The topics of love and relationships have recently been on my mind, and I realized - quite by chance - that this was the month that my boyfriend and I first told each other that we loved each other.
Now my current boyfriend “Tom” and I became a couple in September of 2010. But we didn’t say we loved each other in April of 2011. It was actually 2012. Yes, after a year and a half of dating. Let me explain.
I first met my boyfriend in a history class at Texas A&M University in September of 2009. I was a senior with a major in English and a minor in history; he was a history and classics major. I was that student that sat on the first row. You know the stereotype: the overachieving straight A student who studied far too much, spoke to the professor after class, took advantage of every extra credit opportunity, and basically had zero social life outside the academic world.
Dating was essentially the last thing on my to-do list. The few times certain guys had shown interest I had panicked and quickly shut it down. I often teased that I was man-repellent on purpose because I had more important things to focus on and I didn’t want distractions. And while that was part of it, the full reason was slightly more complicated. Beyond my own discomfort with dating and self-induced scholastic pressure, a large degree of my relationship phobia was the result of my father. Classic case of “Daddy Issues,” am I right?
In all honesty, my parents did not have a marriage full of bliss by any stretch of the imagination. My father was a shining example of what can happen when you choose the wrong person as a partner, and I was convinced at an early age that I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than be in a relationship with someone who made me feel worthless. If my personality made me gun-shy about trusting guys in general, my father made me a cynic about love and commitment.
Additionally, I was a college student who still lived at home and was still subject to some of the rules of the household. My father had many unique ideas about child rearing, and I was not eager to discover his perspective about dating and/or courting (the alternative, conservative, and uber-religious version of speed-dating that lead straight to marriage).
As a young adult, I felt capable of making my own informed choices about a dating partner and did not feel the need to run a man past “daddy” to see if he was an acceptable candidate. I didn’t want to put myself or any future guy I was dating through this very possible awkward scenario, and so I simply refused to play the game.
Back to college history class circa September 2009. For the first few weeks of class, I sat mostly by myself in that front row. The first few days of class are when students settle into the routine of choosing their dedicated “spot” for the rest of the semester, so there were still some musical chairs happening. That was fine by me. I was there to take notes. And learn history. I didn’t really pay too much attention to the students around me. Did I mention I was a bit of an introvert?
However, I finally noticed a change up. This guy and girl were now sitting in my row that hadn’t been there before. Initially I didn’t observe much beyond the fact that I had new faces as seat mates. But then the guy made some muffled comments. I didn’t even realize he was addressing them to me or hear what he was saying. But for whatever forgotten reason, I turned to see who this dude was talking to, only to suddenly realize I was that person and that I had essentially been ignoring him for the last five minutes. I had a blank look on my face. I remember he said something akin to, “...oh, great, and now you’re thinking I’m just some weird guy...” I remember I mumbled something to assure him that I didn’t. And he then introduced (or re-introduced) himself to me.
I remember laughing about the experience much later... thinking how he was just being nice and friendly and by his spoken aloud musings he was afraid I was going to think the new guy was some kind of creeper. He has kept me laughing ever since.
After that fall semester, we became Facebook friends to stay in touch, and he and I chatted some during the winter break. I discovered we were taking the same history class in the spring semester, so I was delighted I would know somebody right away. We sat next to each other in that class as well, and we started chatting online consistently after class, and that was how we really started to get to know each other. We had little “in jokes” from our chat conversations, but he teased me once that we weren’t really true friends because we never hung out in real life or outside of school.
He invited me to karaoke out with a group of friends, and then we started watching movies together and eating out together and getting drinks together, and before I knew it, we had morphed from casual acquaintances into actual friends. Sometimes our hangouts almost felt like dates, but they never truly were. All I knew was that it felt so easy and relaxed, and he was so funny and fun to be with. Even more importantly, I felt like I could be myself around him, and it felt like he was similarly comfortable to be his honest self around me. The rest of the semester continued in this manner.
Then right before I graduated that May, he gave me a graduation gift on one of our last hangout nights before he went home for the summer. And I remember thinking in that very moment that I was afraid when he left town after the spring semester was over that inevitably we would lose contact over the summer. After all, we had no more shared classes to look forward to together, and summer would be three long months where we could not randomly hangout in person.
I had often clicked with so many random people in classes in the past and then never really kept that same friend chemistry with them after a class ended. So I was terrified that was going to happen to us. At the time, I convinced myself that this paranoia was because he had become such a great friend...but looking back I realize that this was where I truly started to feel something for him in a less than platonic way.
I made every effort to stay in touch online throughout the summer. I tried hard to find the delicate balance between friendly and stalker. I found out later that he had some summer classes scheduled, and I was so upset that I was on a family vacation right in the middle of those summer classes which kept me out of town for most of the time. But I still chatted with him almost as much online throughout, and we made plans to hang out when I returned. I comforted myself with the notion that I already knew he would be back for another year of school in the fall due to his double major so more than likely we would have opportunities to hangout. These all should have been obvious clues that I was starting to fall hard for the guy, but I was still pretty self-unaware.
How we became an official couple was actually the result of several separate but related incidents mixed with a healthy dose of good, old-fashioned college traditions. Since my college experience was heavily one-sided with all things academia, I never actually attended a single sporting event in the time I attended. Now that I had graduated, Tom said that when he returned in the fall, he could remedy this unfortunate lack of athletics in my education, and he invited me to be his “date” to two Aggie games. Now the word “date” was thrown out so casually that I didn’t dare assume that he meant it any more that he would have by using the expression “it’s a date” for any of our other hangouts. Regardless, his usage of it stuck out in my mind, perhaps for no other reason than subconscious wishful thinking.
Now the tradition at Texas A&M is for students to yell out certain yells (similar to chants, but never make the mistake of calling them cheers, as you will be immediately corrected if you call them that) during the game to get the spectators and players alike hyped up. When I transferred to the University, I had attended T-Camp, which had introduced transfer students to all the Aggie traditions, including the specific routine of yells for game days. Granted, this had been almost three years ago, and I mentioned to him that I had forgotten most of them.
Tom was quick to suggest that we attend Midnight Yell so I could have a quick refresher course prior to game day. Midnight Yell was the gathering of all the students late the night before each game at the stadium to practice all the yells and engage in a few other fun traditions. One such tradition is that the lights are all turned off right at midnight and all the students are supposed to kiss their dates...or, if single, search out a willing kissing partner with a lighter. I had actually forgotten about this tradition completely since I had never attended a Midnight Yell before, so I was a little taken aback when Tom gave me a warning that he might get “grabby” at Midnight Yell. His full meaning hit me suddenly, and I asked him point blank if he was insinuating he was going to try to kiss me. His response was simply an ambiguous “possibly.” And I in turn replied, “I like surprises.”
Well, surprise, surprise. Midnight Yell came. Twelve o’clock came. The lights turned off. And the two of us kissed for the very first time. It was not without some awkwardness. After all, we were still two friends attempting romance for the very first time in a public setting. But I still remember thinking how it was something I wanted to try again, even with his teasing afterwards about how we both needed practice before the next one. When I said “Next one?” he just smiled and said, “You know there’s a Midnight Yell before every game, right?”
The following day we attended my first Aggie game. Still just as friends. But as was the tradition, every time our team scored, Tom kissed his “date.” It was just my forehead, but still, it was adorable and perfect.
I kept thinking he would mention this “practicing” that we still needed to do before the following weekend when were going to attend the second Midnight Yell and game day, but several days passed without a word from him about it.
Then on Wednesday something unforeseeable happened. My parents were in the process of getting a divorce, and the stress from it had me particularly emotionally drained that day. I remember I was sitting in my car late that night, sobbing, and the one person I wanted to be with was him. I knew he would cheer me up. He had been such a good friend so far. And even though he didn’t know anything about my family’s situation, I had been quiet about it for too long and I felt like I was going to burst. I needed to confide in someone. Or at least see someone to help regain my sanity before I had to drive back home and be around both my parents. So I texted him. I decided if he answered back, I was going to ask to come over. He replied back immediately.
So I showed up, basically crying on his doorstep. When he opened the door he could tell right away from the look on my face (and no doubt from the tone of my text) that something was wrong. He asked me what the matter was, and I spilled out my guts. It felt like I sobbed about all the issues with my family situation for hours. And he was just silent, listening, murmuring “I’m sorry,” and hugging me comfortingly. It was one of the most cathartic experiences I have ever had. He didn’t try to fix anything; he just let me get everything off my chest. He saw me ugly cry, and he didn’t run away screaming.
As soon as I had let it all out, he instantly offered me ice cream and made me watch funny YouTube videos to cheer me up. And it was while I was sitting next to him, laughing hysterically at SNL clips of Celebrity Jeopardy, that he leaned over to me and asked, “Do you want to practice?”
Needless to say, we were an official couple by that weekend. And I went to that second game as his true date. He even kissed me on the lips when our team scored.
The story sounds super cute when I tell it like that to people. The detail I often leave out is how I completely freaked out on him when he asked to make the relationship Facebook official the following day after our “practicing.” I immediately felt like things were moving too fast... after all, we had only kissed...I wasn’t expecting anything serious...and at this pace, was the boy going to pull out an engagement ring after two weeks?
So essentially, my commitment phobia returned full force. The idea of officially being a couple scared the daylights out of me. I wasn’t ready for other people to know about it. I was just getting comfortable with the idea of it myself. Being the level-headed guy that he was, he calmed me down and explained that nothing was going to change so drastically if we started dating. He said, “We’re still going to hang out and do all the same things we have always done anyway, babe.” Right away he made sure that I knew that he wasn’t going to pressure me to do anything beyond my comfort level. He was so very understanding and such a gentleman. And clever too, because I barely noticed how casually he had slipped that “babe” in there. Only a day had gone by, and he was already calling me a pet name. He was adorable and sweet and thoughtful. And so very hard to resist.
Now as you can guess, this same pattern has repeated whenever our relationship was taken to a new level...or whenever issues that we had conflicting views about were discussed. It is in my nature to worry and be anxious, and it was in his nature to go with the flow and remind me not to turn every mole hill into a mountain. But periodically I would lament that maybe I was just not built for relationships...that maybe I was just too screwed up to maintain a healthy relationship with any guy...and I would despair that somehow I would self-sabotage it...or that no guy could handle me with al my baggage and my issues.
And then of course, there was still that part of me that was extremely cynical about relationships. Even today I still don’t believe in love at first sight or the idea of soul mates. The thought that people could be in a relationship for only two weeks and already be throwing around the words “I love you” was bizarre to me. After all, I’ve had takeout in my fridge for longer than that amount of time.
In my opinion, there was just no way you could truly get to know a person well enough to know if you loved them in so short a time. And I was truly unsure that I even knew what love really was. I still had some days where I randomly wanted to get in a car and drive away from my entire life, relationships included. I also thought there could be nothing quite as terrible or terrifying as saying you loved someone only to find out later that you really didn’t love them...or to realize that they didn’t love you back.
It was obvious that saying the “L” word was not going to be something I said in any kind of haste. And in all other areas of our relationship, Tom had often taken a bit of a backseat and let me drive, indicating when I was ready for the next step, making certain that I was completely comfortable. So it shouldn’t have surprised me that he was actually waiting on me in a sense to make the first move when it came to saying I was in love. But silly me, still half-unsure at times if I was in love with him or not, was convinced that was the guy’s responsibility to tell the girl that he loved her. I refused to say it first...but I would sometimes quiz myself thus: “if he told you he loved you today, what would you respond? Would you say it back?” etc.
Finally, I began to wonder if something was seriously wrong with us. What couple dated for a year and a half, was in a seriously committed relationship, and yet still hadn’t told each other that they loved each other? In my mind, a year probably should have been the marker...never mind that for many people, a year would have been when they were getting engaged (which in my mind, was utter lunacy). In fact, after a year of dating I had already had family members questioning if I was going to be getting married anytime soon, and my response was always, “We’ve only been dating a year.”
So I had an honest conversation with my boyfriend about the fact that we had never said we loved each other. His response was that “of course he loved me” without any hesitation. When I asked why we had never told me sooner, he said there had been several times he had wanted to say it, but the timing had never been appropriate. But he also admitted that he had some hesitation about my reaction and that he had also waited on me to give him a sign.
He brought up the TV/movie trope where the guy character who you knew wasn’t destined to be with the main girl character always made the mistake of saying those three little words too soon, and then that was it. The couple broke up. The relationship was over. There was no way to rewind to an earlier point in the relationship and pretend the sentiment had never been expressed. He had reservations about how I might react, and he had good reason to suspect I would be gun-shy, since over-analyzing and paranoia had been my normal reactions to reaching relationship milestones in the past.
So when I asked him when he would have first said he loved me, he said he safely could have said in January. And not January 2012, but January 2011, which would have been about 5 months into our relationship. It would have been before we celebrated out first Valentine’s Day together.
I remember that Valentine’s Day vividly. I have always loved teddy bears more than is healthy for any person, and he had given me this ginormous teddy bear that was perfect. It also happened to have the words “I Love You” on it. I had always wondered if he really meant those words, or if every bear option had “love” crap written on them and purchasing one with the sentiment was simply unavoidable. And now I knew the truth.
Looking back, I realize now that I loved my boyfriend way, way before I told him. And in my own way, I was actually telling him that I loved him before I ever spoke the words. Now granted, I flirtatiously told him how much I liked him all the time, but that was far from a satisfactory expression of my feelings. And as someone who was very open about telling family and friends that I cared about them, it was actually very difficult for me to find a replacement phrase. But it was something I had done subconsciously for awhile.
The phrase was simply “I miss you.” I used to pour all the feelings of an “I love you” into those other three little words... because they were innocent enough and yet completely sincere. So for a year and a half of our relationship that was my substitute “I love you,” and to this day, saying I miss you to Tom still feels like I’m saying I love you. After all, the same sentiment is behind the phrase. It means I’m thinking about you... you’re constantly on my mind... that a part of me is not the same without you.
What has all this taught me?
Just because you haven’t said you love someone doesn’t mean you don’t already love them.
In my case I was just so scared of that next level of intimacy that I waited and waited, wanting to be sure I meant it fully, and scared he might not say it back.
I remember one day I saw this picture below, and that sentiment continually haunted me whenever I lost my nerve to admit I loved him:
I kept thinking how devastated I would be if something happened to him. What if he died, and I never told him how much he meant to me? I especially thought about it whenever I told him goodbye... how important it was to me that he knew I cared about him.
And I realized how important it can be what your last words are to someone, and I wanted mine to be “I love you” and not just “goodbye.”
So, folks, tell people when you love them. It’s important. Even if they don’t return the affection, it’s never the wrong decision to let people know they matter.
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