I am a hopeless romantic. Corny. I know.
"My truth is: Since I was a little girl, I dreamed of having a husband. Career and education were secondary to being chosen to be a good man’s wife.
I watched my parents. My dad playfully pulling my mom in closer to him; openly wanting her, kissing her, holding her. Neither one seeming extraordinary. Not wealthy or physically fit. Our home wasn’t exceptionally clean or nice. My parents weren’t powerful or highly educated people. They weren’t overly organized or meticulous. My parents, in their simplicity, were made extraordinary by how they loved. Passionately.
They fought that way too. Passionately. Uncontainable. Irrational. Dysfunctional.
This was how I came to know love and marriage.
There I was. Standing in my red cotton night gown wearing socks that were dirty on the bottom, on the south side of Chicago in a little rented house that was filled to brim with love; day dreaming of the day that I could be loved like that. The way my struggling artist dad loved his beautiful house wife. The way he looked at her and how she bragged on him. The way she told over and over the story of their meeting. That magnetic attraction. I wouldn’t feel complete until I had that. A secret goal. Quiet. Deep inside I imagined how I would be as an adult; how I would look and talk and be loved.
There was always a clear distinction between lust and love. Very protective of my innocence, my mother made sure to inform me of this difference. She’d say, “A man wants a woman who is pure, but he will practice on anyone who will let him. The girl he practiced on will not be the woman he chooses to marry. He will use her. Then he will marry the pure one who no one has practiced on.” She knew that I longed for marriage. That one thought prevented me from having sex prematurely. One thought. Because no one was going to practice on me.
I wanted to be the wife. I held it in high esteem. An honor.
On a pedestal sat the ideal wife I was going to be. I was going to be sweet, and smart, and kind, sexy, and loyal, and my husbands "peace."
My husband was going to be the envy of all his friends. I’d be classy and beautiful and perfectly shaped. I was going to be the best cook and never argumentative. I would be the embodiment of femininity and brilliantly resourceful and innovative. I would be a business owner, a world traveler, a monument of gentle strength. Perfection. I was going to be perfection." (Snippet from my upcomig book)
Reality turned out not to be as romantic. Presently, I've been pretty far from perfect. As a wife, I have been selfish, unkempt, undisciplined, disrespectful, argumentative, and overall exhausted and if you ask my husband...he'll probably describe me as: exhausting.
I can be pretty intense to live with.
I took quite a detour from my own childhood expectations of myself.
I didn't start out this way. Growing into adulthood I made a lot of mistakes. Wanting badly to arrive at my happily ever after; I will admit I fell in love too easily; too hard; too often.
Giving my best to those who hadn't earned it. Only to be esteemed as that good ex that got away. The "good woman" who they weren't ready for at the time; too much to handle. They had not yet matured. They were not ready for the way I loved.
Meanwhile, the perfection that I intended to be had been wasted, manipulated, drained like the bathwater I would run for the underserving men I allowed access to me; my heart; my energy and my home.
Eventually, I became numb. Hurting men the way they had hurt me. Emotionless. Stepping down from the "good woman" pedistal into survival mode. Not letting anyone in. Except one.
There was one. One man I spent 8 years of my life loving. He was my first love.
I'm only bringing this up because it is an important part of the story that lead me to my husband. For the purposes of this story we will call him, O.
I met O my sophomore year in college. It was love at first sight. Certainly, the first time that had ever happened to me and it was mutual. We were on and off loving and hurting eachother for many years. We essentially grew eachother up. I considered him my soul mate.
We had broken up because he was muslim and I was Christian. As dramatic as it might sound, every time I was with him, no matter how innocent or passionate, I felt like I had to choose between him and God. That soul tie was firmly knotted. I did crazy things to him and for him during that 8 year span. Most of which I'll discuss in more detail in my memoir.
O challenged me. He was passionate about me. He represented a safe place. He felt like home to me. Like a warm hug. He made me believe that there were good men. Then on almost to the day, the 8th anniversary of us meeting, he called to let me know he was returning to Somalia to visit.
At that time in my life I was finally in a better place. I had finally gotten some much needed therapy. I was doing decent financially, emotionally, spiritually and mentally. He wanted to come by to "talk." This would normally would be an emphatic "yes," but this time I felt whole.
Also, I had a bible breakfast at my place the next morning, and I couldn't have his African lust juju throwing me off this time; knocking me off my spiritual mojo. There were too many ladies who needed me focused.
I was proud of myself. For the first time in 8 years, I was strong enough to tell him: NO.
He returned weeks later. He called. He told me about his trip; let me know what souvenirs he brought me. Then he dropped the bomb.
"I also got married."
I mustered up enough fake to congratulate him. He explained that it was arranged back home and he had little control over it. I don't remember what either of us said after that. I maintained my composure until the call ended.
Then I cried on the floor. I can't remember how many hours, days or weeks I spent crying on the floor because the world stopped spinning. Completely.
That was a breaking point for me. I was trying to do things right. I felt myself sinking so I reached out to a close friend. A Christian friend and coworker who was unmarried trying to live saved. "Who does this work for?" I asked her. I needed to know. I was raised in the church and in so many ways taught that my husband would find me while doing God's work, like Ruth.
The older I got, I saw more older single women...still waiting on the Lord to send their Boaz. O had been my Boaz; my soulmate. I never even considered a future without him. I figured somehow the planets would align and the universe would eventually bring us together for good. Now what? I was hopeless.
Very transparent, my friend admited that beside her pastor, she didn't know any real life examples. I was no pastor. She added me to a group on Facebook about love and relationships. There I met a personal trainer.
As I wallowed in self pity I had been drinking excessively and eating my emotions. Taking on some other bad habbits that I can't publically mention here.
In the midst of my wallowing, my mom told me that I was still unmarried because I was fat. I brought it up in the facebook group to get a male perspective. The trainer replied, "discipline is sexy." I ignored his comment.
Then I ran into him in person on an all white party singles boat cruise where he oddly pointed me out in a large crowd of other single saved women. We connected. During our consultation he told me,
"If you want to be a wife, BE A WIFE. Talk like a wife. Dress like a wife. Behave like a wife. Adopt the habits of a wife and the universe will catch up with you. The same goes for weight loss. If you want to be thin: Be thin. Think thin. Dress thin. Behave like a thin person. Adopt the habits of a thin person and the universe will catch up with you."
He helped me lose some weight. He changed the way I thought. He single handedly pulled me out of my sunken place.
I was feeling myself again. My confidence was back, my credit was improved, I had begun living better...like a wife...a thin wife.
My ex called to remind me of items I needed to pick up from his place. I planned to drive down. I needed to make sure I was capable of steering clear of temptation. I took my sister with me and I looked for some other people to spend time with who still lived down state in my college town. I remembered a handsome african man who I was friends with on Facebook named Charles. He had been silently liking my pictures and posts. He barely posted anything at all on his own page.
I was feeling myself; so I decided to shoot my shot. I DM'd him. I let him know I was driving down to my almermater (the town where he lived), and I asked him if he would be interested in meeting me for lunch.
I stared at his picture. He was deliciously chocolate with kind eyes, a beautiful bright white smile, and deep dimples. I left my number in his inbox and asked him to text me if he was interested.
Several hours later, my cell phone rang at work. I snuck and answered. On the other end of the phone sounded like a sexy african doctor; articulate, and serious. I gave him my work number.
We started talking on the phone, and couldn't stop. Day and night. Every hour I was not at work, I spent talking to him; thinking about him; Facebook stalking him.
We met in person for the first time four days after that first conversation, October 1, 2011. His first in person words to me were: "It's you. It's really you!!!"
We went to Flat Top Grill, because the trainer still had me off of meat and dairy. I noticed that Charles also opted to not eat meat or dairy. Quietly supportive. Duly noted.
We talked. And talked. And talked. Then we walked and walked and talked some more. Neither one of us wanted the date to end. I had never in my life met anyone who I had more in common with. Same values. Same faith. Same sense of humor. Similar up bringing. Lots of a-hah moments, laughter and heavy subject matter. He was the perfect combination of serious and funny. The conversation easily flowed. We kept adding to the date. We walked around the new gym on campus. Then went to play pool.
I had already fallen in love over the phone, but there was something about being in his presence. There were butterflies, but there was also a still confidence. I felt secure. No fear.
We had previously discussed the idea of Christian dating. I had listened to a cd about the steps of Christian dating. First there would be friendship. No physical contact. No hugging, kissing or even holding hands. Then we needed to worship together. Then we could go out in courtship, but never alone. We were to pray at the end of every date. We were to decide if we would be exclusive, and then make it known publically. Next would come engagement where handholding and kissing were allowed. Then pre-marital counseling. Then marraige.
This all sounded good as we discussed it over the phone, but I didn't believe it could actually happen. I had very little expereince with abstinance, self control or men that practiced either.
Charles didn't kiss me on that first date. That never happened with someone that was actually into me before. I started second guessing myself. Was this one sided? Did I assume he felt the same way prematurely, like I had done so many times in the past? Why hadn't he tried anything?
Sure the idea of Christian dating seemed brilliant in theory, but the application was a totally different matter.
TO BE CONTINUED