All Because I Liked a Boy

Sabrina Carpenter wrote a song “Because I Liked a Boy.” It inspired me to share what happened when I fell for many boys.

If I could go back and redo any section of my life, it would be the romance section.

The romance genre in my life … sucks.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. If they published a book about it, readers would eat the plot up. People would relate, and if not, they would find it entertaining how much I have suffered in this area.

Boo-hoo. Pity me. I know. Roll your eyes haters, but if you’re still reading this, that’s on you—cause I’m going to talk more about my pitiful little love life.

It all started when I was two-years-old. In the beginning, nothing was wrong. As far as I could tell. As a toddler.

My mom married a man whom I called “dad” but had only met a few months prior. The wedding hyped me up. Do I remember it? No. It was so hype that all my knowledge comes from the photos and stories others have passed on to me.

Although I can’t recall a single memory, I have a gut feeling that when I witnessed my mom getting married, I was embedded with romanticized ideals about my own future wedding, husband, and family. Then western culture came into play and I was a goner.

I grew up drawing wedding dresses on my stick figures and predicting I would marry the older church boys. Whenever I had the chance, I’d talk about my dream man with my friends. I would not have passed the Bechdel test because almost all my conversations centered on crushes. I began to get into relationships and found a new boyfriend every other year.

All the stuff in that paragraph above? Yeah. That all happened in elementary school.

In junior high school, I swore off relationships because I would be a good girl and wait until age sixteen to date. Dedicated. Committed to God. Chaste. And, honestly, with how easily I fell for a cute boy, not a bad idea.

Thank goodness I was annoying and awkward because there were no situationships for me during this time. Then high school came. The annoying trait didn’t disappear immediately, but I began to bloom and suddenly crushes were crushing back on me. Of course, the first one to do so flunked out of our math class due to a pure lack of effort. He thought flicking people in the head was funny, and I thought maybe I should move on.

So I did. When my mom picked me up from school I would report on all my new crushes. “Someone opened the door for me—I have a crush on him,” I’d say.

“What’s his name?” My mom would ask.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

Surprise, surprise, those “crushes” came and went quickly because I never actually saw the people again.

With time, I matured more. I realized my so-called crushes were better coined as “people I’m interested in.” I also realized that I could admire actions and traits without becoming immediately invested in a person.

At age sixteen, I raced out of my cage and started dating. By the time I entered college, I had been in two real relationships. The first year of college held opportunity: I could play soccer, explore new educational subjects, make new friends, and meet new boys. Specifically, older, hot, athletic boys.

At the end of my freshman year, girls from my team walked away with multiple lifelong friendships and I walked away with one best friend (whom dealt with me no matter what crap I got into) and a broken heart.

To this day, I’ll see a few people from my team (the ones my age) post photos from their meet-ups in Utah. Although I live in Utah, I have never received an invite—for an understandable reason too. I never bonded to them the way they bonded to one another.

Why? Was it really because I liked boys?

No! Trust me, the other girls had their love interests too. However, I let mine occupy most of my social life. Most of my time. While they were off bonding with one another, I was spending every spare second with my boyfriend. Sadly, I found it easier to connect with a crush than with a teammate.

As I furthered into frightening adulthood, I took notice of these errs. I didn’t get mad at myself because I knew my background. In a way, my choices were uninformed. I understood why I made them, even if I regretted them.

As Jonathan Raymond said, “You can’t know what you don’t know.”

With more awareness of my tendencies, I tried to change. I gained girl friends and they have blessed my life countless times. There were things that my female friends could understand that no man ever would. Connections I could have that I could never have with a boyfriend or husband.

And yet, even with my changes, I stayed the same in some ways. I fit myself into a relationship, rather than finding a partner that fits me. I lost touch with family. The friends I invested time in were my ex’s friends, so when the relationship ended I lost them too. I rushed into a relationship too soon after mine ended and his too. (Can you see how that wouldn’t look good? I should have.) And right now?

It’s still a constant effort to reverse what started so long ago. I was never evil or bad for having crushes, wanting love, and looking for a way to my future family. I was young, inexperienced, and disadvantaged.

So while I would do things differently, I’ve tried to not look down upon myself for stumbling on this path.

Yet, there are people who have not given me the kindness I’ve sought to give myself.

There were small instances of peers and adults joking and not-really-joking about me being boy crazy. Boy obsessed. My first boyfriend’s friends didn’t like me, and as a “joke” they printed out copies of a church pamphlet that told teens not to steady date until college. Then they plastered those copies all over his car. As an adult, I was sexually assaulted by a crush and then ridiculed for reporting it, old friends shunning me for my choice. When I rushed into a relationship, the rightfully hurt parties called me a homewrecker and anonymously wrote paragraphs of online hate telling me in detail what an abominable person I was and how they hoped horrible experiences awaited me.

So many people wanted to make me feel bad. Some wanted to make me feel less than. And in the worst cases, some wanted to make me feel terrible enough to off myself.

All because I liked a boy.

Amongst all the awfulness, the worst consequences I have faced were of my own creation. The lack of connection with others destroyed me more than any hateful words or actions could have. I cannot gain back the years spent in a relationship where I could not be myself even half the time. I lost time with family and friends. I lost myself.

All because I liked a boy.

If I could go back and redo it all, I would spend more time focusing on my development. I would learn how to take care of myself and feel peace being alone. When with my friends, I would spend more time talking about ourselves and less time talking about our crushes. I wouldn’t date boys that didn’t have the same values as me or didn’t make me feel completely comfortable and accepted as is.

I wouldn’t worry about finding my future family because I can’t find something that doesn’t exist. And why would I, as a teenager or young adult, want to put myself in charge of creating a family when I hadn’t learned how to live my own life?

As we near the end of this blog post, don’t mistake me for saying “good riddance” to having or talking about crushes. Romantic connections can be the most powerful and pure, when done right. Doing it “the right way” will look different for each person, and no one will ever have it all figured out. But I got it wrong, and I got it wrong many times. So if I could change my past actions I would. It would not have only benefited me alone, but it would have benefited me and my loved ones whether I was dating, in a serious relationship, or—if I got lucky enough—creating a family.

But I can’t change my past actions. And I can’t predict how my current actions will affect the future. I can only commit to loving myself enough to keep trying. To love myself enough to believe I am worthy of being with someone who aligns with my values and accepts all of me. To love myself enough to attempt to have a full life outside of my partner, even if they’re the perfect person for me.

I expect to fail at points, and even if I get it right, I may never have a lifelong partner. I may never have a family. This won’t stop my efforts to create the best life I can in this area. And truth to be told, I hope to heaven and hell that I get to have a family, but I’m figuring out how to feel fulfilled without one … because I’ll still matter, even if I’m on my own.

No one taught me these things. Did anyone teach you? If not, I hope you gained something from this. I am better off for the lessons I’ve let myself learn. And, if you think about it, I did learn them…

All because I liked a boy.