Lost and Found: Finding Hope in the Detours of Life (9 page)

I’d usually stand to the side while she playfully interacted with them, waiting for her to catch up with them so we could walk to the other side of campus. One day while waiting on her, I started chatting with one of the players, Robert. Over the course of the semester while Danielle was catching up with some of the friends she’d made on the team, Robert and I would talk for a few minutes. Flirtatious banter and jokes soon became our “thing.”

We eventually exchanged numbers and started texting occasionally. Then we had our first telephone conversation and everything changed. He seemed terribly obnoxious and arrogant over the phone. He called once more before I decided we had nothing to talk about.

Overall, my first semester at TCU was pretty normal. Soon I met a nice guy named Deon, delved into my schoolwork during the day, cared for Malachi in the evening, and did homework at night. I was finding a rhythm. Outside of Danielle and a few other juniors and seniors, I didn’t have many friends my own age. I didn’t live on campus, and I was only there for my classes, so I didn’t really have a way to become socially involved. I usually walked from class to class alone. It seemed like my plan was going according to schedule. Nonetheless, I still felt anxious, as if waiting for some other shoe to drop.

There are these moments, these quiet times, in our life when it seems like just for a moment everything will be okay. Then we become afraid that the moment is too good to be true, so we don’t rest in those times. Sometimes we can be so unfamiliar with peace that we do whatever we can to jeopardize it. How tragic is it when we are only comfortable when we are surrounded by discomfort? I had found as much peace as I could with my journey, but I was still hoping to show my family, my church, and the world I could recover.

———

I didn’t speak much to anyone on campus. Sure, news had spread that T.D. Jakes’s daughter was attending the school, but no one knew my story or could easily recognize my face. I liked it that way. I didn’t
want to draw any more interest to myself than necessary. By spring semester, I finally had my driver’s license, which helped me become more involved on campus and meet a few more friends. My routine was pretty much the same: go to class, hang out in the student union, pick up Malachi from day care, study, and take care of Chi in the evening. My friendly courtship with Deon was coming to an end, which was fine.

Our relationship had been casual and friendly, but we were looking for such different things at that time in our lives. He was older and more mature, ready to settle down. I knew that I needed to focus and couldn’t afford many distractions. Toward the end of my first year at Texas Christian University, I had not changed much. I was still very focused and committed to making a better future for my son and myself.

A few weeks after Deon and I broke up, I ran into Robert, and we soon resumed our casual, flirtatious banter. It was not without second thoughts, though, because I remembered how obnoxious he’d been on the phone. Danielle had also warned me back then that Robert—like many of the other football players—was bad news. He had a reputation for being strong-willed, overly confident, and a bit unruly. On the playing field these traits made him an exceptional leader and passionate motivator, the same qualities that attracted me.

I knew firsthand what it was like to have a lot of people think negatively about you, and I wanted to form my own opinion about Robert. Despite that arrogant alpha routine on the phone shortly after we first met, I wanted to give him a fair chance. When you become the victim of rumors and prejudgment, you become more compassionate when you hear someone else being judged. I chose to ignore what everyone said about Robert because one day I wanted everyone to ignore what they heard about me. I chose to give him the chance that I wanted others to give me.

And he surprised me. There was something vulnerable within his strength, something tender and fragile. So we began talking . . . and talking . . . for hours. In between classes, while sitting in the car outside the dorm, or on the phone before bed, we talked and grew closer.

Outside of what everyone thought about him, he was actually a very funny and charming person. I felt fortunate that I was able to see a side of him that others didn’t get to see. We were a lot alike: a reputation that preceded us but a heart at its core that was beautiful and willing to give and receive love anyway.

I started to love the broken pieces in him that looked so much like my own jagged edges. And besides, we weren’t in a relationship, just good friends. On Easter, I invited him over for our family’s annual party. It was the first time he would see the other side of my world.

After spending most of the holiday together laughing, eating, and joking around, I drove him back to the campus dorms. We had two completely different backgrounds, yet we had this universal commonality: We were broken. He told me about his daughter and her sister that he was also caring for. I told him about my son, which actually took some time convincing him was true. He had heard of my dad but didn’t really think that it was as big of a deal as others on campus made it to be. Robert never asked me to get a book signed for his mother or to schedule a time for him to meet with my dad for prayer.

I liked that. I liked that he didn’t care who I was or that I had a son. For the first time in my life, it seemed like all someone wanted from me was me.

———

Most guys that I dated were afraid of my father. Between his appearance (over six-foot-four) and his occupation, my dad was a daunting presence for any potential boyfriends.

No one ever dared to get on his bad side. Our friends used to joke that getting in trouble with our dad would also get you in trouble with God. It started off pretty funny, but when you see your dad as just your dad, it starts to get old. Robert was the first person who dared to not care about what my dad did. I was attracted to that in him. I had been so busy trying to earn my father’s respect, maintain his forgiveness, and make him proud that the idea of emulating Robert’s nonchalant attitude was very appealing.

I still didn’t feel like I had any place in church, and with the difficulty of my courses increasing, I started to question whether my plan to become CFO was even feasible. The idea of changing my major, though, after talking for almost a year about how much help I could offer the ministry, would go directly against everything I had told my friends and family. I didn’t want to seem indecisive or, worse, risk disappointing them again. I didn’t feel like I had much room for any more errors.

I wanted to be more like Robert.

I made decisions for my life based on how I thought others felt. I never checked to actually see if what I thought was fact. Trapped between a rock and a hard place, I let Robert become my escape. I wanted to borrow from his strength; I just didn’t know that it would mean I had to give mine away.

Fear has got to be one of the greatest emotions humans experience. We depend on its strength to teach unforgettable lessons. We hope that the fear of getting burned will be enough to keep us from touching fire. I was afraid of disappointing my family. I felt like life hadn’t left me with many other opportunities to mess up. I put the pressure on myself, but it was easier to think it was what everyone expected from me. I needed the pressure to motivate me because I didn’t have time to find my passion. Robert had all of this passion and seemed so immune to pressure.

He expected nothing from me and I appreciated that, because it was easier than having to admit that I was afraid of failing. It is, in my opinion, the same reason why the cliché that misery loves company rings so true. When you are surrounded by happy people, they expect you to be happy. Miserable people don’t expect you to be anything other than miserable.

When two people are broken when they meet, like Robert and I were, they aren’t looking for someone to make them better. They just want to connect with someone who doesn’t expect them to be anything other than broken. Sure, I had plans on healing, and maybe, if I was strong enough, I could help him heal, too. But right then, in the moment, I didn’t want our relationship to be anything other than two broken people searching for the bridge to healing.

We both had the same goal of outrunning our pasts and creating a better future. So we bonded over our dreams, pain, fear, and disappointment. I knew his reputation, but I knew mine, too. I didn’t care what others thought about him because I knew what those people would say about me.

A week before the semester ended, I called Robert to see if we could hang out. He told me that he couldn’t because he was packing to move out of his dorm . . .

. . . and into an apartment with his fiancée.

I SHOULD’VE BACKED
away.

“Your fiancée?” I asked, trying not to lose it.

“It’s sort of complicated,” Robert said. “She’ll deal, you’ll see.”

Between my friend Danielle’s warnings and Robert’s abrupt decision to move into an apartment with a fiancée he had never once mentioned, I should’ve run and never looked back. Instead, I continued to see him as if nothing had happened. I was dating an engaged man. I thought that if I played the supportive friend role, he would see that I was the one he should be with. I made a conscious decision, and hurt another woman in order to pursue a man who could not see my worth, regardless of how much of me I gave him.

I’ve pondered whether or not to fully admit this truth to the world because it would’ve been so easy to just play the victim. I could say that I was a good girl who did all the right things, gave my all to my dream man, only to end up devastated. However, I know the truth and recognize my part in what happened. I know with certainty
that such a story is too real for so many women. And I could never diminish their pain to protect my name.

I also know that my story is not unique. For quite a few women who are broken and ashamed, like I’ve been, we actively play a role in hurting another woman just so a man can validate us. Piece by piece we give ourselves away, hoping that each piece will amount to enough to make us special to him. Whether it’s our finances, our bodies, our ideas, or our reputations, we find ourselves giving everything we have away.

Eventually we settle and begin to believe that maybe this is the best that life has to offer us. We hear horror story after horror story of relationships gone awry, and we decide that the whole world is settling so we might as well, too. Somewhere along the way we lose the belief in fairy tales, let alone mature love, and settle for something we’d never wish for our own daughters, yet somehow become content to have for ourselves.

It’s not to say that a relationship with the right person doesn’t take a lot of work. While I am certainly no expert on love or relationships, I believe that marriage with the right person is worth the investment. I still believe in the kind of love and marriage that has more good days than bad. I still believe that marriage is supposed to be a reflection of Christ’s love for the church. And marriage, like the church, becomes more complicated when you begin intermixing different opinions and personalities. But still, despite life’s complicated dynamics, I believe that with both church and marriage it’s possible to have more love than fear.

———

To this day, when I look back on the beginning stages of heartbreak with Robert and how early in our courtship it was, I have to soul search to discover how I gave up on my dream of love so quickly. If I’m honest with myself, it was my insecurity. Part of me had quietly
grieved that another could never fully accept my situation. Robert was the first guy who, when I told him about my son, didn’t let it affect how he felt about me, and a part of me swooned. I didn’t think anyone could so easily accept that I had a child so early on in my life.

Robert, a linebacker for our university’s football team, was popular around campus and appeared so comfortable in his own skin. His indifference to my father’s status was, at the time, attractive. Although now I view his attitude as a warning, then it seemed like a relief. He was the first person who didn’t elevate me to some heavenly pedestal. Still, I grieve the fact that my insecurity didn’t injure just me. Unintentionally, I inflicted wounds on so many others. I allowed myself not only to be degraded but to degrade others because I decided he was more important than their hearts.

I take ownership for those wounds.

I apologize for every text, call, date, kiss, and other selfish acts committed to feed my own insecurity. My self-doubt made me an assailant. And in these decisions I reaped everything I sowed.

When I first began the journey of healing from my heartbreak, a part of me was bitter. I felt like the women he used to hurt me went on to live happy lives while I suffered picking up the pieces. Since then, I’ve learned the “other woman” never gets away. No matter how well things look on the outside, until you confront your wrongs, you cannot create rights. There is no honor in betrayal. I couldn’t share honestly about my life now without acknowledging the role I played in my own heartbreak and that of other women.

It would be so easy to say I was young. It would be even easier to say, like many do, that I had no responsibility at all because I never made a commitment to his fiancée. After having had the bitter taste of my own medicine, though, I now see that you cannot desire trust and sow betrayal.

———

When he told me he was moving in with his fiancée, my heart imploded. I tried to hush the internal voice that told me the rumors were right about him and that I should just cut my losses. At the very least, I wanted some answers. I wanted to know how he could’ve made me feel so special and then just walk away like I was nothing. Without seeing my relationship with him clearly and objectively, I was dangerously close to feeling like I would never recover. All my hope had shifted to getting his affirmation; he had become my savior. I believed that I knew and understood him like no one else. We had something different and more special than what he had with his fiancée—or anyone else.

He reinforced this odd kind of relational purgatory. He told his fiancée that he and I were friends and that she would have to adjust. I didn’t care whether she liked it or not, as long as I could be around him.

Most of the athletes at TCU had to enroll in summer classes to stay on course with their degree programs. My parents had a very strict either-school-or-work policy, so I enrolled in courses over the summer to spend time with Robert, work toward my degree, and take care of Chi in the evening.

After going to summer school in order to graduate early from high school, I felt like I could handle the responsibility. In hindsight I realize how childish it was to juggle a dysfunctional relationship, college-level summer courses, and a growing toddler. I felt like I could do it, though.

How often do we add burden after burden, then complain about the weight of it all?

My mornings started with taking Malachi to day care, “carpooling with friends” (picking up Robert for class), and then spending every possible minute with Robert until I had to get my son. Even if it meant sitting in the bleachers and reading while Robert worked out on the field with his teammates, I was almost always with him. It became our routine. Occasionally he would mention how our “friendship” made his fiancée insecure, and I would allow the convicted part of me to speak.

“Well, maybe we shouldn’t talk anymore,” I would say, “or maybe I should just see you less.”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” he’d say. “You’re too important to me. I can’t lose you.”

“I don’t want to come between you, though.”

“She’ll handle it, no big deal. You know how special you are to me, don’t you?”

His words fed my insecurity until my conscience finally had to quiet down.

Every day from early May to the end of the first summer session at the end of June, I saw Robert. He was all I wanted to know. I can’t even remember the classes I took—and failed—that summer. But I can tell you the songs we listened to in the car on the way to class or the way he celebrated an interception in practice.

The idea of our becoming something and proving others wrong about our pasts was too appealing to me. I would be his Bonnie and he would be my Clyde. Sure, our situation wasn’t perfect, but it was
ours
, something we shared.

Now I see that love should be used as a tool, not a weapon. Like a tool, love should be used to build something incredible, not to destroy fragile material.

———

The wedding was off.

My relationship with Robert would no longer be creating a dilemma for any of us.

He was moving out and breaking the engagement. Whether the split was a result of his leaving or her asking him to go, I never found out, but I was glad. I had finally won and would have one less thing to feel guilty about. Finally, he and I could just be together. With no complications.

The day Robert got the keys to his new apartment, I wanted him to see he had made the right decision. I would have his back and he would never miss his former fiancée again. I cleaned his new place from top to bottom, then decorated it to make him more comfortable. Using what money I had from tutoring middle school students, my savings, and the charge card for the university bookstore, I tried to create a home for him.

While my parents knew we were dating, they had no idea exactly how much time we were spending together. They assumed, because I led them to believe, that school was completely under control and I was just casually dating Robert, much like I had done with Deon.

I knew they would never approve of such a huge distraction at such a pivotal moment in my life. I also knew that when a person wants something badly enough, she’ll do whatever it takes to get it. Throwing all I had into this dance with Robert, I didn’t want my parents to know how cheaply I had placed myself on sale. So I quietly placed my self-esteem on the clearance rack while I tried to earn enough validation to be whole.

———

I’ve always wanted to meet that person who flees when the first red flag is waved. There’s no doubt what I would have told my closest friend to do if she were in the same situation in which I had now entangled myself. But I wanted to believe so badly that our relationship would work. So I convinced myself that warning signs were merely complications to be overcome, red curtains blocking our view rather than exclamations of imminent danger.

Although our routine remained the same once Robert moved out of his fiancée’s home, we made the decision not to rush into anything. We would just remain friends. We knew that getting involved in a serious committed relationship so quickly would only confirm his fiancée’s fears. There was no need to rush, anyway; we had created a great friendship, and anything further would be well worth the wait.

As the summer came to an end, Robert started two-a-day football practices, which allowed me to focus on the things I’d let slide while chasing his love. Training camp was so grueling that we didn’t get to talk as much as we once did. We’d talk briefly whenever he could take a break, but not like it had been earlier in the summer. I missed him, but I really had a lot of work to make up. By the time camp came to an end, I was all caught up and actually balancing work, parenting, and our friendship.

I enrolled in my classes for my sophomore year promising to be more dedicated and committed than before. And I wouldn’t have much of a choice either; my parents were investing in me, not sending me to school to audition for
The Bachelorette
. I could hear their voices in my head so clearly.

“We’re so proud of you, Sarah.”

“You’re really working hard and that’s what it takes.”

“Keep going, girl!”

“We will invest in your goals as long as you invest your efforts at the same level.”

They assumed the best about me, and I didn’t want to give them any evidence that the worst was yet to come. In fact, I had no idea myself.

———

One night a couple weeks into my sophomore year, I was home studying but finally couldn’t resist checking in on Facebook. Due to that obnoxious phone conversation not long after we first met, Robert and I had never become friends on Facebook. And we didn’t need to since we talked almost every day.

And at this point, I had too much pride to add him as a friend after making such a big deal out of ignoring his initial request. This didn’t prevent me from stalking his page from time to time, though. So periodically I would type in each letter of his name and smile.

That September evening was not much different, except this time when Robert’s profile finished loading, there were photos of him, his ex-girlfriend—the one he dated
before
his fiancée—and her friends in the apartment I had vacuumed and cleaned for him just days before. Apparently, his ex was now his ex-ex. Within seconds I was breathing fire. Livid is an understatement. I had sacrificed my time, money, heart, and morals. And he was throwing it all right back in my Facebook.

Now, before I continue and share what happened that night, I know you’ve got to be wondering why my relationship with Robert didn’t end right there. What could compel me to stay when it was so clear that our relationship was in trouble? As I look back, the truth stares back at me, not accusingly but compassionate and clear-eyed.

The truth is, I had too much pride to admit that I had gambled on love and lost. From a young age, girls hear these stories about love making someone better. Somehow I thought that if I was good enough to him, then he would want to be good to me, too. Isn’t that how relationships are supposed to work?

I grew up watching my mother care for my father. She never raised her voice, constantly kept a clean home, made his plates, and ran his bath water. He provided for her, listened to her, encouraged her, served her, and surprised her with little notes, presents, and special dates. I had no definition of what a loving relationship was like outside of their commitment. Looking back, I realize now that long before marriage was on the table, I had given myself to the role of Robert’s wife, even though I would cry many more tears before I ever became one.

Sure, I told myself, he was a little rough around the edges, but who isn’t? Even if those edges were sharp, I had given too much of myself away to turn back. The personal investment was too great to lose without a return. What if no one else would ever accept my truth the way he did? What if no one else would understand the pressure of being T.D. Jakes’s daughter? Or how badly I just wanted to be me? Who else could I bare that truth to?

The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve realized I’m not alone in feeling this way. Although I felt like an anomaly, almost every woman I’ve met has had a relationship where she wishes she had held back more so she didn’t have to walk away with so much less. We’re all human.