As a master’s student, I started online dating. I started dating after the failure of a long relationship. I felt very much like I was still learning to date even as I went on dates. I remember talking to one of my fellow female students about the break-up, and she informed me that these things happen frequently when women enter graduate programs and their partners don’t. I have no idea if this is an actual trend or just the impressions of a fellow student. And this was certainly not the defining reason for the collapse of my previous relationship. I can say, that as I participated in several first dates, the topic of my education came up and some people seemed impressed or at least interested, and others were demonstrably uncomfortable. Some were even vocal about their discomfort about dating someone with more education than themselves.

But I was lucky. It didn’t take very long for me to meet Evan.

I still remember our first date. At first sight I noticed his shoes. I liked that he wore casual shoes but not work boots or sneakers. He had bright eyes and a quiet, friendly demeanor. At first I wasn’t sure if he was pleased with my presence or not. We had only exchanged emails and you never know how someone will feel about you when you see them face-to-face for the first time. Evan I would learn, was a master at not allowing facial expressions to reveal too much information. While I, on the other hand, continue to struggle to avoid the facial scrunching, brow knitting, or wide-eyed response to a friend’s bad haircut, my brother’s dating choices, or family member’s political views.

As Evan and I ate soup and sandwiches at a local restaurant, we talked about our families, our friends, and where we were from. I don’t remember what triggered it but at some point Evan was talking and this voice in the back of my head interrupted and said, “hey, I could marry this guy”.

I know! That’s crazy! And I silently said as much to this uninvited voice in my head and carried on with lunch as a normal person should.

I’m a scientist after all. This is not how I operate. There was far too little empirical evidence to indicate this would be a successful pairing. Yet, seven years, and two kids later, things seem to be going well.

A few months after our first date, I would start to gain the evidence I would need to confidently conclude that Evan was my person. It was after a sampling trip to southern Missouri. Evan had asked if he could meet me at my house so we could hang out. I told him he could come, but I warned him I would be pretty tired and not up for going out anywhere. I gave him a key so he could let himself in in case I was late. My cell phone didn’t work very well, so communication during these trips was unreliable.

When I finally got home, Evan was already there. My stomach was all aflutter at seeing his car on the street. However, this fluttering was the result of both excitement and nerves. Maybe I hadn’t thought this evening all the way through.

Prior to this moment Evan had only seen me clean and neatly assembled. While still sitting in my car I was newly aware of how dry and sand-papery my hands were after a weekend of digging through clay-filled soil. You could hear the scraping sound they made if I rubbed them together.

These trips were so busy that I never had time to shower prior to departing. We finished the last sites, threw our gear into the truck, and drove home. If the weather and traffic cooperated, we made it back, as now, for a late Sunday night dinner. My clothes still had a dull complexion from the dust that embedded itself within the fibers. Looking at myself in the rear-view mirror, I realized my skin had taken on the same hue. I was best described as gritty. From hair to foot, there was grit. It was even inside my nostrils as the weather had been dry and all that digging and sieving meant you breathed in the dust as you worked.

I never thought of myself as a particularly feminine woman, but I realized at this moment that was especially true. Briefly, I searched for alternative options to entering my own home. Should I go back to the school and shower? Evan that wouldn’t work, I didn’t have any clean clothes to change into. I decided, this was overall, a silly line of thought. There are a lot of thing about me and how I spend my time that are not stereotypically feminine. I like digging in the dirt. I enjoy physical challenges and competition, and, at least as a kid, I was a pretty good shot with a small gauge rifle or shotgun. If Evan and I were going to have a lasting relationship, he was going to have to see this side of me eventually. If he didn’t like me this way, well, I guessed I should find out sooner rather than later.

I took a deep breath and hoisted the old military-style duffle bag I used for these trips over my shoulder and walked to my door. The door opened into a small kitchen/dining area. Evan was right there. I smiled first at the sight of him, but then at the smell!

I had no idea what he had been cooking but it smelled amazing! He cooked! For me! There wasn’t even a mess in the kitchen. He must have cook AND cleaned up after himself.

Was this real?

This singular act of thoughtful kindness made a huge impression on me. I felt truly cared about and cared for. I could feel my heart swell under my sternum and a lump form in my throat. I swallowed hard and forced any would-be tears back to wherever they had come from.

Evan gave me a big smile and a hug. I pulled away a little to study his face. Still smiling I said “I’m a little gritty.”

“That’s ok. Do you want to shower or eat first?” For a moment I honestly didn’t know. The thought of hot water applied to sore muscles was very enticing, but before I could say anything my stomach made an audible groan. I grinned and said, “let’s eat.”

I sat down at the small round table in the corner of the kitchen. Before me was placed a heaping bowl of a steaming orange substance. Chunks of bacon floated on top like the remains of a miniature, though dramatic, shipwreck, and a flurry of something green completed the ensemble. The first bite was sweet and a little salty and then a little spicy. “Oh my God Evan, what is this?”

“Sweet potato soup with bacon, cayenne pepper, and cilantro,” he announced proudly.

“I had no idea you cooked!”

“I don’t, but I can Google.” Evan grinned while holding up his smartphone. “You should probably get one sometime.”

He was teasing me. He knew I had no intention of replacing my loyal little flip phone. First, I was a graduate student and lived minimally to avoid accumulating debt. Second, I still wasn’t sold on the idea of carrying a computer around with me that was capable of tracking my every move. That was just too Ray Bradbury for me. I was mildly concerned such devices might start shrieking at me to “wipe your feet” before entering my own home. Then I would have no choice but to shove it down the “insinkerator”, at which point Evan surely would not stick around.

If you are not familiar with 1950’s science fiction, you may need to check out the short story, The Murderer, by Ray Bradbury, to fully understand the concerns I have noted above.

As Evan and I slurped our soup I allowed myself to sink into this feeling of blissful peace for just a minute. It was a little like sitting down for the first time in a deeply plush Livingroom chair. It was both comforting and alarming at the same time. This soft feeling was lovely, but how far did I want to allow myself to sink into its folds?

I broke our comfortable silence by starting a tale of our sampling adventures and how our little team had fared in the wilderness for yet another weekend.

This exercise of sinking-into, and then jumping-out-of happiness would repeat itself. A lot. And, sometimes with much more drama than the situation just described. This was the first time I had fallen in love with anyone and it was both a lovely and terrifying process. Even now, it can still be BOTH lovely and terrifying. But, according to my personal experiences over the years, and Brené Brown’s years of research in vulnerability, that’s just how the process works. As difficult as it is, I hope everyone gets the chance to experience this duality at least once in their lives.

Have you ever been afraid of being yourself in front of your significant other? How long did/do you wait before really being yourself with someone new? Leave a comment below or reach out on twitter (@LabMom20). If you like this post, subscribe with your email address for new posts updated weekly, delivered straight to your inbox.

* Please note, all names, other than my own, have been changed to protect the privacy of others. All accounts are based on my own experiences and memories.

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