I Said Yes: My Story of Heartbreak, Redemption, and True Love (18 page)

Things really heated up in January, and not in a good way. Brad and I had been fighting a lot over the phone. About stupid things. Half of them I can’t even remember. And once the show aired, my relatively quiet life in Charlotte ended. I had this huge secret that everyone wanted to know (who did Brad pick?) and that everyone was asking me about, from paparazzi that hounded me outside my house, waiting for me to leave so they could follow me, to friends and family who swore if I told them who Brad picked, they wouldn’t say a word to anyone. But I had signed a bulletproof contract and kept quiet. Well, not entirely. The only person I told was my mother. Hey, it was my mother, for Pete’s sake! And I know for a fact she didn’t tell a soul.

Staying quiet proved a difficult task once I started getting beat up in the media. One magazine accused me of being obsessed with plastic surgery. Another announced I was not a nice person. One website declared me a jealous nut. Another labeled me a bad mom. That last one killed me. I may not pride myself on a ton of things, but I do on being a great mom. That bold-faced gossip was a low blow and put me in a really depressed mood.

Having to constantly battle paparazzi just about put me over the edge. It was annoying to drive to the grocery store
with Ricki and, as soon as we hopped out of the car, be assaulted by a handful of guys with their bulky cameras asking me a million questions, none of which, of course, I could answer. I will say that some paps were respectful and tried to give me space, especially if I was out with Ricki, who ate up every bit of the attention. But some weren’t so nice. I tried to be polite, but after a while I was dangerously close to, ahem, “going crosses” on them.

Instead of giving the media more material to write negative stories about me, I became a recluse. Outside of taking Ricki to and from school and her activities, I stayed home. If I wasn’t out and about, nobody could bother me. What was supposed to be the highlight of my life was turning out to be a really lonely time. The alienation was burdensome, digging my depression deeper, though I was committed to putting on a happy face for the sake of my daughter.

As time passed, Brad and I spent more time fighting than relating. We watched the show separately and even though it was in the past, seeing his relationship progress with Chantal on camera felt like a punch to my gut. Some of the things he said to her, he had said to me. I also noticed he was more physically attentive to her, which hurt. Right before each episode aired, I felt sick to my stomach wondering what else would shock me about the two of them.

When Brad and I were about to film the
After the Final Rose
episode with Chris Harrison, needless to say we weren’t so enthusiastic. The producers didn’t seem too worried by our rocky road and told us to be honest, to explain that neither we nor our relationship was perfect.
Great!
I thought.
No need to put on a front.
I took the producer’s guidance as an open door
to be transparent. The problem was, it was daunting to sit on a stage in front of hundreds of people (believe it or not, it’s very different than being filmed on the show for two-plus months), and before taking my seat with Brad and Chris, I had drunk some alcohol in the greenroom.

So, thanks to my indulgence of liquid courage, what I thought was me being transparent about our relationship was, well, perhaps a little too much and not very respectful. Brad only talked about how great things were between us and how much he adored me. I, however, flavored my affection for him with the hard truth, in so many words, that this wasn’t a perfect match. There were some things I said that at the time I imagine painted me as a stand-up comedian, but when I watched the show later, looking at Brad’s face in response, I realized I wasn’t being funny or nice. And I’m sorry for that.

I flew out to Austin in March 2011 so Brad and I could watch the season finale and
After the Final Rose
together. Talk about spoiler alert—I still can’t believe the network let us do that. In the airport, I passed by fellow travelers who said, “Well, I guess we know who won!”

That weekend finally felt right. It was light, fun. Exactly what Brad and I needed. We went shopping. I met his friends. We hung out at SXSW and listened to awesome music. We had even talked about me moving to Austin. But when we watched the
After the Final Rose
episode right after the season finale, Brad let me know clear as day how upset he was over my antics. It was not a fun moment for us. But even though things between us weren’t the perfect shade of peachy, I was still convinced that all we needed was more time. Once the weight of not being able to talk to anyone about our experience
was lifted, I was confident the state of our relationship would improve.

But I was wrong.

Though Brad knew I was a Christian and we went to church together the few times he came to Charlotte and even when I visited him in Austin, I didn’t realize at the time how important it was to find someone with a strong faith. A part of me thought that maybe I could influence him to follow Christ, which in hindsight was pretty silly because my faith was mediocre, lukewarm, not something my life was centered on. Maybe if we both deepened our spiritual lives, things would improve. It was almost a shallow thought, however, because my relationship with God wasn’t much of a priority.

When I came back to Charlotte after that great weekend in March, the fighting picked up right where it left off. My whole mood was dependent on what was happening between Brad and me. If things were good, I felt like the queen of the world. And when they weren’t, I quickly plummeted down into the dumps.

Not long after, Brad and I broke up, for good this time. When the media firestorm broke out speculating the end of our relationship, the network asked me to do an interview with Chris Harrison to finally put the rumors to rest.

I wish I’d said no. I wish I cared less what others thought and more about what God thought. I should have refocused my priorities, remembering and relying more on my faith, which was totally on the back burner at this point. I’m embarrassed to say this, but I had turned the show, even Brad, into an idol. I spent more time Googling my name, to see what hurtful things were being said about me, than doing what I
should have been doing, namely studying the Word of God, soaking in what He, not others, says about me.

The interview was horrible. All I did was cry. I cried as soon as I pulled into the Bachelor mansion. I cried as soon as I saw familiar producers. I cried when I saw Chris. I cried because the last time I had walked into this beautiful house, I was hopeful I was going to find love. And then I was hopeful that things would get better between Brad and me. But the hope I kept on building and building was unsustainable. As I sat down with Chris, who was very sympathetic, and cameras angled their way on me, I felt like a failure. A failure and incredibly lonely. I tried so hard not to cry ugly, but all these emotions were gushing out of me. I don’t think every tear had to do with Brad. I think a lot of it came from my disappointment of taking a chance at love and falling flat on my face. In front of millions and millions of people. How embarrassing!

Some people may think,
Well, you asked for it, so you deserve the media whipping, the embarrassment—all those things
. I can’t tell you how many people have accused me of going on the show to become famous. While hindsight is always 20/20, I will say this: While I didn’t say yes to
The Bachelor
because I wanted to bask in the C-list limelight, at the time I felt something in my life was missing. And I thought that being on the show might fill that void, whatever it was. I’ll also say that once that C-list fame came tumbling toward me, I didn’t want any part of it. I’m not trying to defend myself, but I think my actions speak for themselves. Brad and I didn’t do many post-show interviews, and I shied away from the parties, the red carpet events, and the idea of moving to Los Angeles. I’m not saying my intentions were 100 percent pure—the Bible
does say our hearts are deceitful little things—but I think if I wanted fame, I would have done more things to hold on stronger to the attention.

Producers had asked me if I’d consider being a Bachelorette on season 7. My response? “Thank you, but absolutely not!” (I was so happy to hear that Ashley H. had signed up for that season, and I wished her all the best!) It was neat to be offered the opportunity, but I wanted a normal life, a life absent of media hounding me and having my love life dissected by the American population. And when I finally told Chris Harrison, and the world, that I was single again, that’s what happened. Normal. I became old news. The paparazzi mellowed out and eventually moved out of my neighborhood. The tabloids stopped including me in their stories. Frankly, I felt relieved.

But while I had my privacy back for the most part, something in me had changed. I had become more guarded. I didn’t trust many people, so it was hard to have authentic friendships. I became paranoid, wondering who was genuine and who wasn’t. I’m sure I prematurely burned some bridges during this time, but I was so on edge, I didn’t know what to do. Or think. So I remained lonely. And in many ways, empty.

In my search to find meaning and fulfillment, I started attending a new church in town, Forest Hill. I was surprised by how warm and welcoming everyone was, an inviting change from what I had experienced in the tabloids. I even started volunteering there. The church had adopted an elementary school down the road and gave students the opportunity to join neat
extracurricular clubs (athletics, crafts, arts). Forest Hill was looking for group leaders to run some of these clubs, so I volunteered to lead the jewelry one. Every Thursday, Ricki and I would pack up boxes of beads, string, and other supplies and spend an hour or two with twenty girls and boys, teaching them how to make cool necklaces and bracelets. The kids were loud and goofy and an absolute joy to be around. I loved it. Ricki did too.

The first week I signed up as a group leader, our church hosted a big event in the school auditorium, where all the students gathered and the group leaders explained the different clubs that were available. I stood in the middle of the gym floor with the other leaders, waiting for the mic to make its round so I could offer my spiel. One of the leaders before me, this guy named Tyler, introduced himself and his club. I had seen him around church and knew he was an elder. He was very hard to miss because he was so, um, hot!

Tyler was tall, muscular, and super confident. Because he was so good-looking, and a church leader, I assumed he was either weird or boring. I later told someone in my small group that Tyler was the most beautiful man I’d ever met. But my admiration got quickly shut down when the person said something about him having a girlfriend. Oh well.

But every Thursday for the next few months after Jewelry Club, Tyler would help me carry my boxes of beads and such from the school to my car. We small-talked and developed a friendship. One evening, as he shoved the last box of crystals into the trunk of my car, he mentioned that his brother had recently asked him if he knew the girl from Charlotte who was just on
The Bachelor
. Never having watched the show before,
Tyler told his brother he didn’t. His brother then told him he should because he had a feeling Tyler was going to marry her. Well, that was a first! I’d never before heard such a bold pickup line, if that’s what it was.

I got all shaky and sweaty and giggled politely in response. I didn’t know what to say, oh, except give him my number, with Ricki in the background playfully repeating each digit I spoke. While Tyler has a different take on what exactly happened around this time, I recall him calling or texting me a few times and me not responding in typical unsure-afraid Emily fashion. Don’t even ask why I probably came across as standoffish because I couldn’t even give you a straight answer if I wanted to. I think maybe, even after he asked for my number, I was strictly in the friend zone, as there had never been any kind of romantic talk or flirtations between the two of us.

Sometime after Halloween 2011, the producers of
The Bachelorette
flew down to Charlotte to try and convince me to do the show. Ashley’s season had finished airing and Ben Flajnik was the current Bachelor. I appreciated their valiant efforts (boy, these guys were persistent), but I said no. I wasn’t ready. And I didn’t have a peace about it. But as weeks passed and my loneliness grew, I started reconsidering. I don’t know if it was time, or being in denial, or curiosity, or what, but I felt—please, please, please don’t laugh or roll your eyes—that if God had closed the door with Brad maybe He was beside this open door, beckoning me in. Maybe this was my real chance at falling in love.

So I said yes. For the second time.

A week or two before I was scheduled to fly out to Los Angeles, Tyler and I were walking back to the car after our
school clubs one Thursday night when I told him I was going on the show. He seemed taken aback. Before I drove off, Tyler said something like, “Well, let’s keep in touch as friends then, and if you’re not engaged when you get back, we can get together or something.”