*Note: This story discusses topics of physically abuse and self-harm as well as contains expletive language. All names have been obscured to protect anonymity.
Almost all of us, at some point, have been head-over-heels in love with another. In that euphoria, we usually don’t stop and consider all of our decisions rationally. Being with this person is exciting; it makes our stomachs aflutter with butterflies, our nerves feel as if they’re on fire. But what if you had to answer the question, “How far am I willing to go for the one I love?” What would you do? Do you even have an idea?
As a naive, 16 year old, I learned the answer to that question in an evening that defined not only my conception of what a healthy relationship should be but also highlighted my own ineptitude at life.
We’ve all been there when we’re a teenager. We think we’re unstoppable. Until, that is, when life literally stops us to tell us otherwise. This is the story of an event that happened in the middle of a four year long relationship with my first love. We are no longer together and I have moved on; but to this day, I am still shaken to the core by what happened that night. I also learned a great deal about love — allow me to share it with you.
. . .
You need to know a little bit about me and my partner at the time of this event. We were both the typical teenage love story: two adolescents who found each other, made a strong connection, and professed that this was it. We both found the one. You and I as adults know that this isn’t how things work in the real world, but we all make mistakes as kids.
My partner came from a difficult background. They were adopted into an abusive household where their parents regularly beat them both physically and verbally. Add on the trauma of being sexually abused by a 19 year old when they were 14, and you have someone who is deeply hurt and aching for the love of another. I will admit she struggled with certain mental health issues, but those are neither here nor there in this story.
At the time, we had been dating for about a year and a half. During that period, my partner had been in and out of the hospital several times due to self-harm related injuries. I was never allowed to see them in the hospital by their parents’ wish, and they refused to let them go to therapy or be treated for the myriad of traumas for which they needed help.
But despite everything, I loved them very much.
Since the day we started seeing each other, we clicked on every level — cognitively, emotionally, and physically. We the very embodiment of the age-old, star-crossed lovers archetype. I was devoted to them, and they to me. And I was adamantly against their parents for failing at, in my eyes, doing what was the most basic form of taking care of their child.
. . .
One afternoon, my partner texted me saying that her parents had beaten them and locked them in their room. This wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, but I could tell something was particularly different about today. I asked what they needed of me and I was immediately met with a phone call where they sobbed, telling me that they just wanted to leave and couldn’t take it anymore.
I told them to take a breath and that I could call someone if that would help. We hung up and I began researching Child Protective Services. I called and reported my partner’s mother for the physical abuse. A couple of hours later, my partner texted me again, this time saying that they were going to run away. Now, I was 16, but even then I knew how bad of an idea that actually was. But I knew I couldn’t go and take her because then I would be charged with kidnapping.
I told my partner that if they were going to run away, that to at least go to their local neighborhood park and wait for me. I would meet them there and we would talk about the options and what we were going to do. So I got in my car, drove, and met them.
We embraced. I asked if they were okay. I told them that there were only two real options (I had been Googling as much of this legal business as I could): 1) We could call the police, file a report, and let them take it from there; or 2) My partner could go back home and wait for Child Protective Services to come and get involved.
Before we could talk further and make a decision, we heard a voice yelling for my partner. It was their older brother (I believe he was close to 23 at the time). My partner texted him her location and he came down to meet us, obviously shocked I was even there. We told him about the situation, about my partner being abused — all of which seemed to genuinely surprise him. We grew more and more optimistic as he reassured my partner that he’d help them take care of it. He’d help protect them. To that statement, I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders.
But this reprieve was cut short when suddenly my partner’s mother showed up. She was angry, yelling, and hysterical. Fortunately, the brother got up and went to go talk to her. He told her to stay away, that she isn’t go to help. To this, the mother let lose a tirade of insults, telling the brother to “F*ck off” and calling my partner “a b*tch.” As he tried to calm the situation, the mother suddenly slapped him across the face. To this, he backed off.
She then noticed me. “Who is that?!” she half yelled, “Is that Andrew?”
I stepped forward slightly so she could see better. “Andrew, you have no business here, please leave.” This was perhaps the most cordial thing she’d said the whole night. This was also the moment when I made my decision…would I stand my ground for my partner? Or would I back off? We were at the point where the legality of everything was in a very gray area. So, I took a deep breath and in my calmest, yet shaking voice responded,
“No, I don’t think I will. I’m not going to let her go back to a mother who hits her.”
And…cue the explosions. The mother let lose another flurry of expletives demanding my partner to come home (who at this point was just crying on the park bench where we had met). The brother continued his attempt to calm her down. And I stood there, in front of my partner, my heart pounding out of my chest.
Eventually, the mother had enough. With her final wind she screamed at my partner that she better come home now or she won’t have a home for which to go. And she turned to me and said, “I’m going to get a restraining order on you.”
Now, I could have left it there. I really could have, but the anger and nerves inside me reached a boiling point and my 16 year old bravado got the best of me. To her, I then responded,
“You do that. I’ve already called Child Protective Services, we’ll see who wins out.”
. . .
Now I’d like to tell you that something positive came of this story. I’d like to say that my partner went home and was eventually able to get the therapy they needed. That the mother was intervened with by Child Protective Services who kept a watchful eye on my partner. That the brother adequately protected my partner from future abuse. But I can’t.
This story doesn’t have a happy ending.
My partner continued to suffer from their trauma. They continued to endure abuse from their parents. Our relationship became strained between the growing up of both of us, my partner’s struggles with their mental health, and the outright opposition of my partner’s mother against us seeing each other. We eventually broke up. We tried a couple times again to make it work, but it never did. There was too much baggage both from that night as well as several other events that happened in the years to come.
. . .
So what is the answer to our question? What would you do for the one you love?
Let’s put it this way: would I do what I did again given the chance? Five years older than I was at the time and enrolling in therapy to work on my own issues I can confidently, without pause, answer it with a resounding no.
I’m sorry, the romantic inside of me weeps at that answer too. But I believe there is a limit to what is worth enduring for love. Especially at such a young age. I believe we owe to it to ourselves and our partners to try to help, but I think we must draw the line before we endanger our own mental and physical well-being. I adamantly believe I was a fingernail’s length from riding in a police car that night because of some story my partner’s mother would have made up. I don’t think I was smart enough nor in a stable enough emotional place to have backed down. And that’s my fault.
But I offer this to you in that if there is anything to learn from this story about love, it is that we all have the ability to define our personal limits for what we are willing to do for it. Let me, though, fill you in on this detail: the efforts I was willing to go for my partner were never returned in kind. I was very much involved in a codependent relationship (aka unhealthy). So if you are thinking to yourself, “I think I would be fine with those consequences…” I urge you to take a moment and reflect upon whether your partner would do the same. Mine would not have.
Love is a powerfully positive thing — worth fighting for, worth working on, worth a lot of things. But it deserves serious attention towards answering our question: what would you do for it? If not, you run the risk of putting yourself in situations that could ruin your life. Take my example as proof.
So continue loving. I will do the same. But let’s agree to be smarter about its place in our lives.
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This post was previously published on Hello, Love and is republished here with permission from the author.
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Photo credit: Unsplash