All day today, I’ve been so down on myself, feeling sorry for myself, becoming this weak, fragile thing on the outside after I’ve worked so hard to make sure all those feelings stay hidden on the inside. I always thought that if I portrayed myself as this strong, single, independent woman who didn’t need anyone else, then I would eventually believe it myself. Mind over matter. If you believe it, then you can achieve it! But I guess I’ve just stayed in denial this whole time.
Now that Curtis isn’t here, where he isn’t the only thing I see, breathe, feel, and taste, I can step back and assess how I’m truly feeling. If I were my patient, what would I say? What would I ask?
First, I would ask myself, “Self, what are you afraid of?”
That answer would be easy. I’m afraid of getting hurt again. I am afraid of what happened with my ex happening all over again.
And then I would ask myself, “What is it that I want to happen?”
I would reply, “To live happily ever after in a relationship with a man I know for a fact would never leave me for not being able to bear his children.”
I would then ask myself, “What could I do in order to obtain what I truly want?”
Learn to trust him. And the only logical way to gain trust is to get to know the person, not just physically—because God knows I know him physically—but emotionally and on a soul-deep level. And the only way to do that is to talk, to ask each other questions, to be open with our answers, and to be completely honest with each other.
With that thought in mind, I send a message to end the silence between us.
Me: I’m sorry I ran. That’s not who I want to be as a person. That’s not who I want you to think I am. I want to be stronger than that.
There’s another pause, and I hold my breath, having no idea how he might respond.
ChefCurtisRockwell: Sugar, we can take this as slow as you need to. I know that might sound silly after what we did before you fell asleep in my arms, but we can back up if you need to. We can go slow and build up that strength.
My eyes tear up at that, and then I laugh when he tries to lighten the mood.
ChefCurtisRockwell: You think I got this ripped overnight? Fuuuck no.
Me: LOL! *heart eyes emoji *flexing bicep emoji
ChefCurtisRockwell: And not only that, as much food as I eat—cuz you know a chef’s gotta sample everything to make sure it’s edible for his guests—you think I don’t have to continue working on myself every day?
Me: Hey, who’s the therapist here?
ChefCurtisRockwell: I may not be certified, but I’ve been to one enough that I’ve got all sorts of advice to give.
My head tilts… something niggling the back of my mind.
Yesterday, when we were filming the show.
And then I remember.
Me: Is that what you were referring to, when you asked your director to cut it out during edits? Something about cooking starting out as a form of therapy?
No hesitation.
ChefCurtisRockwell: It is. I’m the product of teenage experimentation. My grandma raised me after the experimentation escalated from sex to drugs and we lost my mom. Dad was never in the picture. Anyway, most of my childhood was spent sitting on her counter, watching her while she taught me how to bake. She worked in a small bakery where we’re from in North Carolina.
I eat up all the information about his past that he’s feeding me, letting it paint a picture of his youth in my mind and how it molded him into the man I met yesterday. I keep the conversation light though, so I respond…
Me: Wait. Hold up. You’re Southern?! My whole world is a lie!
ChefCurtisRockwell: LOL! We moved to California when I was a teenager, when my grandma remarried. You have to remember, Yaya was only 36 when I was born. She met this great guy who was in the Army, dated him for as long as I can remember. When it finally came time for him to retire, he wanted to move back to where he was from, and he asked her to marry him. Even asked my permission and what I thought about moving to California.
Me: Yaya didn’t have any other children besides your mother?
ChefCurtisRockwell: No, and it’s like… she blamed her parenting on how my mother’s life ended up, and so she did everything in her power to not let that happen to me.
Me: How so?
ChefCurtisRockwell: I was super fucking sheltered. Didn’t have many friends, because she didn’t want me to end up hanging with the wrong crowd like my mom did.
Me: Is that what you went to therapy for?
ChefCurtisRockwell: Partly. My grades started dropping the second I hit high school, about a year after we moved to California. I started acting out, rebelling, and it freaked Yaya out. She started thinking I inherited my mom’s addictions and stuff, and at the same time, she thought she might’ve accidentally driven me to start being “bad.” Also, she believed it was a big mistake moving us from NC to Cali, no longer in a quiet and small town but in a city with lots of colorful personalities. So she took me to a therapist.