This Time Two Years Ago, I Drove 450 Miles for a Man Who Wouldn't Choose Me
October has a funny way of bringing things back around.
The weather changes. The leaves start falling. The air gets colder. And sometimes, without warning, a memory crawls out of a place you thought you'd buried it.
And sometimes, that memory comes in the form of a picture that pops up on your phone from exactly two years ago today.
That's exactly what happened to me.
The picture I chose for this blog was taken on my way home from Reno, during one of my many stops because I was so fucking tired of driving.
And just like that, one little picture brought back a whole lot of feelings I didn't even realize I was still carrying.
It's funny how you can look at a picture and remember exactly who you were in that moment. Not just where you were or what you were doing, but how you felt.
And looking at that girl today, I just want to give her a hug.
Because she had absolutely no idea how much her life was about to change.
This time two years ago, I was driving across Oregon, through California, and into Nevada.
Alone.
450 fucking miles.
Not because I was on some beautiful solo adventure. Not because I was chasing a dream or doing something empowering for myself.
Nope.
I was driving to Reno to see my boyfriend.
My boyfriend who had flown down with his friends.
My boyfriend whose friend had purchased the plane tickets.
My boyfriend who somehow never thought to include me in those plans.
And what did I do?
I rented a car.
Packed my bags.
And drove 450 miles by myself to be somewhere I apparently wasn't important enough to be invited in the first place.
Girl. What the actual fuck?
I look back at that version of myself and genuinely wonder what was going through her head.
Actually, I know exactly what was going through her head.
She wanted to be chosen.
She wanted to feel important.
She wanted the man she loved to want her there.
And instead of recognizing that she deserved those things without having to beg for them, she got in a rental car and drove across three states.
Sometimes I wish I could go back and shake that girl.
Other times, I just want to hug her.
Because she had absolutely no idea how much better life was going to get.
The Girl Who Was Begging to Be Chosen
I remember that trip.
I remember feeling uncomfortable. Jealous. Insecure. Out of place.
I remember drinking far more than I should have because alcohol made it easier to pretend I was having fun.
Easier to ignore that sinking feeling in my stomach.
Easier to pretend I wasn't standing in a room full of people feeling completely fucking alone.
And the saddest part?
I wasn't asking for some grand romantic gesture.
I just wanted my boyfriend to want to spend time with me.
Not with the entire group.
Not at another bar.
Not planning the next party.
Just me.
I wanted him to say, "Hey, let's go do something together."
Let's take a drive.
Let's go to dinner.
Let's spend a weekend where the entire fucking world doesn't need to be invited.
But that wasn't our relationship.
There was always another drink. Another friend. Another plan. Another excuse.
And somehow, I was always the one adjusting.
I used to feel sorry for him. Honestly, part of me still does.
Because I don't think he knew how to sit still long enough to figure out what he actually wanted out of life.
But here's something I've learned.
You can feel sorry for someone's struggles without volunteering to become collateral damage.
And I was collateral damage for far too long.
I Didn't Love Him. I Loved Who I Thought He Could Become.
This one took me a long time to admit.
Because when you're in it, you swear it's love.
You defend them.
You make excuses.
You convince yourself that if you just love them a little harder, they'll finally see what they have standing right in front of them.
But looking back, I think I was in love with potential.
The potential of who he could be if he stopped drinking so much.
The potential of who he could be if he put our relationship first.
The potential of who he could be if he finally realized that someone was standing there willing to build an entire life with him.
And me?
Well, I've always been the helper.
The fixer.
The girl who sees the good in people even when they're showing her every single reason she should walk away.
I thought I could love someone into becoming a better person.
What a fucking expensive lesson that was.
Emotionally.
Financially.
Mentally.
And the saddest part?
While I was busy trying to save him, I was slowly abandoning myself.
He Knew Sharon. But He Never Really Knew Taryn.
Now, before anyone thinks I'm sitting here pretending I was some perfect little angel in that relationship, let me make one thing very fucking clear.
I wasn't.
I got jealous.
I got insecure.
I questioned things. I overthought situations. I reacted emotionally.
And I'm sure there were moments when I wasn't exactly the easiest person to love.
I'll own that.
Maybe it wasn't all him.
Maybe there were things I could have handled differently.
Maybe I let my insecurities get the best of me sometimes.
But here's the part that still makes me angry.
I wasn't insecure for absolutely no fucking reason.
I couldn't trust my boyfriend.
And when you can't trust the person who's supposed to make you feel safe in your relationship, it changes you.
You start questioning everything.
Every friendship.
Every text message.
Every night out.
Every situation that doesn't quite add up.
I was insecure about his best friend.
And maybe to the people around us, I looked like the jealous girlfriend who couldn't just relax and have a good time.
Maybe I was the problem in their version of the story.
And you know what?
I'm sure some of the people around him knew things I didn't.
Maybe they didn't.
Maybe they only knew what they were told.
But I spent so much time feeling like I was losing my fucking mind, wondering whether my intuition was trying to protect me or my insecurities were destroying me.
And eventually, when the truth came out, I realized some of those feelings I'd been fighting so hard to ignore weren't entirely wrong.
But here's something else I've realized.
He never really knew me.
Not the real me.
He knew Sharon.
Oh, he knew Sharon really fucking well.
The fun girl.
The drinking girl.
The girl who could go out, have a good time, laugh too loudly, and keep up with everyone.
The girl who would show up to the parties, buy the drinks, make the dinners, and go along with whatever everyone else wanted to do.
The girl who could be the life of the party even when she was absolutely miserable on the inside.
He knew that girl.
But he didn't know Taryn.
Not really.
He didn't know the hippie, woo-woo girl who believes in energy, crystals, the moon, and a little bit of magic.
The girl who would rather spend an evening at home with the people she loves than spend another weekend getting drunk at a bar.
The girl who loves being outside, exploring the mountains, chasing waterfalls, camping, fishing, and finding those quiet little moments that make life feel beautiful.
The girl whose family means absolutely everything to her.
The girl who doesn't need a hundred friends because the small circle she keeps is worth more than a thousand people who only show up when there's a party.
The girl who loves deeply.
Who remembers the little things.
Who wants to build a home, create traditions, grow her business, and spend her life making memories she'll actually remember the next morning.
The girl who loves crystals not just because they're beautiful, but because they represent something deeper to her.
Connection.
Intention.
Peace.
Growth.
He didn't know that girl because I don't think he ever took the time to really meet her.
And maybe that's partly on me, too.
Because somewhere along the way, I stopped showing up as Taryn and started showing up as whoever I thought I needed to be to keep him interested.
I became the fun girlfriend.
The agreeable girlfriend.
The girlfriend who tried to fit into his world instead of asking whether his world was somewhere I even wanted to be.
And that's a hard fucking thing to admit.
Because I lost myself trying to become someone I thought he would love.
Now, don't get me wrong.
I made some incredible friendships during that chapter of my life.
People I genuinely love and appreciate. People who brought laughter, memories, and good moments into a time that wasn't always easy.
And I wouldn't erase those connections just because the relationship ended badly.
Not everyone from that chapter deserves to be painted with the same brush.
But I am so much more than alcohol.
More than partying.
More than being the girl who's always down for whatever everyone else wants to do.
More than buying dinners, picking up tabs, making plans, and constantly giving pieces of myself away just to feel included.
I am more than what I can do for other people.
And I think that's one of the biggest lessons I've had to learn.
Because for most of my life, I've been the giver.
The helper.
The fixer.
The person who will bend over backward for someone she loves.
But somewhere along the way, I forgot that I deserved to have someone show up for me, too.
I deserved someone who wanted to know what made me happy.
Someone who wanted to understand why I love the things I love.
Someone who would sit with me on a quiet evening and actually enjoy being there.
Someone who wanted to know Taryn.
Not just Sharon.
And here's the thing.
I actually like Sharon.
She's funny. She's wild. She's a little loud. She's got some pretty great stories.
And she's still part of me.
But she's not all of me.
She's never been all of me.
And I will never again shrink the rest of who I am just to fit into somebody else's idea of a good time.
Because the right person doesn't make you choose between being fun and being yourself.
They love the loud, ridiculous, slightly inappropriate version of you.
And they love the quiet, emotional, crystal-loving, family-oriented, sometimes anxious, sometimes stubborn version, too.
They don't just love you when you're entertaining them.
They love you when you're simply existing beside them.
And looking back, maybe that's what hurt the most.
It wasn't just that he didn't choose me.
It's that I spent so much time begging to be chosen by someone who never even bothered to learn who I really was.
And Then Came the Betrayal
You know that gut feeling?
The one that sits in the pit of your stomach?
The one that tells you something isn't right, even when you desperately want to believe everything is fine?
Yeah.
That one.
I had it.
For months.
And eventually, the truth came out.
He had been cheating.
Not just flirting.
Not just some questionable conversations that could be explained away.
Physically cheating.
For months.
While I was showing up.
While I was cooking dinners.
While I was spending my hard-earned money.
While I was rearranging my life and convincing myself we had something worth fighting for.
He was giving parts of himself to someone else.
And I was still trying to earn a place in his life.
Except here's where the story changes.
Because there comes a point when even the most forgiving person has nothing left to give.
There comes a point when the tears dry up.
When the excuses stop working.
When you look at someone you once thought you couldn't live without and realize you'd rather lose them than lose one more piece of yourself.
And that was my point.
Enough. Was. Fucking. Enough.
I was done.
Done begging.
Done questioning.
Done wondering what was wrong with me.
Done trying to be good enough for someone who couldn't even offer the bare minimum of loyalty.
He crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed.
And for once in my life, I didn't stand there holding the door open, waiting for him to come back.
I slammed that motherfucker shut.
You Can't Be a Catch to Someone Who Never Wanted to Catch You
Here's the thing that makes me angry when I look back.
I had so much going for me.
I owned my home.
I had a career.
I had built my own small business.
I was independent. Loyal. Funny. Loving. Hardworking.
I was beautiful.
I was showing up for someone with my whole heart.
And somehow, I had convinced myself I wasn't enough.
Not pretty enough.
Not fun enough.
Not exciting enough.
Not whatever the hell it was I thought he wanted.
I wanted him to be proud to call me his.
To show me off.
To choose me without hesitation.
And I kept trying to become the kind of woman he would finally recognize as worth keeping.
But here's the truth I wish someone had screamed in my face two years ago.
You can't be a catch to someone who never wanted to catch you.
And you sure as hell shouldn't have to audition for the role of girlfriend when you're already doing everything a partner should.
I wasn't asking for too much.
I was asking the wrong fucking person.
My Villain Era Wasn't About Revenge. It Was About Never Abandoning Myself Again.
People talk about their villain era like it's some glamorous transformation.
New hair. New clothes. A little attitude. Maybe a thirst trap or two.
But mine?
Mine was quieter.
And darker.
It was realizing how much of myself I had handed over to someone who never appreciated it.
It was looking at my business and realizing how far I had let it slip because I was too busy emotionally surviving a relationship that was draining the life out of me.
It was looking at my bank account and thinking about all the money I'd spent on alcohol, dinners, weekends, and experiences that left me feeling emptier than when I arrived.
It was remembering the woman I used to be before I started questioning everything about myself.
And it was getting angry.
Not just at him.
At myself, too.
For ignoring the red flags.
For making excuses.
For going back.
For accepting crumbs and calling it love.
But I've learned something about that anger.
Sometimes anger is the part of you that finally remembers you deserve better.
Sometimes it's the voice that says, "We're not doing this shit anymore."
And sometimes, becoming the villain in someone else's story is simply what happens when you stop allowing them to be the villain in yours.
I don't need revenge.
I don't need an apology.
I don't need to know if he regrets losing me.
I just need to never become that version of myself again.
I'm Not the Same Girl. And Thank Fucking God for That.
I'm going to say something that might sound a little vain.
I know what I bring to the table.
And it's a whole fucking lot.
I have a career I've worked hard for. I have my home, my business, my dreams, and a life I've built with my own two hands.
I have loyalty.
I have humor.
I have a big heart, a smart mouth, and a personality that isn't going to be everyone's cup of tea.
And that's perfectly fine.
I love hard. I show up. I remember the little things. I care about people even when I probably shouldn't.
I'm not perfect.
I'm stubborn. I'm emotional. I overthink. I can be a pain in the ass.
And yes, I might have put on some weight since that girl drove to Reno.
But you know what?
That girl might have been skinnier, but she wasn't happier.
She was drinking heavily almost every weekend.
She was spending money trying to keep up with a lifestyle she didn't even truly enjoy.
She was exhausted from trying to prove she was worthy of someone's attention.
And she was slowly losing the things that made her who she was.
So no, I might not look exactly like I did two years ago.
But I like this version of me a hell of a lot more.
And I'm learning not to measure my beauty by the size of my jeans or whether some man thinks I'm worth showing off.
Because my worth was never the problem.
His inability to recognize it wasn't my responsibility to fix.
Two Years Later, I'm Packing for a Completely Different Life
And here's where October gets interesting.
Because two years ago, I was packing my bags to drive 450 miles alone to see someone who couldn't make me a priority.
Today?
I'm getting ready for a trip of a lifetime with a man who makes me feel loved, wanted, and chosen.
Not occasionally.
Not when it's convenient.
Not when all his friends are busy.
Every single day.
We live together now.
In our home.
A home that feels safe. Lived in. Sometimes chaotic. Full of animals, laughter, love, and probably a few smells that should be considered a biological hazard.
And my biggest relationship concerns these days?
Whether I'm going to beat him in fantasy football.
Whether the bedroom is going to smell like one of the animals committed a crime overnight.
Or whether we're going to have a disagreement about something ridiculous before eventually crawling into bed, snuggling up, and remembering we're on the same team.
And his friends?
The boys?
Oh, I absolutely talk shit to them.
Especially when I'm beating them in fantasy football.
But I trust them.
I trust the man I'm with.
I don't sit around wondering who he's texting.
I don't worry about who he's meeting up with behind my back.
I don't feel like I need to compete with every woman who walks into a room.
And I don't have to beg to be included in his life.
Because I'm already part of it.
I never realized how much energy I was spending being anxious until I experienced what it felt like to be at peace.
And I think that's what gets me the most.
I spent so long confusing anxiety with love that peace almost felt unfamiliar.
But this?
This is the life I wanted.
Not because it's perfect.
But because it's real.
Because it's ours.
And because I'm not standing outside of it, begging someone to let me in.
He Fell in Love With Taryn. And He Gets Sharon, Too.
And here's the beautiful, slightly ridiculous part of this whole story.
Cody knows Taryn.
The real Taryn.
The hippie, crystal-loving, moon-watching, slightly woo-woo girl who believes in energy and loves her family more than anything.
He knows the woman who wants a peaceful home, a beautiful life, and a future filled with memories.
He knows the woman who overthinks, who gets emotional, who sometimes needs reassurance, and who has a past that occasionally comes knocking.
And he loves her.
But the poor man also gets Sharon.
The loud one.
The competitive one.
The one who talks entirely too much shit during fantasy football.
The one who is absolutely going to remind him and all his friends when she's winning.
And somehow, he loves that version of me, too.
I don't have to choose between being the fun girl and being the girl who wants to stay home in her pajamas.
I don't have to pretend I don't love crystals, moon rituals, or my slightly witchy little world.
I don't have to make myself smaller or more entertaining to keep his attention.
I get to be all of me.
And he gets all of me.
The good days.
The emotional days.
The stubborn days.
The days when I'm feeling beautiful and confident.
And the days when I'm standing in front of the mirror picking myself apart.
He doesn't always understand every thought that goes through my head. Hell, sometimes I don't understand them either.
But he tries.
He listens.
He shows up.
And he makes me feel like I'm worth knowing.
He didn't fall in love with the version of me I created to keep someone interested. He fell in love with the woman I was finally brave enough to be.
And damn, does that feel different.
The Girl Behind the Crystals Has Some Dark Chapters, Too
If you've been following my blogs lately, you've probably noticed something.
I've been writing a lot about change.
About gratitude.
About abundance.
About protecting my energy and finding my way back to the things that make me feel like myself.
In my Harvest Moon reflection, I talked about feeling off, struggling with self-doubt, and learning to be grateful even when life feels heavy.
In More Than Crystals, I shared how I'm rediscovering my passion for my business and figuring out what I want this next chapter to look like.
And in my First of the Month Reset Ritual, I talked about cleansing our home, setting intentions, and welcoming love, safety, and peace into the space we're building together.
But here's what I want you to understand.
Those blogs don't exist without this version of my story.
The woman who opens her doors, lights her candles, cleanses her home, and asks the universe to protect the people she loves?
She's also the woman who once ignored every warning sign her intuition was screaming at her.
The woman who's rebuilding her business?
She's also the woman who once let it fall to the bottom of her priority list because she was pouring everything she had into someone else.
The woman who's grateful for her life today?
She's also the woman who spent nights crying over a man who didn't deserve her tears.
And I refuse to pretend those women are strangers.
They're all me.
The good.
The bad.
The messy.
The angry.
The heartbroken.
The healed and still healing.
And if there's one thing I've learned from loving crystals, it's that some of the most beautiful things in this world are formed under unimaginable pressure.
I don't believe a crystal can magically fix a broken heart.
But I do believe the little rituals we create around them can remind us of our intentions.
A piece of Amethyst can become a reminder to slow down and find clarity.
A piece of Rose Quartz can symbolize the self-love we should have never stopped giving ourselves.
And the grounding energy people associate with protective crystals can be a beautiful reminder that boundaries matter.
Because protecting your peace isn't always about keeping negative energy out of your home.
Sometimes it's about finally refusing to invite it back into your life.
And that, to me, is where the real magic begins.
I Feel Sorry for Her. But I'm Also So Damn Proud of Her.
I look back at the girl who made that drive.
And I want to hug her.
I want to grab her by the shoulders and ask her what the hell she's doing.
I want to tell her to turn the car around.
To save her money.
To go home.
To spend the weekend with her girlfriends.
To put her energy into her business.
To remember who the fuck she is.
But I also know she wouldn't have listened.
Because she had to get there herself.
She had to reach that breaking point.
She had to learn that love shouldn't require sacrificing her dignity.
And she had to discover that walking away from someone you thought you loved could be the very thing that saved you.
So yes, I'm angry for her.
I'm angry about what she accepted.
I'm angry about how small she made herself.
I'm angry about how much time she wasted trying to convince someone to love her properly.
But I'm proud of her, too.
Because eventually, she chose herself.
And that decision changed everything.
Sometimes You Just Need to Write the Shit Down
You know what's funny about writing these blogs?
I'm pretty sure Cody reads them.
And maybe one or two of my friends.
That's probably about it.
And honestly?
I'm okay with that.
Because sometimes I don't write these things for other people.
Sometimes I write them because I need to get them the hell out of my head.
Because letting old memories, hurt feelings, and unanswered questions sit inside you doesn't make them disappear.
Sometimes they just sit there.
Eating at you.
Showing up when you least expect them.
And I'd rather sit down at my computer, pour myself into a blog that three people might read, and let those feelings go than keep carrying them around like some invisible weight.
Maybe someday someone will stumble across this entry and recognize a little piece of themselves in my story.
Maybe they won't.
Either way, I got it out.
And sometimes that's enough.
I'm sure as Cody reads this, he's probably shaking his head thinking, "Oh man, here she goes again."
And honestly, babe?
You're welcome.
Another front-row seat to whatever the hell is going on inside my brain today.
But underneath the eye rolls and the occasional "here we go again," I know he's proud of me.
Proud of what I've survived.
Proud of how far I've come.
Proud of the woman I am today.
Not because I've magically healed every part of myself or because I never struggle anymore.
But because I keep showing up.
I keep trying.
I keep growing.
And I think he sees that.
He's truly my person.
The one I can laugh with.
The one I can cry with.
The one I can be completely ridiculous with.
The one who makes the ordinary parts of life feel like something I spent years waiting for.
And damn it, Sam Barber.
I will never have the words to thank you for bringing that man into my life.
Life has a funny way of putting people in your path when you least expect it.
Sometimes a song, a concert, a conversation, or one seemingly insignificant moment changes the entire direction of your life.
And suddenly, the person you didn't even know you were waiting for becomes the person you can't imagine doing life without.
So if Cody is one of the only people who reads these little journal entries of mine, that's okay.
Because he's one of the biggest reasons I finally feel safe enough to write them.
This Is My Journal. And I Won't Apologize for the Pages That Aren't Pretty.
Sometimes I wonder whether I should share things like this.
After all, this is a crystal shop.
Shouldn't I be writing about pretty stones, moon rituals, new inventory, and all the beautiful things I'm bringing into CAE's Crystals?
Maybe.
But that's never been all I wanted this space to be.
I want people to know the girl behind the crystals.
The girl who loves her family fiercely.
The girl who laughs too loudly, talks a little too much shit during fantasy football, and sometimes needs to get her thoughts out before they eat her alive.
The girl who has made mistakes.
Who has loved the wrong people.
Who has stayed too long.
Who has been betrayed.
Who has had to rebuild parts of herself that nobody even knew were broken.
Because I'm not going to sit here and sell you a story about perfect energy, perfect healing, and a perfectly aligned life.
That's not real.
Sometimes healing is lighting a candle and setting intentions.
Sometimes it's crying in your car.
Sometimes it's getting your heart broken.
And sometimes it's writing an angry, profanity-filled journal entry two years later because you finally have enough distance to see just how badly you were treated.
This is one of those entries.
And it feels really fucking good to get it out.
Dear October, Look at Us Now.
Two years ago, I was driving toward someone who couldn't choose me.
Today, I'm preparing to travel with someone who already has.
Two years ago, I was drinking to numb feelings I didn't know how to face.
Today, I'm learning to actually enjoy the life I've built.
Two years ago, I was losing myself trying to love someone else.
Today, I'm finding pieces of myself I thought were gone forever.
And the best part?
I'm not done.
I'm still growing.
Still learning.
Still healing.
Still figuring out who I want to be.
I'm building my business back up. I'm making plans. I'm dreaming bigger. I'm loving harder, but this time without forgetting to love myself.
I don't have everything figured out.
And I still have days when the past finds a way to crawl back into my thoughts.
But the difference now is that I don't live there anymore.
That chapter is closed.
And I don't need to burn the whole book to prove I've moved on.
I can acknowledge what happened.
I can be angry about it.
I can tell my side.
And I can still be deeply, genuinely happy with where life has taken me.
So here's to the girl who drove 450 miles for someone who wouldn't choose her.
I wish she knew what was waiting for her.
I wish she knew how much better life could feel.
I wish she knew that someday she'd be loved without begging, included without asking, and appreciated without having to prove herself.
But most importantly?
I wish she knew that she was already enough.
She didn't need to become more lovable.
She needed to stop giving her love to someone who didn't know what the fuck to do with it.
And if sharing this helps even one woman recognize herself in that 450-mile drive, maybe she'll realize she doesn't have to keep driving toward someone who's never coming halfway.
As for me?
I'm not that girl anymore.
And I am so fucking proud of the woman who took her place.
With love, a little rage, and absolutely no regrets about choosing myself,
Taryn