From a Jail Cell to Wedding Bells

I just got back from an amazing trip to Belize with my boyfriend of 11 years!

We’re pretty committed to taking a fun trip each year on our anniversary because celebrating all life’s big and little milestones is important to us. This time though, the trip was made extra special because he proposed!

The backdrop was beautiful.

The sun was setting, we were in blue ocean water enjoying the moment and then he popped the question. I half expected it, but was also really surprised. He managed to pull off the most adorable romantic proposal. It was picture perfect!

I often hear from friends and acquaintances that he and I are “relationship goals.”

I get asked how we met and how I knew he was ‘the one.’ I’m asked for relationship advice and how we manage to still feel head over heels in love with each other after so much time has passed.

But you only know half of the story. We used to be anything but relationship goals.

We weren’t always blue ocean water and sunsets on the beach.

I can admit, we kind of are relationship goals now. I look at what we have and I myself am in awe of it. I get so overwhelmed with gratitude for the kind of relationship we created. It’s everything I could have hoped for and more.

But the hard truth is, the road to relationship goals was rocky.

No, it was worse than rocky. It was volatile and downright toxic at times.

Writing this out will be hard for me. It will likely be hard for my boyfriend correction: fiancé* to read. But I think it’s important to share. So much has happened with us in 11 years and not all of it is pretty. In fact, for the first five years, there was a lot of ugliness. Rehashing the things that occurred will hurt. I’ll probably feel some shame in sharing so much of this with you.

But the thing is, we grew up in that time. We learned how to be good to each other and how to be good to ourselves. We learned the hard way the consequences that can happen when you aren’t. So if sharing our story might help you create a better relationship OR determine that the one you’re in now needs an expiration date, then I’m willing to resurface old shame.

Let’s go!

We started dating at 21 and 22 years old.

Just babies! We were young, dumb, and barely able to hit up 6th Street on a Friday night.

In the very beginning, we were infatuated with each other. It started out normal enough—like most new couples, we were deep in the honeymoon phase. That lasted a hot minute though. We seemed to transition from honeymoon to crisis pretty quickly.

I can’t exactly say why, but we started arguing very early in our relationship. We’d fight about almost anything. He was hot-tempered and so was I. We were both really jealous people, too. We’d fight, break up, and get back together nearly every other week. It was unhealthy at best.

There were terrible drunken nights where I’d embarrassingly cry out loud at a friend's house because we got into yet another public fight downtown. I’d chalk it up to being dumb kids but it didn’t end there.

Drunk or not, we’d get into all-out yelling matches.

We would scream at each other for reasons I don’t even remember. We’d throw things, break things, cry and then make up. Somehow, we lasted for years that way.

About five years into our relationship, I wasn’t sure I was in love with him anymore.

We’d fight too much and when we’d makeup, it didn’t feel the way it used to. I don’t want to say I was bored because that sounds harsh, but I think the cycle of fighting and making up lost its thrill. Instead, I felt exhausted.

I wasn’t sure if he was in love with me either.

He was physically present but we didn’t seem to connect anymore. I wondered if we had ever truly connected or if our sling-shooting from one drastic to another was the thing that made us feel drawn to each other.

I wanted to end things, and I wondered if he wanted that, too.

It didn’t help that I was coming to terms with my sexuality during that time. I was learning that all the times in middle and high school when I’d have a girl crush, it wasn’t just a phase. That one time in college—it wasn’t just a college girl being a college girl. It was me being me.

I was confused and over our turbulent ups and downs.

I tried to tell my friends but they wouldn’t hear it. Not because they didn’t want to listen but because they loved me and him together. They thought he was good for me.

I tried to tell my mom but she was on the same page as my friends. He was good for me and good TO me. My mom had married a man that loved her but hit her, and she was worried that I’d never find a guy as good as my boyfriend again. Yelling and screaming were better than hitting so my relationship was as good as healthy in her eyes.

They didn’t have to actually witness the fighting though. They didn’t hear us screaming that we hated each other. They didn’t see us slam doors and punch walls. They didn’t know about that time I purposely dropped his PlayStation and he pushed my laptop off the bed in retaliation.

Instead, they saw something in my boyfriend that I was starting to lose sight of. They saw good in him. They saw the funny side of him. They saw the sweet guy who would put anyone’s needs over his own. But to me, that guy was starting to fade away.

Then I had a pregnancy scare.

My period was crazy late, my boobs were tender and my sense of smell seemed to be heightened. I’ll admit, I’ve been pregnant before so I knew these symptoms. I knew what it meant.

When I was first pregnant, I was really young. I was terrified at the idea of becoming a mom. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be one. I hardly knew myself then so how could I know I’d be a good mother? No, that wasn’t something I was ready to figure out yet so I made the difficult choice to not go through with it.

That decision tore my heart up into tons of tiny pieces. I shattered during the process—I felt even more broken when all said and done.

I thought about that day every single day for a really long time.

It ate at me. After a year or so, I decided to put it behind me. It was in my past and I needed to move on.

But then there I was again, in the same position with the same feelings. I wasn’t sure I was capable of becoming a mom but I also wasn’t sure I could go through that process again. Would a second time break me for good?

I sat my boyfriend down and told him what I knew.

I was pregnant and I was scared. I cried a lot. He sat patiently by me, almost as shocked and concerned as I was. Then he told me that we’d get through this. No matter what happened, we’d be ok. He said that he would either man up and become a dad if that’s what I decided, or that he’d be by my side if I decided I couldn’t have a child. No matter what, he’d support my decision and love me still.

We made a doctor's appointment for the next day. We were only going to confirm the pregnancy, we hadn’t made any final decisions.

Early the next morning on my way to work, my period came.

A tidal wave of emotions hit me. I parked my car in the parking garage as a stream of tears flowed. I was wrong—I wasn’t pregnant after all. I wouldn’t have to face another life-altering soul-crushing decision again. Life as I knew it would remain the same. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I sat in my car for a while longer. The tears continued to flow, but the reason behind them changed. I considered all that I may have had to endure had the outcome been any different. What stuck out to me most was that I had someone by my side who was ready and willing to take on half of it all. Half the pain, half the burden, half the hurt, half the confusion. He was ready to be my rock, my support, just as he always had.

Every bit of confusion around our relationship faded away in that moment.

I loved that man, I always had. And with this now behind us, I’d never forget it again. I needed to stop focusing on all the bad stuff and start seeing in him what everyone else was seeing—what I had seen so clearly earlier in our relationship.

Changing my mind about what I focused on was a big turning point for me. The more I focused on the good, the more good I saw in him. The more good I saw in him, the more I fell in love all over again. I fell in love harder than I ever had before.

I wish I could say that was THE turning point in our relationship.

It wasn’t.

Just a year later, we encountered our actual turning point. It was the worst blow out we’ve ever had. It’s the one that we needed, but the one I’m most embarrassed and ashamed to admit.

I went to jail.

I can feel the knots in my stomach starting to form as I type this—shame is bubbling back up. I want to backspace all through the last few sentences but I won’t. I’m going to keep typing.

We went to The Park with some friends for a Sunday Funday brunch. There, they sell one dollar mimosas from 11 AM until 3 PM so naturally, we racked up a bill so long it could wrap around our waist.

We got so hammered. On a Sunday. Goodness.

When we got home, we started arguing. This was par for the course during those extra drunken days. I can’t remember what it was about but chances are, it was trivial.

The arguing escalated to a screaming match.

Then it got physical.

I pushed him, he pushed me back. We broke the towel rack in our bathroom. I grew even angrier. I hit him. He took that as an indication it was now ok to use his strength against me. He pushed me down and held me on the floor while we both kept screaming at each other. Still, it didn’t end there.

I wanted to leave but he didn’t want me to drive drunk. He took my phone in an attempt to keep me from leaving. I threw his watch off our third story apartment balcony. He threw my phone in the same direction. I wanted to leave, I needed to leave, so I went down to find my phone and head to my mom’s.

He told me he’d call the cops. I either didn’t believe him or I didn’t care. I just wanted to go.

I went to the brushy area behind our apartment and while I searched for my phone, the cops showed up.

They talked to us separately. They asked me if I hit him. I said yes. They asked if I did it first. I said yes. They asked me if I could walk with them to the cop car because they had to arrest me, but didn’t want to do so in front of people. They didn’t want to embarrass me, but it was too late for that.

I spent roughly 15 hours in jail.

15 hours reflecting on what the hell happened that led me to where I was. I was beyond disappointed in myself.

Statistics said that, based on my background, upbringing, family history, etc., etc., I’d land in jail at some point in my life. Here I was, proving them right. I had worked so hard to be more than my circumstances and it felt like I undid all that work with one terrible stupid decision.

I also thought a lot about my boyfriend. I loved him so much. Why was it so hard for us to get along? Why did we keep doing these things to each other? Why did we keep escalating mild arguments to full-blown battles? Why did we hurt each other if we cared so much about each other?

Finally, I was released.

After what felt like days, I was able to leave. I didn’t have a way of contacting anyone to let them know so I was completely surprised when I walked out the door and down the sidewalk to see my boyfriend walking around. He looked distraught and directionless. We caught each other’s eye and ran to each other. We hugged and cried and apologized profusely.

He had been walking around the courthouse all night and morning waiting to hear something—waiting to see if he could see me. He had no idea I was getting out so he just kept walking around. When we saw each other, I knew our heads and hearts were in the same place. We have to end this way of being.

I hate that day.

I’m ashamed of myself for letting it happen and feel horribly embarrassed to admit it to anyone. But we were both so damn hard-headed and stubborn, we needed some sort of drastic wake-up call. We got it that night.

That day came with a lot of revelations about our relationship.

Revelations that I honestly can’t see us learning any other way. So while I’m embarrassed about it all, I don’t regret that it happened.

We realized that we needed to give each other space, especially during a heated moment. We were not capable of talking with calm cool heads in the middle of a disagreement so space was needed before we moved forward.

We realized our egos were getting in our way. We were so accustomed to being right that we’d battle it out about almost anything. We needed to let go of being right and care more about being at peace.

We realized that we really are each other’s best friend. When one of us is gone, the other feels a little displaced. We’d never tear down a friend the way we had been each other. We needed to cut that shit out and start lifting each other up instead.

We realized that we’d been taking each other for granted. We assumed that, no matter what happened at the end of each day, our partner would be there each morning. But that doesn’t always happen.

We realized that we loved each other so much. In order to work, we couldn’t keep hurting each other—not with our hands and not with our words.

So yes, we’re relationship goals. Now.

But you didn’t know about our past. You didn’t see what happened behind closed doors.

We had years of dips (to put it nicely). We learned through trial and error how to communicate with each other. We’ve had countless hard talks and shed so many tears. We had to lay down our pride a billion and one times. We learned the hard way what happens when we let our egos take the wheel.

We learned. We worked. We practiced. We proved to each other over and over again that we’d put 100% effort into making us work. And we still do to this day.

Today, I love what he and I have.

I have for years now. I love what I get to show you on social media—the cute proposal, fun pictures and pride we have in one another. I love even more what we have behind closed doors—dancing while we brush our teeth in the morning, talking until we finally fall asleep. I love the comfort and peace he brings me. I love the times I get to make him belly laugh. I love that he makes me belly laugh daily. I love that I can talk to him about anything. I love that we have each other’s back through everything.

Where we came from, all signs pointed to failure. But we persisted.

I feel incredibly hesitant to share these stories.

Not only because they resurface so much shame but because I’m worried about what other people might take away from them. I don’t want anyone to read them and think, “If their relationship can survive that, then mine can too.”

What my boyfriend and I had was toxic.

If we had known any better, we would have ended it. We should have ended it. But we were the exception to the rule, not the rule. Most bad relationships will only ever be that—just a bad relationship. If I met anyone who had the kind of relationship my boyfriend and I had, I’d tell them to run fast.

I don’t know why he and I stayed together through so many volatile years. I used to think it was because we were passionate people but that’s a bullshit excuse. Maybe it was because we were too afraid of being single. Maybe it was because we were too naive to know any better. Maybe deep down inside we knew we were meant to be together. I have no clue. But we stayed and it worked out.

But let me be clear!

We only worked out because we BOTH worked hard to turn our relationship around. We both agreed to do better and be better. We didn’t just say we’d put in the hard work, we actually acted on it. I’d see progress in him every day and that made me want to try harder myself.

Our relationship has always been 50/50. We both always give all our effort. Never will you see one of us give 80% and the other 20%. We’re all in, always. Even during the hard times, we were always equal. He was just as part of the problem as I was. Now, we’re both equally part of the solution.

To add to that, we were so young. I’m not saying that’s an excuse for our poor behavior but it kind of is. We got together before we knew how to handle difficult things. We grew through that. Luckily for us, we grew in the same direction.

If you find yourself in a relationship that sounds like the one I used to have… ask yourself. Am I the only one putting in any effort? Are we both 100% working hard towards a better relationship? Are we too damn old to be going through this bullshit so often? If the answers are anything that disappoint you, do yourself a favor and gtfo of it.

So there you have it. Now you know the rest of the story.

Now you know about the rocky road that led to sunsets on the beach. Now you know a little bit about what we did to heal our relationship.

I’ve learned so much during these 11 years. I could offer up tons of advice and share more examples of what you could be doing to build your relationship. Maybe one day I’ll share all the things we stopped and started doing that helped us get to where we’re at. But from this story, I hope you take away a few key points.

If you want a better relationship you have to change your mind about him or her. What you focus on grows.

If you want a better relationship, you better be willing to work for it. Even healthy relationships require work.

Lastly, know when it’s time to move on. Love is wonderful, hope is good, but sometimes that isn’t enough. If you want a better relationship, sometimes that happens outside of your current one.