I’ve been thinking a lot about love recently, as I slipped this stunning one-of-a-kind dress from Stinky Vintage over my head. Mr. Dressed and I just celebrated our 9 year anniversary and it can’t help but bring up all kinds of loved-up thoughts as we ring in another year of awesome. But, it also has the habit of making me reflect on the past seasons of love that I’ve weathered – because love is nothing if not a journey. Sometimes sunny, sometimes cold and rainy, but always an adventure…
It’s a funny thing – retrospect. Realizing that we are the sum of not only our choices, but a lot of our relationship battle scars. And oh do I have a few battle scars. Because though there are some who are lucky enough to find their person on their first try, it definitely took a number of Wrong Guys in order to find my way to the person I was meant to be with. I’m sure we all have our own romantic paths that we’ve wearily trekked upon, but after having enough conversations with my very best girlfriends, I realized that there is a certain similarity to the Seasons of Relationships past….
The First Guy
When I was a teenager, love mostly felt like this far away, unattainable thing. As a kid who’s parents divorced when I was quite young, I pretty much took lessons of love from the romance movies I loved so much. Boy meets girl. Girl is adorably quirky and boy loves her anyway. Some misunderstanding ensues. Girl wears a bit more makeup in the final scene and everyone lives happily ever after. Fin.
But, no movie ever really prepared me for what it would be like to meet that First Love. The one who makes your toes tingle and puts all others on a shelf labeled Before. Because everyone pales in comparison to that first love. Whether he was right for you or wrong for you or fodder for a few funny stories nowadays, at the time he was yours and you were his. And there is something so precious and pure about that period of time.
Sometimes I think first loves are so powerful and all encompassing because we have nothing to compare them too. There are no battle scars or war wounds preceding them. No bitterness from past relationships to make us jaded or unwittingly force us to protect our heart. And so we jump with both feet and with abandon. We love in a way we can never really repeat. We make a whole lot of mistakes and uncover joys and fears that didn’t exist on our radar before that person. It’s the most innocent form of love, because it’s so singular and unfettered by the past.
Unfortunately, unless you are among the lucky few where your First is your Last, you will inevitably experience another First: The First Heartbreak. Because first loves are always everything you imagined they would be, until they aren’t. They make us stronger. They make us better. They are something we survive.
The Wrong Guy
No rhyme or reason or particular season, but we all know when we walk smack into the Wrong Guy. He who rides in on his proverbial motorcycle and has that certain twinkle in his eye and healthy disrespect for authority. The one your mom warns you about. The one who you shouldn’t love, but just do.
My early 20’s saw me staring down a lot of change. Some big moves and having to figure out who I was separate from everyone who had known me my entire life. And because hindsight is always 20/20, I feel like so much of my 20’s was spent feeling so insecure, but putting so much energy into pretending not to be. Trying to find myself in other people who all seemed to have it so much more together. And it’s inevitable at this pinnacle of self-doubt, whether it finds you in your teens, your 20’s, your 30’s or beyond, that you will meet the Wrong One. With a capital W. The guy who will jerk you around and break your heart again and again. But, oddly you let him. You’re so busy acting strong and nonchalant, you forget to actually be strong. You don’t want to be the pushy girl, the needy girl. So you forget you need anything.
I always get a bit introspective when I think about that time in my life – wanting to reach my hand into the past and shake 20-something year old me. But, when it comes to relationships, we accept what we think we deserve. And in a lot of ways, I think that as a young girl I felt the burden of proof. That if I was pretty enough. Worthy enough. Then he would love me enough. And once he did, I would therefore believe I was enough. But here’s the kicker with the Wrong Guy – he never will love you enough. Because that fool has no idea how to take care of your heart.
Whether you go through 1 or 20 of these Wrong Guys, know this: You are worth so much more than he’s giving you. Now, turn around and let him ride off into that broody, commitment-phobic sunset where he belongs.
The Wrong Time Guy
After a period of licking your wounds, I think we can all agree that on the heels of at least one of those Really Wrong Guys will inevitably come the Wrong Time guy. For me, this ended up being the Nice Guy. Someone who had been similarly hurt by someone else. And we were both just so relieved to be with someone who was nice to us, that we forgot to stop and wonder if we were actually right for each other.
The problem is, the Nice Guy does everything right and says everything right. He’s the guy you love, but one whom you spend a lot of time tamping down doubt about. Where, despite all of the checks in his column, your heart crosses its arms and shakes her head at you, because it demands more. In some ways, the Nice Guys are harder to let go of, because you don’t have any reason to point too. No infidelity or broken promises. Just endless waves of pleasantness that are neither good nor bad. They just are. And in a way, exactly what you need to heal.
One way or another, you and Wrong Time guy will part. But, you really wish him well. He’s a great guy – just not the guy for you.
My Person
And then, just when it seems like you aren’t looking, you turn a corner and collide your Person. The guy who is neither your first nor perfect. He is just perfect for you. He who makes you coffee every morning and never forgets to kiss you goodnight. He who willingly snaps outfit photos every weekend for your blog, and stands with pride during every achievement in your career. Who comes to your public lectures and waves his hand in the air when you ask who in the room has ever seen a shark brain, because he helped you carefully pack each one. He makes me the very best version of myself.
I have no advice to those who might still be looking to find their person, other than to say that when I met Mr. Dressed, it was so easy. Unlike the men of my past, I found myself in uncharted territory, because I wasn’t waiting for anything to change. I wasn’t waiting for us to be in the same zip code, waiting for him to commit, or waiting to feel more. It was like taking your first breath after being underwater. Both refreshing and necessary for survival. I met him, and I was suddenly home.
Here we are, 9 years in, and dare I say it gets better every year. Every 525,600 minutes. Like a well-worn playlist on iTunes full of songs that make you laugh, can make you cry, and brings both waves of nostalgia and excitement for what’s to come as you scroll through. I am excited every year to celebrate our latest shenanigans and plan for the next year of adventure.
So, celebrating my Seasons of Love needed a dress worthy of all rhyme and reason. A dress that feels as though I were wearing a love letter. And I’ve been saving this one from Stinky Vintage for just such an occasion, which he custom made for me and adorned with millinery flowers from a 1950’s vintage hat. I loved the idea of giving a vintage hat a new life – as if she too had gone through quite a journey. Went through changes and came out on the other side better for it.
It’s hard to say if one decision or one romance or one moment lead to where I am today. All I know is that when I tuck my hand inside my beloved, I don’t regret a single moment of my past.
Because I am right where I belong.
xoxo
Outfit Details:
Dress: custom made by Stinky Vintage
gloves: Modern Millie’s (similar here)
Clutch: gift (similar here & here)
Shoes: Betsey Johnson (similar here & here)
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