I’m Glad I Didn’t “Guard My Heart”

One of the great things about having in-laws as crazy as oneself is that they become your conversation partners for topics you can’t typically discuss with others. The other day, my sister-in-law and I tried to make some sense of the phrase “guarding your heart” which got bandied about so liberally in our youth group culture during the early 00’s. (I can think of few other friends who’d care enough to talk this through with me, so I remain indebted to her for the convo, and thus this entry.) You remember “guarding your heart,” right? It was a form of emotional purity in which you didn’t get emotionally involved with someone unless you were immediately ready to start a healthy, intentional relationship that could very well end in marriage. So vague crushes, partners who weren’t ready to get serious, or people you weren’t already sure you could marry were things you shouldn’t indulge in. And what happened if you did? The ultimate consequence: heartbreak!

The sis and I reached the conclusion that risk aversion was really at the base of most emotional purity teachings. It was certainly used as a scare tactic. According to purity culture lore, heartbreak sounded about on par with the rise of the Third Reich—an insurmountable disaster that would destroy your peace and tarnish your report card with God.

I was 21 when I learned from personal experience just how wrong most of that advice truly is.

Story time!

That year, as a junior in college, I did something that seemed pretty stupid at the time: I fell deeply in love on the rebound. I was six weeks out of a two-year relationship. My new fella, Jaron, had been on-again/off-again with another girl for a long time; their ups and downs were so constant you needed Dramamine to follow it. We may have had just the wee-est bit of baggage each, and had zero business falling in love. But we tripped past the line of common sense and fell headlong into the deepest kind of connection, the kind you think Hollywood invented just to sell popcorn on Valentine’s Day, but it was real. High school crushes and a confusing college boyfriend had drowned out my girlhood dreams of what a soul mate should be; Jaron reminded me. He loved expressing his feelings and hearing mine expressed. The details of our togetherness mattered to him, so he kept track of the number of kisses he’d given me and the one-month anniversary of the day we admitted our attraction. He shared my enthusiasm for getting off the couch and doing real things, like home-made treasure hunts, and chess, and driving around town in search of that one obscure CD. In short, I was finding things in him that I’d forgotten to want in a partner.

Because our friendship snowballed into love without either of our permission, there was never a moment where he asked me to be his girlfriend. We weren’t “official.” To the contrary, we stole kisses in private and held hands when no one was looking. We were both confused about falling so hard for someone during the rebound, and the social stigma around that kept us from moving forward. We hung in a secret dream world together, pretending we wouldn’t have to wake up.

Of course, the proverbial alarm clock did eventually ring. The girl Jaron had been on-and-off with was not completely out of the picture, and at a certain point, it looked like things with her might go ahead and work out. Jaron had a choice; make things official with me, or drop interest in me and pursue her.

I thought there was a good chance he’d choose her.

I mean, they had a history. Even through long-distance separation, parental disapproval, and passing interest in other people, they always managed to get back on each other’s radar. I had fallen for Jaron in full knowledge of this, almost in defiance of it, like some crazed game of chicken with Cupid. Now Cupid was calling my bluff, and I, too, had a choice: break off my whatever-it-was with Jaron and cut my losses before the feelings got too strong; or leave the door open for a relationship with him, but risk getting my heart broken if he chose her.

A world of church-y relationship advice started ringing in my ears, everything I’d ever heard about the dangers of risking your emotions on transient relationships. If those platitudes ever applied anywhere, they surely applied to me.

But I couldn’t follow the path of self-protection. A few days of careful thinking led to the unorthodox but inevitable conclusion that I had to step in front of the oncoming heartbreak train and give this thing every shot I could, even if I got run over.

You see, I’d known heartbreak. I was broken up with after a two-year relationship, remember? I knew it felt like crawling over broken glass while fire ants wielded pepper spray—but I knew something else would hurt more: wondering “what-if?” for the rest of my life.

Jaron was everything I wanted in a boyfriend. I loved him. I admired him. I respected him. We got each other, we made each other happy. Our potential as a couple was so good that if I lost it without even trying, I would wonder forever. The memory of a perfect almost-relationship would torment me. Forever.

Heartbreak? Pff! I’d already survived that.

If you stood at a shallow ravine and contemplated jumping in, the thought of skinned knees and rocks embedded in your palm might be enough to prevent the jump. But imagine on the other side of that ravine was the fountain of youth, or Utopia, or, I don’t know—a unicorn. If you had even the smallest shot of reaching those things, suddenly the rocks and scrapes don’t look so bad. A medium risk for a priceless reward.

I jumped the ravine and stuck things out with Jaron. And you know what? He chose me.

We just celebrated ten years of being together on April 20.

Jaron holds the record for the riskiest risk I ever risked, and the greatest reward I ever gained. There are few things in life I’m as proud of as my foresight in staying with him. But even if he had completely shattered my hopes and chosen whatsherface, I would not have regretted my choice for one single second. Ten years later, I’m still convinced of that. The heartbreak wouldn’t have killed me, and I wouldn’t have lived the rest of my life wondering.

Avoiding heartbreak is not the goal in life. In fact, you can’t avoid it. And if you try, you’ll miss some really good things along the way.

Here’s the truth. You’re going to fall in love. This will happen whether you let yourself be “official” with someone or not, and love, even in successful relationships, sometimes involves disappointments and anger and sadness. And even if you (miraculously) make it down the wedding aisle without any of this, something else will shoot you in the foot—a friend will betray you, a colleague will die, a family member will disappoint you, and these things will cut so deep that you will literally find yourself gasping for air. Avoiding pain is not the answer, and avoiding human connection as a means of avoiding pain is as disastrous in the romantic realm as it would be in the friendship or family realm.

I guess what I’m saying is, it’s okay to risk your heart sometimes. Of course, be smart about it—don’t pursue an abuser, don’t pursue someone who obviously just strings you along. But if you find yourself where I was, caring deeply for someone but being unable to prognosticate every bend in the road, don’t automatically close the door. Keep it open. No, walk out it. No, run. Don’t stop to put your shoes on, or get a map, or grab your car keys, or lock up behind you, or make a PBJ for the road, just run barefoot out into the world and see where love takes you.

**Post-Script: It occurred to me after posting this that, sure, it’s pretty easy to say “the risk was worth it” in a situation where you didn’t end up experiencing heartbreak. So, I thought I’d better add a further thought. The two-year relationship that ended just before Jaron–the breakup that felt like broken glass, fire ants with pepper spray, etc.–that was the major heartbreak of my young life. And no, I don’t regret that relationship, either. If I could zap back in time to the night I met Boyfriend The First, I would do nothing to stop the meeting, because that relationship had many good points during its two-year run. I’m sure there are some guys I would have regretted becoming involved with, but like I said, there’s a difference between pursuing an unhealthy person/situation versus taking a calculated risk for something wonderful.**