Welcome to L.A. Taco’s new love column, Love Now, Cry Later, a space we are dedicating to sharing the highs and lows of being in love in Los Angeles.

For our first story, Tiffany Lauren reflects on the difficult and humbling realizations amidst finding out she was not the only one in a relationship.

I am the other woman. Twice in my life now I

can say that. It is a badge of shame and

dishonor; a symbol of failure in my attempt to

find true love.

The first time it happened by choice. I was a

virgin, naïve, and hopeful that the promise to

break up with his girlfriend would be fulfilled,

and instead found myself living the harsh

reality that was crying alone in my hotel room

on my 30th birthday after a night out with

friends.

The second time I did not know. Until it was

too late.

I was far head over heels, had invested nearly

two years of my life, love, and self for

someone who never intended to call me

anything more than a friend with whom he

could also participate in “extracurriculars”.

The second time hurts the most. How do you

recover from loving someone purely and

wholly who led you on for two years? Who

always gave just enough to keep you going?

To keep you hoping? How do you recover from

someone you trusted whole-heartedly? The

most trust you’ve ever put into anyone despite

refusals to be connected via social media or

personal email, claiming a right to privacy and

blaming you and your career history of

publishing anonymous letters of love

unrequited as the reason why he can’t be

connected, as a reason to maintain distance

when in actuality he was simply avoiding

getting caught?

How do you recover from someone who tells

you he has an amazing connection with you,

yet clearly not amazing enough to take a risk

and give you a fair shot in his life? How do you

recover from being told time and again that he

“did not want to be with anyone” and that

“ours is casual yet exclusive dynamic” when

the reality was that he was in a committed

relationship for half of the time that he was

with me?

The reality was he was hoping I’d be okay with

being the other woman because I clearly don’t

deserve the respect or regard of being

someone’s official partner. I deserve the

respect and regard that comes with being the

last-minute drink on a Friday night, the

prominence of being called multiple times

between midnight and 3:30 AM until I finally

answer out of concern and ultimately allow

myself to be a pushover and unwitting final

fuck of the night.

I deserved the distinguished honors of

sobbing my heart out once every six months

he decided it was over because it was easier

to abruptly end things and wipe your hands

clean than it was to face the truth and reality

of the situation you created, of the actions and

impact your choices had on someone else’s

life. It was easier to continue living the false,

comfortable stasis of life with the “official”

partner and a vast amount of mutual contacts

you two shared than it was to face the person

who challenged you to be better, who

challenged your bullshit answers to the hard

questions.

Leaving me alone just before the New Year,

broken and sobbing my heart out for the fifth

time, was easier and less complicated than it

was to make yourself wholly vulnerable and

take a reciprocal risk.

The dignity of “Goodbye” and a phone click as

I remain silent, shocked, hurt beyond grief on

the other side of the line. The honor of

vindication from the girlfriend to whom I did

not owe the truth yet delivered it to

nonetheless in the most respectful, gracious

way possible, and who decided she was within

her full right to tell me I deserve nothing,

classifying me as trash to anyone willing to

listen without one iota of consideration for the

fact that I was just as much wounded as she,

without knowing anything about who I am as a

human being nor what I’ve overcome in life to

be who I am today.

It is easier to blame and write off the “piece of

shit” man and “trash” other woman for all of

your own insecurities and problems and pain

than it is to face the truth that it wasn’t just a

one-time thing. He kept it up for so long

because he cared about me, too. Scoff at that,

I’m sure many people will. But I don’t owe

explanation nor do I seek validation for a

connection I know was real.

Yet toxic it all was. A lot of the initial behaviors

were overlooked because I wanted it to work. I

loved him, so much. If I am being completely

honest, I always will. For all the imperfections

and faults that existed between us, he was

redeeming in many ways. He was self-made,

rising against all odds as a first-generation

American to an incredibly successful career in

an industry where most fail. He had a work

ethic like I have never seen. He had a good

heart and a gentle kindness when he thought

no one else was looking. The most impactful

of his qualities though was his confidence in

me. He always believed in me, never felt the

need to overcompensate or to validate my

success in life and anything I chose to do was

always a pure fact that would eventually come

to fruition. “You’re smart. I have no doubt you’ll

figure it out.”

He never doubted me, except in the area that

mattered most: his heart. He was my first love.

He knew this. I would have gone on forever for

that guy, never being in an “official”

relationship, letting his erratic behavior and

visits carry on, as usual, writing them off as

just being “him” and his self-proclaimed

“busy” life. (To be fair: I am certain life

is incredibly busy when you’re juggling a

demanding career and two women at once.) I

would have followed that guy to the end of the

earth because I just wanted to be with him.

That’s how much I believed in him, in his good

spirit, in the potential of us.

And now? Now I move forward. Now, I no

longer blame myself for his choices and

actions as justification for how he treated me.

Now, I move forward.

Now? I practice solace and solemnity, not not

believing in true love and soul mates, but not

entirely convinced that those are entities out

there meant to be ever experienced in my life

because I’m pretty sure he was the one. But to

think the prior sentiment a shame is to base

my whole life and worth on one microcosmic

element over which none of us ever have

control. It bases my life and entire value on

sexual worthiness, and I am worth a lot more

than that.

We never know who we are going to fall for.

We never set out with the intention of being

the other woman. I always set out to be THE

woman. And I am. I am the woman of my

dreams. Was I the woman of his dreams?

Apparently not. But seeing how he treated the

woman who supposedly was—that is not my

dream.

My dream is to live the most amazing,

inspiring life that I can. My dream is to build

the family that I never had out of my beautiful

friends and relatives who have been there

supporting me along the journey. My dream is

to travel the world and see the beauty that is

out there, the beauty that keeps us all going,

hoping, and working to succeed. My dream is

to inspire and change the world through good

use of my words, through use of my pain so

that someone else out there reading this one

day can connect and see that they are not

alone. They just have to work, fight, and

believe—that there is more out there, that

your happiness and success are pure facts

that will come to fruition.

I am the other woman. The strong,

independent, perseverant, confident, fearless

one. Anytime anyone has doubted my

capabilities, I am the other woman—the more

than capable one who will succeed despite

your lack of commitment and respect. For any

time I’ve ever doubted myself, I am the other

woman—powerful, passionate, unforgiving,

unrelenting.

Anytime I give my heart, I am the other

woman. The fearless, strong, generous, loving

human being you chose to turn your back on.

Anytime I failed, anytime I fell, anytime I laugh,

cry, and love — I am the other woman.

She is quite amazing, actually, and there’s no

other woman I’d rather be.