And Sixpence in Your Shoe: Bittersweet Love

Most brides know the saying:

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

Maybe it was just me, but until I got married I didn’t know there’s another line:

And sixpence in your shoe.

I knocked out blue, new, and sixpence in my shoe in one shot. There was additional malicious compliance, but I loved those shoes and was so proud I managed to keep sixpence secured to the bottom all day.

(Pic by Me: Sixpence & Blue, Wedding Shoes)

I’m divorced now, so it turns out, marriage isn’t built on complying with superstitious traditions. It’s built on a willingness to love your partner in spite of their flaws, during their lowest times, and creating a life where there is mutual physical, emotional, and spiritual safety, where each person can grow, flourish, and be the best version of themselves. It’s a space filled with compassion, patience, and joy created together.

Around the beginning of 2018, a new colleague moved in next to me. Initially, he was like a mentor. A genius who I talked to when I needed advice.

I had a bit of a crush pretty early on, but it wasn’t a physical one: I was wildly fascinated with his mind. I’d be lying if the age gap — 24 years — didn’t also stop me. I dated actively back then, albeit unsuccessfully, men my own age. I’ve grown up a lot since then.

In October of 2019, I needed a date to a formal work event. He was perfectly suited for the job of being my plus one. He picked my up in his all blacked out sports car, looking completely different, sexy, dressed in formal wear. The night ended poorly: too much alcohol, an argument, a horrible hangover. We exchanged apologies a few weeks later.

After the Pandemic began, I didn’t hear much from anyone I didn’t need to talk to. 2020 & 2011 were both incredibly, almost indescribably hard; I intend to write about that eventually — I’m still working through the fallout. 2022 was better, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m finally getting there. This story is about my recent heartbreak and the short-ish version of my whirlwind love story that brought me to this place.

Without further ado, fast forward to the end of 2021 or early 2022. I don’t remember how we started texting, probably about work. If I recall correctly, he sent me a Merry Christmas gif and I was a little surprised, pleasantly so. I’d missed our banter. I also realized I’d truly had a more-than-just-platonic crush on him (we’ll call him O), before we ever started messaging.

I was flirting with O subtly at first, then obviously, until he finally asked me out. I think my heart skipped a beat when I read O’s message asking me out. “I thought you’d never ask (winky face emoji).”

Our first date was postponed by an emergency: I was overwhelmed with worry about him. But he explained and apologized profusely; and the date was worth waiting for. A second first date. We laughed and said the first time in 2019 didn’t count.

I’d never seen O in his natural habitat. As we talked, all I could think was “he’s magic, this is magic.” I’m not usually a “sex on the first date” gal, but I had to have this man. It was mind blowing. And it was good again in the morning.

Early on, in March and April, things became serious quickly. We spent as much time as possible together, became “exclusive” almost immediately, exchanged “I love you’s” FAST, and talked about OUR future. I’m pretty sure I asked him to marry me. But not quite that straightforward. We looked at rings. A whirlwind.

And just as quickly as he swept my off of my feet, he pulled the rug back out from under me. I regrettably told him my Reddit handle, where I’d spewed ridiculous things about another man I’d loved, among other things. He read all of it. I do mean ALL OF IT. He had questions which I gladly answered, but the answers weren’t sufficient. I continued to write and post; he continued to read, invariably getting angry about something I wrote, posted, or commented. And we argued about a lot more than that. He had a lot of anger and I have a lot of trauma triggers, anxiety, and panic attacks, not as well controlled as I thought. I had a way of angering him no matter what I did and he exposed the unhealed parts of me with his words.

I was staying at his house one weekend that turned into me working there on a Monday. His texts became increasingly … confusing or contentious, and I couldn’t focus. I started to panic. I really loathe that my panic is paralysis or flight. I don’t recall exactly what he said that flipped me to “flight” but I do recall suddenly feeling and thinking that I needed some space and so did he.

I packed my things and tried to breathe — I had so much stuff there — it was all a giant blur; I wrote O a note about a project I left for him, messaged him that I was going home, and left.

Things were never the same after that. He took a “break” as a betrayal, an actual breakup. It’s not what I intended, I wanted a timeout, maybe a week — obvious I didn’t think it through — but I couldn’t ever get past that with him. We got back together. Always ups and downs, on and off. I was never “off,” I’ve never loved anyone like I loved him.

It’s was because of the ups and downs, because I hadn’t ever loved so deeply, I tried to do thoughtful things to remind him that I was always all in. Over the Summer, when we were trying “on” again, I gave him a token of my love.

Years ago, a Bahamian man told me and two of my friends a tall tale about the luck of Bahamas Pennies. I believed him for years until I searched for any confirmation of it and: nope! But it’s a cute story. I also managed to locate a 2 pence coin from some long ago Euro trip. I made an envelope, drew a heart and four leaf clover on it.

When O stopped by to visit, I told him the last line of the bridal saying, the Bahamas Penny story, and that I’d kept that last penny for the person I wanted to spend my life with. Poking fun at myself about my earlier “Marriage Proposal,” I handed him 3 pence in a tiny homemade envelope; for luck and love. I told him when he was ready to get married, to bring my 3 pence back with 3 more.

Maybe it was cheesy. I like doing little, but thoughtful, romantic things. We broke up again. I forget how many more times it was, before I figured out in October that he was seeing another woman. Or that I was the other woman. This story isn’t about that. I gave another chance again after that. I was a volunteer for pain at that point.

Now I’m all out of lucky Pennies and patience. It’s all so bittersweet; I’m hopeful that it’ll be less bitter and more sweet as my mind sorts through the mess over time. There will be no more one-sided, unrequited love. He can only ghost me once, so that’s nice, I guess. No more trust issues; no issues with O at all. But I can’t just turn off a love like this, so I’ll be healing, over here, until I mend the gaping hole and find the perfect space for this love. I’ll be ok, I always am. Maybe just not today.

Post Script — after not responding and ignoring me for days, O messaged yesterday. I thought he had messaged the wrong person and I said that. I’m not sure where, if anywhere at all, things go from here. I’m not ok with such long periods of silence. I just don’t have the answers. I don’t think he loves me, certainly not how I love him or how he loves his privacy.