Shortly after my husband, Ed, and I separated in 2014, I began dating a firefighter named Don. Ed waited longer to embark on a relationship, but two years later, he found Teri, a divorced nurse he met at bible study. His new romance gnawed at me in ways I hadn't expected. I casually mentioned her name when I spoke to my adult children. Despite prying them for information, their lips remained zipped.
Months later, I was set to face Teri for the first time at our daughter Kayla's baby shower. The safari-themed co-ed event had 42 guests in attendance, including Ed and his girlfriend. Dinner and a show. No pressure.
I was anxious to meet my ex-husband's girlfriend
Ed had handled meeting Don the previous Christmas with maturity, but now that I was in his shoes, they caused discomfort on my size 6.5 feet. In the weeks preceding the party, I may have excessively analyzed the situation. My nerves ping-ponged, serving wicked blows to my self-esteem. I kept telling myself that I wasn't thin enough, blonde enough, funny enough, smart enough, or worthy enough. Besides these harsh self-judgments, questions ran through my mind that I had no way of answering. Who was this woman? And what would she think of the wife who let Ed get away?
I wanted Teri to like me and hoped to gain her approval and respect. But when I lay awake on my feather pillow at night, I obsessed over details Ed might have shared with her about me. Was he brutal? Was he honest? Was he brutally honest? Would I see Ed's one-sided version of me mirrored in her eyes? I worried she might gloat. I hated gloating.
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I became preoccupied with being fake fabulous. I lost weight and highlighted my hair. I overspent on a ridiculous outfit and practiced walking in four-inch heels. A not-so-small, shameful part of me wished to one-up Teri and be the epitome of "the one who got away." Despite loving Don, I needed Ed to want Teri less, for Ed to desire me more. Shallow, self-defeating, cliched, woman-on-woman nonsense nagged at me.
I let it drag me down a rabbit hole, trapping me into a person I never wanted to be. My anxiety reinforced the long-held belief that I wasn't good enough for anyone, that I hadn't been worthy of him. I forgot to remind myself of our mutual decision to divorce. There wasn't anything wrong with me or with Ed. We just weren't right for each other.
In reality, I had nothing to prove to Teri. I shouldn't need to make her feel worse to find solace within myself. As I surveyed the emotional mess and credit card damage my insecurities had incurred, I considered what the baby shower might be like for her. I wondered if she, too, had spent the weeks since we sent the invitations mired in apprehension.
I empathized with Teri, walking into echoes of our marriage amid the streamers and balloons. So much of "ours" would be bouncing off the baby shower walls. The only familiarity for Teri in the room would be Ed. At that moment, I decided I wanted his girlfriend to know that she was enough in this shower of ours.
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Meeting Teri was a relief
When Ed and Teri walked in the door, the celebration was already underway. My pulse galloped as I swilled our mid-priced champagne. I took in her blonde hair, the same golden hue as mine. It framed her jawline in soft layers, and I wondered if we had the same hairdresser. You could mistake our profiles, though she was slightly taller. "This must be his type," I thought. I studied them across the room, hyper-focused on Ed's arm at the base of her back.
He looked happy, this ex-husband of mine. His dimples deepened when he laughed. Teri hung on his every word and eased his awkwardness with her smiles. When they glanced at each other, their intimacy was obvious; they already had a rapport he and I had never mastered. I experienced a sense of voyeurism as he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the spot between her thumb and wrist. He guarded and protected her. Could I learn to be OK with that? Happy, even?
Black and white boundaries of what used to be mine and Ed's were blending into shades of gray, becoming Teri's as well. My kids were fond of Teri, and I hoped to care for her, too. But for that to happen, I'd have to swallow my fear, meet her, and have an actual conversation. And with that, I walked over, introduced myself, and gave Teri a hug. We held each other, perhaps a second longer than we should have, embracing while our insecurities melted like butter. When we pulled apart, I clasped her hands and took her in. Even her blue eyes held my identical shade of cerulean.
"I'm thrilled to meet you," I said. And I meant it.
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"I've heard so many wonderful things about you," Teri replied. "The shower is lovely. Thank you for having me."
"Of course. You're part of the family now." I gave her hands a gentle squeeze. They tucked soft and warm into mine. "Ed's a great man. I'm glad he has you."
Teri exhaled with such discretion only another woman would have noticed. A few seconds later, I, too, allowed myself room to breathe. And together, we were enough.
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