#91 HOW I MET MY YORKSHIRE HUSBAND: PART TWO
Orchan Rocks, massages, swimming, and the STD clinic
The problem I have always had in dating was that I was always myself. Fully myself. The good thing about dating Michael was that he was, too. I’d finally met someone who didn’t run away from my behaviours – sometimes a little clingy and jealous, other times overly enthusiastic and affectionate – and vice versa. Without knowing it, we were both looking for something, something we could find in each other. We were willing to work through life together.
A sidebar about status
Another thing I have always loved about Michael is something that relates to the latest season of The White Lotus. No spoilers. I promise.
Early April,
wrote a piece on the popular television show. I know many people have covered the topic well, so I’m not weighing in (don’t worry). It was written before the final episode so no spoilers or anything, but it is an analysis of the characters. The piece talks about class, status, happiness, misery, and is a poignant look at how the show’s creator writes character, but what stuck out to me was this line:“Conversely, the white people who try the hardest to prove and perform their status—through the clothes they wear, the house they live in, the words they speak, the people they choose to marry, the schools they send their kids to, etc—are the most miserable.” – Celeste Davis
I’m sure the corner of West Yorkshire in which I live has a society of sorts. There are people who live in the giant, stately-home-like mini mansions or further up the hills. There are people who live in the big countryside farmhouses, and there are several more ‘select’ neighbourhoods around here as well as family names that signify wealth, but mostly, I like how the people I interact with don’t care about any of those things, especially my husband.
I was chatting with
– who has his own beautiful Substack called Garbage Notes – about how, growing up in the deep south (in Georgia), I encountered families like The Ratliffs. Franco said how, living in New York, he thought surely they were caricatures and had never encountered people like that.I’ve written about status before, especially in my piece when I discuss dating Captain Thor. Without us even knowing it, who we end up with is often status-related. Either we choose people of our same status or we choose people who we perceive to be above our status, a way of elevating it. All unknowingly in our very own Henry James or Edith Wharton novel plot!
Ultimately, after existing in a world of status, one of the things I’ve found I love about my husband, Michael, is that he doesn’t chase status.
With the military men I dated (and married), status was a big thing. Keeping up appearances was ‘a thing,’ and I found that sort of performative lifestyle to be exhausting. It did not fit with my ideals, because I live mostly in my imagination and that sort of life requires you to say the right things, have the right clothes, tidy your house all the time, go to the right restaurants, have the right hobbies, have the right opinions, get a manicure and a blowout, and have a fifty-five step skincare routine, and do pilates and yoga and have an endless to do list – and the list goes on. Oh and, of course, have more money than people around you in an endless one-upmanship.
Now, as I’ve advanced in my career – of course, more on this later – the extra money is nice (although, no thanks to the ever-squeezed margins thanks to a very expensive economy), but I’ve striven for more so that we have freedom later. Like, I earn more than ever so that eventually I can work less (maybe work four days instead of five), pay off the mortgage early (countdown for three more years), and maybe have Michael also work fewer hours or early retire – and we’re not talking crazy amounts of money, but there’s always been a beauty in knowing what is “enough.”
What it’s like to have ‘enough’
To be fair, ‘enough’ was a lesson my parents always taught. They were always generous with people and focused more on experiences and happiness than getting more and more money – and sometimes times were more abundant than others – but there’s something to be said in that. My Mum, despite now having been the director of two charities and earning decently, has never, for example, bought herself a new living room suite or paid a professional decorator to do up her rooms. I can’t even remember if she gets her nails done, and I’m pretty sure she cuts her own hair. She just enjoys what she has, some of which are cast-offs from her mother-in-law (who, thankfully, has lovely taste).
In a time when so many of us are being compacted further by the mega rich (i.e. every now and then I look up what I paid for an item on Amazon pre-pandemic and it’s almost always 50-75% more expensive now than it was then, which is mental as well as food and energy prices being astronomical but not as astronomical as in the US – besides fuel, that’s always more expensive in the UK), it’s nice to get back to our roots. To consider, what really is enough?
I grew up in the Bible Belt of Georgia, USA, and I lived amongst the rich, Southern white people mentality (and also the contrast of poverty) and I can’t imagine having millions (like the Ratliff family) and chasing more and more and more so that your stress levels are beyond healthy. I think that sort of rat wheel of life would be incredibly exhausting.
I love that Michael and I agree on that. We want nice things and holidays and a nice home, but we wouldn’t chase any of those things at the expense of our mental health, at the level of immense pressure for either of us.
Why I haven’t written in a while (if you even noticed)
As a side note, if you’ve noticed my long absence – which if you’re anything like me and subscribe to a bajillion lovely Substacks you may have not even noticed – it’s because I simply ran out of energy in the tank and I’ve been doing a lot of reading (well, mostly audiobook listening), the odd jigsaw, editing my manuscript, and Michael I had some time off, and some day trips (will update with a present-day snippet at some point).
After spending the first three months of the year completing not one, but two novels (circa 150k+ words), I was tired and thought I’d honour my body and rest. My BROKEN ENGAGEMENT CLUB manuscript has now been sent to
and I eagerly await her developmental edits to get to the next step in my – hopefully someday – publication journey. Can I manifest my dream agent and a big five publisher? I’ll let you know!
Okay, that was a long, rambling intro to get to my second date with Michael…
My second date with Michael
Our first date was a Friday (1 July 2016). Michael wanted our second date to be the following Saturday – his eagerness delighted me – but I had plans with my sister and family, so our third date was a day date on Sunday.
Michael took us for a walk to Orchan Rocks, the rock formation I can now see from my attic bedroom window, looking over the Pennines. It’s a beautiful view. I remember feeling more out of shape than I would have liked, so I didn’t want him to hear me panting up the steep bits. At this point, Michael – as a postman – walked over ten miles per day and after work, spent two hours at the gym perfecting his muscles, which I appreciated. I mean he may have spent an hour of that gossiping with fellow gym goers, but that’s another matter. It was all part of his routine.
When we got to the rocks, we lay in the grass, side by side, hands touching, looking up to the clouds on a beautiful July day, a day with rare British summer warmth.
Michael made me feel giddy, that feeling of first falling in love in high school. He’d stuffed Freddos, Ribena juice cartons, and some crisps in his pockets for us to have as snacks when we reached the top.
At this point, I’d been used to being wined and dined, bought expensive gifts, and it was a little refreshing to have someone take me on a date and put things in his pockets. I don’t know why I found it so amusing, but I did. It felt genuine at a time when I needed it.
Michael’s dating history: life on hold
Besides lying to me about his age initially (on the app, he said he was 31 when he was actually 37), I found everything about his (usual) honesty so charming, especially given my past. I asked why he lied about his age and he explained how he wanted to date people who weren’t in the ‘settle down’ and ‘have children’ phase of life and he found many people his age and older – even though he’d dated/hooked up with older women with children in the past as well – had children and different expectations. Usually, women in their mid-to-late twenties weren’t in that stage.
On reflection, many years into the future, I realise Michael made so many choices to protect his father and their relationship. Had Michael dated someone seriously, she may have wanted to move out, start their own family, and leave his father behind. After dedicating his whole life to his father, he couldn’t make that choice.
Michael had lost many love interests in the past because of his unwillingness to progress relationships. He’d never officially let anyone be ‘a girlfriend.’ His sister, thirteen years younger, had moved to Spain, had a child, married, lived a full life, and Michael was left to look after their unwell father. I’m not sure I’d ever have made that choice, but I admired his selflessness. To Michael, it wasn’t even a sacrifice. He loved his father, and that’s what he had to do.
He had one friends with benefits, a beautiful half-Indian girl from Bradford, who had an abusive father; she looked like a tiny Indian Audrey Hepburn, and I tried not to be jealous and wonder if that was the type of woman he was into. With my hang-ups on being a big woman, I wondered if Michael’s type was petite and small. I’d once had Captain Thor say to me something about him thinking we were the same size and realising at one point I was smaller than him. Boy, did that do a number on my head as he was also quite a big, muscular man, just shy of six feet tall.
Michael at some point told me the story of how his festival friends came over for some kind of sleepover one summer and even though he was a fully grown adult – he must have been in his late twenties then – one of the attractive festival girls had come to his room to try and seduce him and he was so awkward and didn’t have sex with her. He knew all his mates would give him shit, a sort of jeering pride, and he was far too embarrassed to endure it. He didn’t sleep with her, and she became upset that he didn’t. I’m not even sure if they kissed.
The story reminded me of the time when I went to prom with a Junior when I was a Freshman (aged 14). I didn’t have my first kiss until I was 15. All the other couples were making out in the limo, and I would have kissed this boy, but he didn’t make the first move, and we sat there, awkward, talking in low whispers.
As I’d said before, I often feel that Michael and I miraculously fit together, some kind of luck, choice, glorious twist of fate, but our lives were similar at that stage.
We both had dads who were important to us. We both lived with our dads. And when I came along, perhaps, he could see that I’d fit into his life. That I wouldn’t make demands of him he couldn’t make, ask him for sacrifices, or to choose between his dad and me. I knew that Michael would choose his father every time – and his father was a good man, so why not?
Just because I’d had the conventional home life before didn’t mean I had to repeat it. Besides, who was there to judge? I certainly wouldn’t.
Our second date, first sex
After the walk, Michael had arranged for his dad to be out of the house. He’d bought prosecco and strawberries and prepared the attic room (not his bedroom), which had been his sister’s bedroom before she had moved out at eighteen to go and work as a holiday rep in Spain. For someone who had not had as many sexual partners – Michael claims he can count his on two hands, so I guess that’s anywhere between six and ten, but he still hasn’t let me know – he was skilled in bed. He was generous, attentive. He started with a massage, which he was also incredibly good at.
Unlike with some men in my past, I immediately felt safe with him. Michael made me feel cared for and secure, especially in bed, despite being practical strangers. Michael had a box of new condoms in anticipation and a bottle of strawberry lube.
Later in our journey, we’d not have sex before showering, but I learned the flavoured lube was so that he could perform oral without fully tasting anything unpleasant. The girl he’d lost his virginity to – although she hadn’t known – had been sweating all day, and he’d not wanted to repeat the memory of that. Probably for the first time, I was obsessed with someone in bed, but that obsession would form a healthy attachment instead of cat-and-mouse chasing like Bramwell or Hot Jewish Doctor. I was hooked.
After our sexual encounter, I said: “New rule: you can never ever wear a shirt around me.” After years together, he now seems to have revoked this rule but back then he stuck to it with a wink.
Lancashire food: the tea of champions
After our walk, strawberries and prosecco, sex, and cuddling in bed watching television, Michael made tea for us as well (the northern English word that means ‘dinner’ or ‘supper’), which consisted of Lancashire hotpot, peas, and bread and butter on the side.
I would learn that Michael was a feeder of sorts. He showed love through taking care of people, like his dad, his sister, his mum, and now I was in that circle. Let me tell you, a side of bread and butter was not great for my waistline, but it was novel that first few times (or fifty).
Safe sex and the STD clinic
Michael has always been a sucker for absolutely safe sex. Great quality. Even when watching television shows, he hates hookup scenes that don’t have an obvious show of using condoms. University me was like that too. I would make my sexual partners show me a clean bill of health and get regular STD testing at the free clinic. (Who knows if America still has free sexual health clinics now, but that’s another matter?)
This safety obsession perhaps began with another encounter. Once, Michael got a blowjob from a girl who had chlamidia. She told him she had it. Despite not having unprotected pentration (or even penetration with a condom), she’d touched herself and then touched his cock and he’d gotten it, which was quickly cleared up with a horse pill. Michael said medical professionals trusted women to take a course of pills and only trusted men to take one! After that experience, he took zero chances, which I admired.
Michael, before me, had only had unprotected sex with two people. Before we could have unprotected sex, Michael planned a whole day of our STD clinic date (which was in August).
We got tested, which consisted of a blood draw (always a point of almost-fainting for me) and shoving a long cotton bud into unmentionable places. We went to the swimming baths in Burnley (that’s a big, indoor public swimming pool for international readers), followed by a sauna and steam room together. We even went to the park, fed the ducks, and Michael had packed a (not ‘proper’) picnic, which consisted of supermarket sandwich meal deals that we ate on a park bench overlooking the little pond. I thought the day was lovely.
The results were quick and texted to a phone number. The only problem is I didn’t yet have a British phone number so I had to give my sister’s phone number (thanks, Jae) and then show Michael the result via screenshot.
I booked an appointment to get back on the pill. That was back when NHS appointments were easier to come by.
Other early dating bits
Other sweet things he did in those early dating days included ordering some “American sweets” for me, which was a big box of things like taffy, nerds, Baby Ruth bar, Reece’s cups (before they were widely available in the UK), and for one time when I came over I’d said I liked lemon scented things and he’d bought me lemon scented body wash for the shower and lemon scented body cream.
He paid for a massage for me from the Polish woman at his gym, and it was amazing. This was at a time I barely had money for anything, let alone massages. He secured me a three-month free gym membership, and again, I had no money, so that was helpful. We’d spend the odd time working out together. His gestures were always small – compared to the lavish ones I’d had in the past – but infinitely more thoughtful than anyone I’d ever been with. He listened. He remembered. And best of all, besides being amazing in bed, he made me laugh.
It was a sad time in my life. I was happy to be back in the bosom of my English family, but I was still reeling with the heartbreak and trauma from my ex-husband (or would be eventually ex-husband). I could make jokes that I had a husband and a boyfriend (and I did)! It would take years to unpack that trauma, and lots more healing with the help of Michael, time, my therapist, and even writing this Substack.
Michael – bless him – having never tried to have a long-term girlfriend or any consistent type of relationship, always keeping women at arm’s length and maybe seeing them quite infrequently, suddenly got a full-on seeing someone regularly relationship, and he didn’t know what to expect or how to compare it. He took everything in his stride. The times I cried over texts my ex sent or ways he’d been shitty or my money woes, how hard I was finding it to secure a job.
Overall, we spent many nights curled up watching TV. I’d never been a big television watcher, and Hot Jewish Doctor had criticised my inability to relax and watch television, always wanting to talk and discuss big ideas back then, but I’d mellowed and was willing to settle into something new.
Sometimes Michael would pick me up, and sometimes he’d make me take the bus. This was before I’d convinced my ex to buy me a cheap £3,000 lawnmower of a car (a Peugeot 107) that my friend Joanne helped me look for and buy. I’d gone from an Audi A6 convertible to a Peugeot. How life had changed! Once I got a car, Michael made it his mission to buy me regular car air fresheners. Why? I have no idea. He’s always been very random like that.
I’d be pissed off when he’d make me pay for a taxi or a bus between our houses, despite the fact I lived only four miles away. Taxis back then were about £5 each way, and my funds were limited.
Not magically healed: my toxic traits
Despite our early times being a fun time of exploration and happiness, I wasn’t magically healed. I was still jealous and had an unhealthy attachment style.
Once, Michael liked a bikini photo of a girl he went on dates with, a girl he’d told me he thought was pretty. I was wracked with jealousy. My body didn’t look as good as hers. He said she was pretty. He didn’t tell me I looked pretty. Did he want her instead of me? My thoughts spiralled. Michael, never having to have dealt with such a thing before, seemed rather distraught.
George, Michael’s Dad, talked to me about the whole thing. Michael never did that sort of thing again. It also taught Michael to limit what he shared with me about women in his past, which wasn’t such a great side effect.
None of the women he slept with were stalkable because, unlike me, he is not as open about past relationships. Of course, he’s told me bits and pieces, but not full accounts. Michael is truly not interested in who I slept with in my past – even if he had heard the stories already of most of the people I’ve written about on my Substack, or at least the main players. He’s the most un-jealous person I’ve met, and when I talk about a couple of other people I dated at the same time as Michael in those early days, you’ll see just how unbothered he was – and it was infuriating.
It took me time to quieten the bits of my brain that said I’m unlovable, I’m not attractive enough for Michael, I’m not enough, enough, enough…
But over time, and because Michael is just chill, loving, and consistent, my mind has quietened.
I talked to my therapist about how I think Michael’s lack of constant reassurance, which I am sure is exhausting for partners, is exactly what has helped me. The only person I ever dated who was like me in this regard – insecure and in constant need of reassurance – was high school sweetheart and I fully get the instinct to run from these people (people like me).
I made a photo book for Michael’s 38th birthday, and in there I’d written some comments about how he’d taken other women on some of our dates. I can’t even recall what exactly I said now, but his Dad just said something along the lines of how Michael cares for me and not to make barbs at him about his past, which was entirely right.
Quietening the voices in my head
Michael barely tells me I’m beautiful or that he loves me, but instead, he shows me all the ways he loves me. He brings me back little treats from the grocery shopping, things he knows I like or thinks I would like. He messages me throughout the day, pictures of nature, things he thinks of, books trips for us, theatre tickets, snuggles with me, is affectionate back. I sometimes even get the odd time when I’m in the kitchen, making a cup of tea, and he will wrap his arms around me from behind.
He’s not verbal about emotions. He’s a chatterbox about everything else. He’s a level-10 curain twitcher and loves a bit of community gossip, which makes me laugh, so we have endless chats and funny jibes back and forth. But he is pretty hilarious, and you know that thing where they say children laugh about three hundred times per day? Well, I probably don’t laugh that often, but I reckon in an evening, Michael makes me laugh upwards of thirty times.
Our early days are a swirl of happy memories and summer magic. There are distinctive dates in my head, but mostly it merges together because, unlike in absolutely every other relationship I’ve been in, the years have gotten better.
Every past relationship, I look to the beginning as some golden time, a time never to be topped, but with Michael, with advancing years, has only come richness.
Coming up next, tune in for the final part where I talk about playing house at his Mum’s, day trips, more picnics, and my television education.
Want to start from the beginning? Catch up on the other ninety chapters, including the one on why I’m writing Why We Met in the first place including “present day snippets” of my current events. Thanks for reading.
Did you ever display toxic dating patterns? How did you heal from them?
we DID notice you were gone! I'm pleased to hear it was for a very good reason ;)