I could be a fly on the wall for this now. What were our bodies like? Did we walk in together? (We must have) What was the small talk like before we got here? I truly don’t remember. But what I do remember is the hours the followed.
Z’s mask was off, and I saw the small spark of someone I thought I saw initially suddenly burst into flame. He was tender, he was kind, he was soft-spoken and left a ton of space for me to respond and ask questions. He took his time with me, sharing more of why he did what he did and what he had been seeing since. He listed out the ways he mistreated me, highlighting things I never even said out loud that he could now see for himself. It was really validating for me – all the ways it felt so difficult and draining for me before now uncovered and out in the open. I also felt very aware of the presence of God to work in and reveal these things to him without my input. Z asked for my forgiveness explicitly for all sorts of things I never asked for, and it made my heart melt. All the sincerity and vulnerability cannot be fully captured in words. I extended forgiveness and really appreciated this attempt at restoration. After hours of connecting and catching up and clearing up, we ended the conversation simply agreeing that we could acknowledge each other again.
Our love exploded from there. We were like kids giddy to see each other, finding ways to be together, our sense of humor aligning even more than before. We had this blissful but stressful in-between, where our bodies and hearts were leading in a story our minds were dissonant with. We wanted to be together, but felt that familiar pull to do it “right.” When we weren’t talking about the nature or direction of our relationship, we were free and floating in this world of flirting and fun. As soon as we would have a conversation about what’s next, he froze. I got angry. Push came to shove, he was “counseled” by a college ministry leader to “wait one year to date again.” He got it in his head that – although we were more than ready – we should probably wait to try again. It was frustrating and confusing. Why would some man in some church have this much authority over what we “should” or “should not” do? It felt silly (because it was).
Lol.
Finally, after another ministry leader told him he might as well “do it or get off the pot,” we had a very anticlimactic, “official” getting-back-together in the dorm laundry room. It was so lame but we were so happy. I wish we got the space and moment we deserved since our relationship was restored, but instead we drug our feet back into it for fear of “rushing” into things before the Powers That Be said it was OK. Thankfully, we were still head-over-heels. Our relationship felt 180 degrees different in experience than the previous fall. We couldn’t stop talking to each other, being with each other, touching each other. ;) It was hard to believe he was the same person who has mistreated me before.
That summer, we were both leaders for said college ministry summer away. The Disconnect showed its ugly head again and I carried so much hurt and frustration with/towards Z. It’s one thing to be avoided or disregarded long-distance (the summer before), but it’s another thing when we are living in the same building for months. I got reprimanded by leadership for wanting to spend time with him. He got in trouble for talking to anyone of the opposite sex. We felt guilty when we’d sneak in a makeout session on the rooftop (good for us!). It was exhausting trying to tow the line of what a “good” couple was “supposed to” do and just trying to be ourselves, too. The whole culture was very weird and unhelpful, unnecessarily hierarchical with staff and peers put in leadership over each other. I still remember an example of a couple of these “leaders” being in a relationship that everyone admired, while Z and I were watched like hawks and made to feel like we had to do so much to prove our relationship legitimate (ironically, I think, that couple got divorced).
Unfortunately, we only got more enmeshed and involved in that ministry for the following two years of our dating relationship. It sucked up most of our time and personhood. There were certainly glimpses and graces where we’d experience each other elsewhere, but everything seemed to center around this “way” we were “supposed to” do things. Even our friendships outside of this ministry suffered. Who wants to hang out with people who are constantly making you feel like you’re not doing it right, that you’re not right? We often had an air of superiority, because that is how we were taught – this church and these teachings were the real ones (extra ridiculous because we were at a Christian school filled with plenty of different thought/theology). We became a power couple in the worst way, weighed down heavily by the burden that is “ministry.” Rather than receiving the college years as a time to become more self-aware and skilled, we spent most of our energy and time as cogs in this wheel.
Nothing says “college ministry summer” like cut-offs and trucker hats.
Some of our friends outside of that sphere started to get engaged. I can’t speak for Z here, but I remember really struggling with the thought of how do they get to get engaged? This implied my internalization that we decidedly do not “get to”. On the positive side, we really were committed to being present to the season we were in – which were our college years – and knew we had time to get married later. We did buck up against the Christian school culture of getting married right away (ironic, because getting married right out of college isn’t much longer 🙂). However, I think it’s telling how I asked this question, couple after couple, and collapsed in on myself in shame and frustration. Essentially, I wondered, how do they get to do what they want to? So much of our relationship was stiff-arming against any desires of our own. In fact, most of us who grew up in more evangelical spaces could likely attest to being taught that most desires were to be “fought” – we weren’t supposed to trust ourselves. As you might imagine, that made dating with any level of authenticity and humanity quite difficult. I fought against myself almost daily. Z and I would argue so much in those days, most of it was our real selves butting up against the “supposed to”s of our church circle. In other words, we had such a hard time legitimizing our own feelings and thoughts against a whole landslide of reasons “why” we “shouldn’t” feel _____.
On a short-term missions trip to New Delhi, India
I still didn’t feel prioritized by him. He was taught women weren’t really a priority in comparison to the “mission” or whatever. I would gaslight myself every time I didn’t feel seen by him, thinking it might be selfish or “unbiblical” to want attention from my boyfriend (yeesh). I teetered in and around the ministry itself, because I wanted to do all the right things while also being very much who I’ve always been –seeing through the BS. I would speak up and speak out, ask to meet with ministry leaders and express my concerns. Although I was never turned away, all of what I observed or experienced was never taken into serious consideration. Nothing would need to change or shift. I can’t say for sure, but it seemed Z lost credibility as a capital-M Man within the ministry as I became more outspoken. It seems crazy to say now, but in order to be “allowed” to get engaged (no one ever said it that way, but it was certainly the felt experience), Z was counseled by a man in this ministry to “see more growth” in me and our relationship.
Thankfully, I must have shown enough growth (lol) and Z bought a ring that fall semester. However, we were under the impression we should not talk about it, and I was so concerned about talking myself out of the possibility that even the week leading up to the proposal I made myself oblivious. He delivered cards, scrapbooks of dating memories, letters and poems about our relationship. I received them as a thoughtful way he was trying to help me transition to my last semester in college. Even during our date that night, he took me to/through some milestone places that marked our relationship. I pretended not to notice. At the end, he drove me to one of our favorite places in the city, a little island down by the river in Saint Paul. I swear I saw one of his good friends walk by bundled up in full winter gear (it was mid-January in Minnesota, mind you). I thought I must be seeing things. He took me by the hand and led me out to a space surrounded by candles. I observed, “Pretty,” and asked, “Do you think the park set this up?” To the bitter end, I kept my emotions and intuition stuffed as far down as possible until he was down on one knee. I finally let myself take in the moment and breathe. Z said a million things I don’t remember (but he thoughtfully wrote down in a letter so I always could!) and told me he loved me for the first time.
This is not a story primarily about a culture that controlled us, although that’s certainly part of our story. We limped and longed and laughed our way through some tumultuous times and worldviews. I just look back now and wish we could have let ourselves off the hook a bit more, experienced a bit more freedom in our lives and bodies, and had the opportunity to be ourselves without the shame and have-tos. I have an immense amount of compassion around what/how we believed, and can see now how we still saw each other through it. I’m forever grateful for a God who led us to each other and that what sparked in our love is what remained – that we would fan this flame in a million ways over the years to come. This throughline of grace and goodness and love. Sleeping At Last’s January White was playing on the speaker when Z proposed:
This year is a sealed envelope; With apprehensive hope, we brace for anything.
I swear, I understand that nothing changes that, the past will be the past,
but the future is brighter than any flashback.
Well, we could let our guards down a little easier this time,
We could trust that when there’s joy, there’s nothing dark behind.
In spite of history, hope is January white.
This year, we’re starting over again, letter openers in hand, a chance to take a chance.
I swear, I understand that the past will be the past, and nothing changes that,
but the future is brighter than any flashback.
