My Reality (2 page)

Maybe reading my story can stop some of you out there from doing the same things I did wrong. Most of all, I lost my sense of self. And I do know, without a doubt, that I had to finally find my real and true self before I could ever be in a healthy relationship. I think the same is probably true for everyone else.

Of course, the problem is that lovesick people aren’t much for taking advice. I know that better than anyone. I look back at the girl I used to be, and I can’t help laughing at her:
You are making every mistake in the book, girl. You are doing everything wrong. It almost seems like you are TRYING to ruin this relationship. Why not just hand him your heart and a hammer?

But I couldn’t see the truth back then.

People who watched
The Bachelor
think they know what I went through on the show and during its aftermath. Because it’s called a reality TV show, they assume it’s the real story. But the reality that people saw was
not
the reality of my life—or even of the show! Actually, I’ve gone through a ton more, some worse than what you’ve seen, and some better.

As I’ve always said, the best writers in the world couldn’t have dreamed up my story; it’s too unbelievable. That’s why I’m finally ready to tell it like it really was. By sharing my reality with all of you, maybe—just maybe—it’ll help those of you out there to avoid, or at least get over, the kind of soul crushing heartbreaks I endured. Because if I could spare you from the kind of pain I went through, I certainly would.

MY
REALITY

A
s the girl who was always unlucky in love, I’ve got several breakup stories to choose from when it comes to finding that one defining moment—the one when you feel like you’ve hit the lowest of the low; the proverbial rock bottom. My
Bachelor
breakup may be my most famous and most humiliating romantic ordeal but it’s not the worst one I’ve ever been through. Yes, there is actually something worse than having an engagement ring taken back by the man who gave it to you, while he tells you that he has feelings for another woman, who he’s been talking to behind your back . . .
ALL
on national television.

By far, my worst breakup—the one that hurt the most and is also, literally, the reason I am who I am and where I am today—actually happened before I was even a contestant on
The Bachelor.

It took place in March 2008, just shy of my twenty-fifth birthday. It started out like most breakups do. Whether they’re the ones we’ve experienced ourselves, or the ones we’ve seen in a million romantic comedies, the problem always seems to be the same: There’s a big—and I mean a
BIG
—difference between the girl’s point of view and
the guy’s point of view. And just guess who was more serious about the relationship in my case? Well, here’s a clue: How many guys ever want to have
the talk
? Right.

I’d been dating my boyfriend, Tye Strickland, for about a year, and I had that gut feeling that he was
the one
. The problem was,
he
didn’t know the same thing about me. In fact, he didn’t seem to know whether he was that serious about dating me at all. I could sense this, and I was terrified of scaring him away. So when it came to talking about our relationship, we just didn’t. We never had the talk about our status. I never pushed to take things further and never put any pressure on the relationship. I’d think,
Hey, if he wants to keep this light and casual—after a YEAR . . . I’m okay with that.

Yeah. Sure I was.

I tried to be casual, even though I wasn’t feeling that way. I really did.

Sometimes, I guess, it’s just easier to be delusional than to face reality.

•

T
hings had been amazing at the start (as most relationships are at the beginning). He was so cute and sweet, and we had so much fun together. I’d always leave him smiling, which, for a girl, is the best sign that you’ve found someone great.

We had so much in common. When we met, one of the first things we noticed about each other was that we each wore a small cross around our necks as a symbol of our faith, which was very unusual in our circle of friends. We had both grown up in Dallas and were very close to our families. Our parents were still married, and we believed in the importance of making a lifetime commitment to someone when we were older (in Tye’s case, WAY older). We
saw our parents often (and brought each other home to meet our families fairly early on). We loved football, particularly the Dallas Cowboys. The fact that I was a Cowboys Cheerleader and that he had friends associated with the cheerleaders meant that much of our lives revolved around the games. We had similar senses of humor and could make each other laugh for hours. It was all going great.

And then, six months in, being a hopeless romantic, the inevitable happened: I fell in love with him. I didn’t mean to. I actually didn’t even know that I had at the time. It just . . . happened. And not only was he NOT in love with me, he didn’t even know if he wanted a girlfriend. And, while I knew he really liked me, he was just fine fitting me into his busy schedule of working, working out, and hanging out—around the clock—with his group of completely inseparable (and, yes, single) buddies.

I didn’t want to admit it—not to him and not to myself—but I wasn’t getting what I needed. After several months of hanging on as best as I could, it finally hit me how deeply unhappy I was. As with most things, there was one clarifying moment that changed everything.

I literally remember it like it was yesterday. House of Blues had just opened a new venue in Dallas, and I had been talking for months about how much I wanted to go check it out. Tye kept telling me that we’d go together soon, since he knew how badly I wanted to go. It was definitely one date that I was looking forward to with him.

One Friday, I texted Tye from work, like I always did, and asked him what he was up to that night. At first, he gave me his typical answer: “I don’t know yet.” Shocking: He didn’t have plans. He didn’t ask what I was doing, which was also typical.

Now, from here, I know how bad this looks, so just bear with me for a minute. Not only had he not asked me out for a date that night,
but he also still wouldn’t commit to hanging out with me, even when he didn’t have any other definite plans. In my warped little mind, as far as I was concerned, he hadn’t said that he did
not
want to hang out with me, he’d just said that he didn’t know what he was doing. Right? So there was still hope that we’d end up seeing each other before the night was through (especially if I just “happened” to end up where he was hanging out, which was my MO). I know, I know, but keep in mind that this is the
before
section of my story.

When I got done with work, I went out to dinner with some of my girlfriends who were fellow Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. It was a great night out with my friends, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Tye and wondering what he was up to. So I sent him a text message:

“What are you doing?”

No response.

I waited for what seemed like an ample amount of time to send another text message. (Five minutes is ample time, right?)

“Where are you?”

Again, no response.

Hmmm . . .

Now, looking back, I know Tye’s initial lack of response was a clear signal, but I couldn’t resist sending the second text!
He’s my flippin’ boyfriend! Don’t I have a right to ask what he’s doing on a Friday night? And why doesn’t he want to know what I’M doing? Heck, why doesn’t he want to be with me right now?!?

And then it happened. He texted back!

“I’m going to the House of Blues with the guys.”

Are you kidding me??

I couldn’t believe it! He had gone and made plans without me to do the ONE thing that he knew I REALLY wanted to do! Suddenly,
I felt my cheeks heat up and my heart begin to race as it hit me how little he cared, or even thought about my feelings . . . not just my feelings, but me!! And, just like that, after months of denial, I was finally mad. Not upset. Not bummed. Furious. I was done. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I needed something to happen, good or bad. THAT NIGHT. And so I took matters into my own hands.

I sat through the rest of dinner, trying to act like everything was normal. But I was too busy formulating my plan of attack to pay attention to the conversation at the table. And the more time that passed, the angrier I got. A wonderful state of mind to be in when you’re about to confront the person you love. . . .

When I left the restaurant, I didn’t tell any of the girls where I was going or what I planned to do. I knew they would have tried to talk me out of it, and I didn’t want anything to stand in my way. Not that there was anything that anybody could have said or done that would have stopped me anyhow. I was an irrational girl on a mission.

I went over to Tye’s house. I knew I was pulling the psycho-girl move, even while I was doing it. But I had reached that point where I was way beyond any kind of rational discussion or thought. I guess that’s why the word “psycho” applies.

I got to Tye’s condo around midnight. He had given me a key because I was always in and out of there, and so I let myself in and waited for him to get home.

And I waited.

And I waited.

The more I waited, the angrier I got. I sat on his bed and listened for him to come in the door. I didn’t call any of my girlfriends. I didn’t pull out my makeup and primp. I just sat there quietly and waited to have my say. I was nervous; my heart was beating a mile a
minute. And I was upset, and hurt, and angry. But I wasn’t crying. Everything had suddenly become very clear in my mind and in my heart.

I knew that Tye was the guy for me; I was sure that Tye was the love of my life. We’d met through friends about two years earlier, when I’d first become a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, and we’d started dating about four months after that. Even though he couldn’t commit to a dinner date, we hung out often. I saw him almost every night after cheerleading practice. He invited me to the
Entourage
party at his house every Sunday night, which usually included about a half dozen of his friends hanging out to watch the show. And I often met up with him and his buddies wherever they were hanging out; typically a bar or a restaurant.

My life was intertwined with his for a year. During that time, I’d done that thing that girls do: Fallen for him . . . even though he had not only NOT encouraged it, he had actively discouraged it. And I’d fallen harder than I had ever fallen before. As far as I was concerned, Tye and I had just completely clicked. Everyone always talks about a “spark,” and we definitely had that. Plus, he was cute and funny, and he cared about building a career and starting a family, all of which made him seem like the perfect catch.

One of the main problems in my relationship with Tye was communication . . . we didn’t really have any. Not about serious topics like our relationship, at least. I figured I knew him well enough to be clear that if I told him how I felt, I’d scare him off. So, I just never said anything. Because I’d been too afraid to tell him how I felt, I’d decided to show him. This meant going to Starbucks and leaving coffee and a muffin for him at his condo EVERY morning before work. And baking him cookies in the shapes of the teams that played the Dallas Cowboys, so he could eat them while he
was watching the games on Sunday with his buddies. And picking up Chick-fil-A or pizza for him and the guys before away games, which I had off because the cheerleaders didn’t travel with the team, and dropping off the food at his place. And sending him endless texts, and jokes, and emails, just to let him know I was thinking about him. (Oh gosh . . . I’m CRINGING right now, remembering how I used to behave . . . !)

Yes, I made sure that Tye knew that I liked him, all right.

The fact that none of this had caused him to want to be with me didn’t discourage me. I was convinced that he was in love with me. He just didn’t know it yet, not really. All I had to do was stick around until he realized his feelings for me . . . and I was willing to do that. But maybe he didn’t
really
know how I felt. I mean, I had never told him. I had just assumed he knew because of all the ways I showed him. So . . . maybe . . . all I had to do was tell him how I felt.

While I sat on Tye’s bed, waiting for him to come home, I passed the time by going over my ultimatum speech again, and again. It wasn’t even an option in my mind that he might tell me that he didn’t love me, and that he wanted to end the relationship. I really thought this “talk” would fix everything that was wrong with our relationship. He probably didn’t know that I liked to be taken on dates (I mean . . . they are a little overrated), or wanted to be sent flowers, or sweet messages, or just told that I was appreciated, or loved even.

After waiting for about two hours, Tye finally got home and came into his bedroom. He was surprised to see me, but he didn’t make a big deal out of it. He sat down next to me on the bed.

I took a deep breath. And, just like that, it all came spilling out of me. I was pretty heated at this point, just because I’d had two hours to stir up my feelings and make myself angrier.

“Listen, we’ve been dating a year, and I need to know where we’re going,” I said. “I feel like I put so much effort into you and into this relationship, and I feel like I get nothing back! I care about you. I care about you a lot. I love you!”

Now, we had never said the big “L” word before . . . heck, we’d never really said the “like” word before. And here I was, skating on very thin ice. But I couldn’t help it.

It’s how I feel . . . he needs to know!

He didn’t say anything, not a single word. I think he was dumbfounded. Poor guy. I don’t blame him. I think he thought my head was about to start spinning.

So, rational as I was, I kept talking. Well, it was actually more like yelling. There’s nothing worse than not getting an answer of any kind, and the longer he stayed quiet, the angrier, and angrier, I became. I’ve never been a violent person, but I could have slapped him right then, just to get him to say something . . . anything. I wanted to do it, if only to shock him and get a rise out of him, but obviously, I didn’t.