By Dr. Laura McGuire
I hate surprises—always have, always will. I remember making the terrible mistake of asking for a surprise party in elementary school. One peaceful Sunday afternoon, I came home from church thinking about how much I was looking forward to a nap, and instead found a house full of people screaming “Happy Birthday!” I immediately turned around and burst into a fountain of tears. I wasn’t emotionally prepared, I had other plans set in my mind, and I wasn’t ready to be around people. And that was a good surprise; bad ones are even more jolting.
Much of my anxiety around facing unforeseen circumstances comes from too many traumatic surprises in my lifetime—sudden changes that negatively impact my existence, such as injuries, illness, harm caused by others, or choices I thought would work out and don’t. All of this has culminated in my desire to know exactly what is coming when and to run through every possible “what if” situation until then. If I can think of every imaginable scenario, then I can be prepared for anything that can go wrong, right?
Yet, life continues to love to surprise me.
Every once in a great while, I get a happy surprise. Something comes into my life that brings abundant blessings—blessings that I never saw coming. Even though this is a boon in my life, it still feels frightening because I didn’t predict it or plan for it. I still approach it with hesitation and a dash of dread.
Last year, I went on a journey to reexamine and redefine what relationships, dating, and marriage meant to me. I had been divorced for over six years, had come to terms with my queerness, and had done years of therapy and work on my attachment styles and love languages. Yet, nothing seemed to be working out. I realized that so much of what I wanted and needed was still based on what society had been telling me I was supposed to be looking for. So I took a step back and committed to six months of exploration. I read every book and article I could find on the history and spiritual philosophies on why we partner in the first place. I watched videos and listened to podcasts from different vantage points and approaches on the subject. I asked myself what I truly valued—separate from what others told me was feasible, but instead what truly spoke to my heart.
And then I gave up. I gave up on everything. I had settled in the past, but I had now raised the bar so high that I would have to make one huge concession: I had to stop dating (in the traditional sense of the word).
By “stopping dating,” I mean that I had to stop thinking that going on dates and believing that someone simply being “nice enough” was ever going to work. I had to enjoy my own company enough that I had peace with being single long-term—perhaps forever—without a mental asterisk saying that I really needed “long-term” to be shorter than forever, or that I could sacrifice the things that mattered to me most in a life partner if it meant I wasn’t so alone.
Slowly, with work, reflection, and time, I finally felt at peace. I would no longer date, I would only make new platonic friends in my life. If I felt a love starting to grow, I would be clear on what I needed—courtship, marriage, and a true ride-or-die relationship. If that was too much or too fast for the other person, we could stay friends. But I wouldn’t settle, because for the first time in my life, I was sincerely okay with staying single for as long as I shall live.
As queer people, it can be so hard to claim love for ourselves in the ways that are true and real for us. We don’t fit into the narratives designed for cis-het folks, but we also may not fit into scripts that the queer community has developed either. What if authentic relationships look radically different for us? Perhaps we formulate a mixture that is all our own.
This is where I landed in my journey—taking pieces of dozens of narratives, traditions, and beliefs and creating a mosaic of what was real and true for me. And finally, after 30 years of compromising and apologizing, standing by it unwaveringly.
This Valentine’s Day, I got married. I finally found a love that is moving in my same direction and is willing to grow alongside me. This time around, I got married being who I truly am, with all of my beliefs, experiences, and identities fully present in my union. I had a traditional Christian ceremony, our officiant used my they/them pronouns, and my favorite love poem To Love is not to Possess was read. I know that our story and blending of beliefs and cultures may seem too “outside of the box” for some—and simply puzzling to others—but I’m okay with that. I am, at long last, perfectly imperfect being my tapestry of uniqueness—and that is a surprise for which I have long waited.
