This is a guest post from Pas de Deux series contributor Alex Proaps

Like so many others, I did not have a model for a healthy relationship when I was growing up. My father (and grandfather) was an alcoholic and my parents (grandparents) rarely showed affection for one another. Growing up, my little brother and I were secluded from most of our other family because our Dad was in the military.

By middle school, my parents should have separated. They continued to live in a broken marriage until my senior year of high school when my mom couldn’t tolerate my father’s infidelity. He married his pregnant mistress a few months after the divorce. My father is now ten years sober (!) and happily married with two kids. My mom is also with someone who we can just call my awesome stepdad for all purposes. It is unfortunate that it wasn’t until adulthood that I found models for real, healthy, honest, kind love.

A common theme in all my relationships since childhood has been this: The men were emotionally unavailable and I did not love myself.

The emotional unavailability came in many forms – the addict, the alcoholics, the commitment phobe, the deployed Marine. My lack of self-love manifested itself in different ways. I have had three loves in my life in between the friends with benefits, the one night stands, the long term flirtations, the short term dramas, the dates and the crushes. My first love was probably a soul mate, but we were too much alike in the unhealthiest ways. My second love came into my life when he and I were both not ready for love.

This is a story of my third love.

One day I was on my lunch break at a sandwich shop close to the mall where I worked for a major cosmetics company (in other words, I was in my white Clinique lab coat). I sat quietly eating my sandwich and studying for the GRE. I glanced up from time to time to see a young man (yes, a very cute young man) sitting a few tables away. He was reading and kept obviously glancing my way in an attempt to make eye contact.

I was not the kind of girl to make eye contact or smile at men. That day I did.

Upon arriving back to work, I told my coworkers about seeing the cute guy at the sandwich shop. The phone rang at the counter. My manager answered. She said, “You mean Alex? She’s right here.” She gave me this “Oh my GOD” look and handed me the phone.

A voice on the other end said something like this: “Hi, I just saw you in Atlanta Bread a little while ago. I knew you worked at the mall because of your uniform and I just called the department stores asking for a short, cute redhead with glasses who worked for Clinique.”

It was the best first date I have ever been on. Love (or crush) at first meal.

He lived in DC and was only in town another day for work. My coworkers said I was too young to pass up a fun weekend and I agreed with them. We made plans for the next night knowing we would most likely end up in his hotel room.

And we did. End up in his hotel room. He made me feel beautiful for probably the first time in my life up to that point. I knew he wanted me to know he thought I was beautiful. Not just by his…actions…but also his words and warmth and sweetness.

He emailed me within a few days and we talked often through email, text messaging and on the phone for a couple months. While I kept telling myself it was just a silly flirtation, I was falling for him. I was falling hard. He was handsome, incredibly intelligent, spoke multiple languages, had goals and dreams, was cultured, shared many of my values and interests, was 5 years older, was obviously good in…well…yeah.

He was perfect.

We talked about art, history, our individual plans for the future. We talked about our past, the military, our pets and grad school applications. He told me that he wanted to see me again and wished I would come to DC to see him.

Then one day, I got an email…It started (and I will never forget it):

“Hi, Alex. This is Ashley, Mark’s wife.”

It is difficult to convey how earth shattering that moment was for me. The email continued on, explaining that he had two children (one of whom shares my name), that he was very depressed, that she had read all our emails, etc. and she was actually happy he had someone to talk to because she did not know what to do to help him.

Months passed. I did not hear from him. I told some of my closest friends about what had happened. Some were judgmental and some were protective and sad for me. Some were all of the above. I kept my chin up, but I was embarrassed and heartbroken.

Should I hate myself?
Should I hate him?
Should I apologize to her?
Should I ask him why?

It was complicated. I made it complicated because I was in pain. Over many months, I fell out of love with the reality I had constructed about him. It all fell away. I have not been in love since.

I am hopeful that love will not always be my greatest disappointment.

Today I am the happiest I have ever been with who I am. I was been still long enough to fall in love with myself, to get to know myself, and to no longer be afraid of being alone. Today I have loving relationships with family and friends that go beyond anything I could ever have imagined even five years ago. I still believe in love because I see it shining brightly in those relationships that surround me.

I will never again second-guess whether I deserve to demand love, respect and honesty from a man.

I can be honest with myself, respect myself and love myself. I can now be a more present partner to someone else because of my experiences up to this point.

I know I will be in love again.

Photo Credit: Getty Images – Teresa Claudino

Pas de Deux Contributor – Alex Proaps

Alex is a full time Human Factors Psychology Doctoral student at Old Dominion University and a part time Human Factors Engineer for the US Navy. She lives in Virginia Beach where she’s thankful every day to be near the ocean. She is a fake redhead who loves Pinot Noir, live music, old first edition novels, eye shadow and hot yoga.  She blogs over at The Tao of Grad School and you can also follow her on Twitter @pixie658.

Song(s): Rattlesnakes by Tori Amos

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