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I was almost 30, and two weeks out of a shitty on again/off again relationship with an idiot who manipulated me and drank too much (He also accused me of being a lesbian for hanging an adorable banner in my room that read “MISANDRY”) when I swiped right on the guy who is now my husband.
It turned out Taylor was friends with my male roommate, and had popped up on my Tinder because he was in the area hanging out with him.
I wasn’t incredibly interested, but Taylor had been aware of my existence prior, and was apparently pretty excited. He teases me and says I was cold at first, but I just wasn’t that into it, despite the good morning texts. I didn’t want a fucking boyfriend. But he turned out to be everything I didn’t know I needed.
On December 27th, a week after the first time we hung out, he told me via text (I know, I know), that he wanted to be my boyfriend.
I turned to my roommate and said, “I’m going to fucking marry this guy. I don’t want to get married, but I’m going to marry him, I know it.”
I later learned, on our wedding day in fact, that a week after we made it official, at a family wedding, Taylor told his aunt that he had met the woman he was going to marry, and our wedding would be the next one. And it was.
Taylor has proved to be the kindest, most patient, man I’ve ever been in a relationship with. We have a lot in common, including anxiety and depression, and it was a whole new feeling having someone not only support me, but know exactly what I was experiencing.
I credit a lot to his years of therapy, going to rehab and getting sober, and losing his mom to breast cancer. It’s made him sensitive, emotive, and receptive. He claims he lost his ability to lie and bullshit when he stopped drinking and doing drugs. I always know how he’s feeling, and that’s encouraged me to express myself more.
Not to say it’s always great. His feelings can get easily hurt, he can be insecure and jealous. I tend to micromanage, and I can be mean when I’m stressed. Really loving him has opened me up to all sorts of new anxieties, too. What if his shit diet kills him? What if he leaves me for someone younger in 10 years? I didn’t used to fear losing men.
When we met, Taylor lived over an hour away in Los Angeles. Determined to always be together, we did a lot of driving. I put almost a thousand miles on my car in a two-week period, he’d get up before dawn to commute to work from my place (he finished Serial in like three days).
We moved in together in February. It wasn’t all roses, though. Before meeting him, and after overcoming a lot of fear and self doubt, I said yes to something I’d wanted for years. I’d come to the hard-won decision to move to New York City.
One of my best friends lives there, the city makes me feel brave and alive, accepting that the move wasn’t going to happen was like mourning a death. I felt like a liar and a flake, and this colored some of our early days in the new house.
I raged against living in LA, the traffic, the people. Ever patient, Taylor stood by me, and comforted me, though I know it hurt him. Ultimately, I knew that I was the one who decided to stay, and that my love for him was greater than the pain I felt over the life that could have been.
I was raging like this on March 15th, when he texted me from work, saying to get ready, he was taking me out. I bitched. I didn’t want to go to the old school Italian restaurant he loved, but I reluctantly zipped my sweaty body into a black bodycon dress.
After dinner, he drove us up Mulholland Drive, and I joked that he’d finally had enough, and was probably going to murder me up there. We waited for an awkwardly long time at an overlook for another couple in a SUV to leave.
I suspected what might be happening, we’d talked about it a lot, but I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
I kept trying to kiss him, he kept trying to talk to me. Finally he dropped to one knee, and said that if someone had asked him after our first night together if he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, he would have blurted out “YES!” in a second.
I leapt into his arms, and we almost ate shit. It was dark, but by the light in his Prius I saw the sparkly little diamond that had been his late mother’s earring, set on a tiny yellow gold band, just liked I’d wanted. After, we drove to 7-11 and got snacks.
Want to test your sanity? Then you should definitely make an emotionally fraught move with your new love, then immediately start planning a wedding. I pushed for a city hall wedding, or an elopement.
After all, this was my second wedding. I’d done everything “right” the first time, together for three-and-a-half years when we got engaged, married six months later. In retrospect, my ex so wasn’t into it. I don’t know what the hell we were doing.
It only took a few months before I was so unhappy I was seeing a therapist, and our marriage only made it a month shy of a year, and our fifth anniversary.
Taylor has a great family, and a million and one friends. I love how loved he is. He wanted to have a “real” wedding with everyone there, and the more I thought about it, the more I did, too.
We planned everything together. He chose the invitations, and got flustered when he couldn’t tie his tie perfectly on our wedding day. He encouraged me to not give up, two weeks before our wedding, when I decided I wanted to wear an actual wedding dress, and had a meltdown thinking I’d never find one in time.
I did, and now I can add “formal crop top” to my clothing repertoire.
During our engagement, I never asked anyone what they thought of my decision, and sometimes I lied to people and said we’d been together a year. Part of me feared the judgement, or prying questions, but mostly I was confident as hell, and didn’t need to hear shit from anyone.
The most surprising, and humbling part, however, was the amount of support we got from people. A friend told us her parents had gotten married even faster than we were, and had been happy for decades. A salesperson told me she’d gotten engaged after only three months, and things were going great.
Our families were nothing short of joyful. My mother loves Taylor, and says I’m more like myself with him than anyone I’ve ever been with.
We got married on May 28th, 2015, a day after our five-month anniversary. At the reception, I was approached by a friend, tears streaming down her face behind her Oliver Peoples glasses, she said her husband told her she needed to come tell me, and not just him, that she knew how it felt to be married to the best guy ever, and welcome to the club.
Having always admired her, and her marriage, I was totally struck by this, and it stands out amongst the moments of that day. I do feel like part of something now, more than feeling like a special snowflake, I feel a sense of camaraderie with my happily coupled peers I’d never felt before.
I don’t know if I’d recommend this path for people, but it feels like the sanest decision we could have made.