Crying in the Closet

During my first few weeks of college, I learned something interesting and unexpected: graduating from high school and moving out on your own does not make you an adult. Your thoughts and behaviours are not magically replaced by more mature inklings and actions. I’m reminded of that one time when I turned 30 years old. I expected to wake up on the anniversary of my birth and feel different, somehow. Without a doubt, I believed I would sit up in bed and exclaim, “Oh! So THIS is what 30 feels like! It’s completely different than how I felt a few minutes ago when I was still a measly 29.” That didn’t happen.

Considering my expectations going in, I was completely floored when my exciting new relationship took a fatal nosedive before it really even began. I thought it was the end of the world. I was used to dealing with heartbreak at “home”, in the privacy of my own room and comfort zone. I had no idea what to do with myself in my new apartment in an unfamiliar town. The only obvious thing I could do was retreat to my closet. I was blessed to have a wonderful walk-in closet that first year of school and it seemed the best place to hide out and cope with the harsh realizations of adulthood. As I sat there amidst my clothes and shoes and my roommate’s clothes and shoes, sobbing about the unfairness of love and life, I wondered how I would go on.

At this point, you may be shaking your head and thinking, “What’s the big deal? So, you got dumped? It happens!” Of course, in retrospect, it wasn’t a big deal at all. But, I was quickly learning another interesting tidbit about my fellow female students. I didn’t know, nor would I meet until much later, one single girl who was attending college with any real education or career goal in mind. That’s not to say that we weren’t a determined gaggle of girls. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever met a more singularly focused group of people since. The aim of our focus, you ask? Why, to get married, of course! Taking classes and working toward graduation was merely a time killer until Mr. Right walked in to sweep you off your feet.

Such was the world in which I lived: where everyone “joked” about getting their MRS degree and virtually every activity was geared toward putting guys and girls in situations where “love” could be found. Making it through your first year of college without a marriage proposal was akin to being placed on the “Spinster for Life” list. I was as deeply entrenched in this way of thinking as you could get and that is why I sat in my closet crying (and because I’d had my heart good and truly broken as only a teenage girl can). That’s where and how my roommate and best friend found me. And, as only a best friend can, she told me to get out of there, stop snuffling all over her shoes, fix my makeup and show that silly boy just what he’s losing!

Let me tell you! It worked! I dried my eyes and got all glammed up for a school-sponsored activity that I was pretty sure my newly-minted ex would be attending. I was fashionably late but knew I had caught his eye the second I walked through the door. As soon as the event was over, he came up to me and asked if we could speak in private. We reconciled that night; two weeks later, he proposed and two months later, we were married! It was like a dream come true! Ok, ok, that totally did NOT happen. But, I did dust myself off and I never cried in my closet again.

When I look back at that first romantic experience, I think the thing that was most disappointing to me is that I had sincerely hoped college would be my chance to break the cycle. I was never very good at relationships. Whether it’s inherent or learned, I’m emotionally stifled. Instead of simply voicing how I feel, I attempt to weigh out whether saying what’s on my mind will seem too gushy or not sincere enough. I balance the pros and cons of being completely honest regarding my feelings before I open my mouth. And, more often than not, I shut my mouth before I say anything at all. Over time, I’ve learned that this is largely due to fear that my feelings will not be reciprocated. I’ve repeatedly tried to convince myself that if I don’t say something out loud, I can’t be hurt by the intended’s actions. Through experience, I’ve learned that this is definitely not true but, somehow, the illogic still (even today) makes sense in my mind.

During my second year of college I would meet someone who would help me step over that wall I kept around me. He never struggled to find the words to express himself and I felt bolstered by his confidence and self-assurance. Meeting him would be the start of a turning point in my life such as I never imagined possible.