Philip was different. He wasn’t just different from any man I had ever dated; he was different from any man I had ever known. He was selfless, patient, and never once did he pity me. So often we see ourselves in the worst light, and when I looked in the mirror, I still sometimes saw myself as a pathetic, beat-up loser. But when Philip looked at me, he saw a fun-loving girl full of life. Nobody needs a romantic partner to rescue them, and Philip didn’t save me; I saved myself. My attitude toward my life had already improved before Philip came along, and I believe I would have had a good and happy life even if we’d never met. But when you’re healing after a major depression and learning how to like yourself again, it sure helps to spend time with someone who sees and appreciates the best parts of you.
I didn’t start having feelings for Philip because I thought he was perfect. I’m not that naïve. He had and still has plenty of things to work on. (He approved that last sentence.) And I have plenty of things to work on also. (I approve that last sentence.) Philip drew me in because he’s as brutally honest and open about his flaws as I’d been about mine on our first date. And, even more important, he’s proactive about working on his character glitches instead of just ignoring them. Now, that’s hot!
Here’s something I learned along the way: pay attention to whether a behavior is a pattern or an event. We all have really bad days, and we all do stupid things and hurt people. We just do. And if what’s getting under your skin is a negative event—meaning the behavior is out of character—then dip into your supply of grace and understanding, talk it out, and let it go. It’s what you’d want in return. But if what’s causing you pain is part of a negative pattern, if it’s something that keeps happening and no effort is put toward remedying the behavior, well, then you have a pretty grim decision to make: stay or walk away. (Walk away!)
The pattern (not an event) with Philip has always been that he genuinely respects me, is willing to make sacrifices for me, pays attention to what I need or want or like, and goes out of his way to show me he cares. I have happily embraced those positive patterns.
When we were sure our feelings for each other were real, we requested a meeting with the other managers at the restaurant to let them know that we had started dating. Since Philip was just an interim manager who was leaving within weeks to manage a different restaurant, and because the other managers trusted both of us to be completely professional, they were fine with us dating. In fact, they were ecstatic. The single mom everyone wanted to set up was finally seeing someone! And not just someone, but a really nice guy who everyone respected.
After a while, when I was secure in my feelings for him, I introduced Philip to my children. We never showed any affection in front of them—no flirting, not even holding hands. This was important to me. I didn’t want my children to bond with him as some type of fatherly figure, just in case things didn’t work out with us. Breakups are hard enough for adults, and we actually have the capacity and insight to understand why things don’t always work out, to deal with sadness or rejection. Children bond so fast, and any change in a kid’s life is a big change; they aren’t equipped to handle all that emotional baggage and they shouldn’t have to. I wasn’t willing to risk my kids feeling abandoned if this seemingly great relationship didn’t last. They had already dealt with the pain and confusion of their parents divorcing. Since I had as many good male friends in my life as female friends, it was easy to introduce Philip to my children as just another friend of mine.
A few months after Philip met my kids, I had a particularly rough night. Matea woke up in the middle of the night vomiting. Beans. Pinto beans. Chewed up, swallowed, and then regurgitated all over the carpet. The chaos woke up Luka, who screamed and cried in exhaustion. It was one of those single-mom moments when I thought I would actually go insane. I looked insane, probably smelled insane, and my head was pounding from all the screaming. I was trying to calm down my children and clean up my daughter and the carpet when I thought, Why would any man sign up for this?
So naturally I called Philip and woke him up. “Come over. Come over right now. You say you want me, you say you want my life and everything that comes along with it? Then come over now.” He was at my apartment in twenty minutes. The kids were still screaming, and I was on all fours on the floor, scrubbing the carpet. I expected a look of shock or disgust, maybe even anger that I had woken him up in the middle of the night for this. But instead, without missing a beat, Philip got down on that floor, grabbed the rag out of my hand, and cleaned up my daughter’s vomit. Then he tucked my children in and got them to sleep. And then he tucked me in, kissed my forehead, and said, “Yes, I want this. I want every part of it. All three of you.”
Despite all of this, there was still a tiny little part of me that would occasionally interrupt our great dates to wonder whether Philip was genuine. Could I really know him? Could I trust who he really seemed to be or how he really felt about me? I was falling in love with him, but resisting commitment with every bone in my body.
I credit Philip’s parents for helping me through my ambivalence. They never sat me down and gave me a heartfelt speech or anything, but watching them interact with each other showed me that maybe I was wrong about my conclusion that all married couples eventually end up miserable together. One evening, Philip and I were having dinner with his dad at his parents’ home while his mom was at work, and his father looked over at the empty seat where his wife usually sat and said, “I miss her when she’s not here.” He missed her. After forty years of marriage, he still missed her.
And then one Easter, Philip was on the phone with his mom, who was telling him to go out and buy my kids the big, prepackaged Easter baskets wrapped in cellophane. She would pay him back. Philip told her he’d just buy candy and put the baskets together himself, that it would be cheaper than shelling out for the prepackaged ones. But his mom insisted that the kids had to have the big, cheesy, prepackaged, cellophane-wrapped baskets. She explained that when she was a little girl, she always wanted one of those and her mom would never buy it for her. Philip’s dad overheard her phone conversation with Philip, and it was a story he’d never heard before. He immediately went to the store and bought his wife her very first prepackaged, cellophane-wrapped Easter basket.
As I got to know Philip’s family, I found it easier to trust his intentions. He wasn’t just trying to win me over. He was genuinely a thoughtful, kind man. He had learned how to be this way from his parents.
During one of our dates, and in the middle of another one of my soapbox rants that Philip had grown accustomed to at this point, I mentioned that I think premarital counseling is a joke. Philip was confused.
“Really? I thought you were a big fan of therapy.”
“Oh, I am,” I replied. “Huge fan! It’s just that after people get engaged, they write out their guest lists and go dress shopping and show off their engagement rings to everyone and start planning out centerpieces and blah, blah, blah . . . and by that point, are they really going to call the wedding off if a therapist tells them they might not be right for each other? My guess is most people still go through with the wedding thinking, We’ll figure it out. Our love can conquer all! Total delusion. Puke.