Much is at stake on the third date with someone new. By this point, you have seen enough of that potential significant other to determine the direction of this newfound relationship. Whether it's a casual fling, the next serious partner, or someone you're sure you never want to see again, it all comes down to the third date. It's the date where you show your cards, announce the breakup, and hold your breath waiting for the other person on the other side of the table to respond.

So, being shown the cards makes this date scary. That's how I feel when I sit across from a man I can envision a future with, mouth dry, palms slick, and trying to summon the strength to reveal that I find him incredibly unattractive. It was the reason I believed I was still single after countless awkward encounters. But I knew things were about to develop between us. I had already imagined what it would be like to fall in love with this beautiful bearded man, and I knew I had to give him a chance to bail. I mustered up the courage to say the words I hated to utter: "I have a student debt."

After four years at the University of New Haven, a private university I could not afford, and two years at New York University earning a master's degree in journalism, I was saddled with $120,000 in debt for a career that did not guarantee a significant return on my investment. I loved my chosen field, but there were less expensive paths I could have taken. On my worst days, I tossed and turned in bed for hours, wishing desperately that I could go back in time and convince myself to go to a cheaper school. But I was the first kid in my family to go to college, and neither my parents nor I really understood the magnitude of the debt I would be saddled with.

I felt suffocated and like I was barely treading water in a storm. I was already cutting back on every aspect of my life: living at home with my mother, bringing my lunch to work every day, and switching to water after only one drink on nights out with friends. After all, who would want to marry such a burden?

I knew dating in New York would be difficult. I was self-conscious about my hips, my laugh, the way I spoke when I was nervous, and I often thought of our first date as a judgment day. My heart would beat as I imagined him sizing me up and mentally comparing me to who he imagined I would be.

Being single and in debt evokes an insecurity like no other. When you are playing on the field, you are already at your most vulnerable. Add to that the possibility of rejection due to your financial situation. I have come to equate my worth with my net worth, and I am in the red. If my value was what was in my bank account, I was not only worth nothing. I was worth less than zero.

I began to wonder why bother. I thought that even if someone liked who I was, they would run away with my finances. To choose me would mean tying myself to my debt, and why would I do that when someone less financially complex would only need a few swipes?

It didn't help that such concerns were confirmed. When I casually mentioned to a law student with dark olive skin and bright eyes that I had taken out a loan to pay for school, he winced and spat. His eyes widened and his head jerked back. It was as if the idea of someone other than his own parents paying for his college tuition was ludicrous. 'For journalism,' he asked." Good luck with that. He laughed, took a sip of his beer, and there was no fourth date.

Then there was the tall bass player who slept on a mattress on the floor in Brooklyn. He had not finished school and nodded politely when I broached the subject. I was relieved at the moment, but a week later I obsessively checked my cell phone for new messages, trying to wrap my head around why he had gone silent.

The topic came up spontaneously in conversation, which made sense considering that roughly one in four Americans pays back a national average of $28,800 in student loans after graduation. This happened on my second date with an attractive physicist. He mentioned that many of his classmates had six-figure debts. He felt sorry for them, he said, but could not empathize with them. His grandparents had paid his bill. I swallowed hard as my stomach sank to my feet. At this point, I didn't bother to bring up my story. Before we broke up, we had arranged to meet that weekend, but after two restless nights, I used the canned excuse to cancel our date. 'I just need to focus on work right now,' I said. 'I just need to focus on work right now.'

So in September 2017, with a montage of these memories playing on a loop in my head, I placed my sweaty palms on the table in front of me, looked the man I wanted to call my boyfriend in the eye, and said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. A large amount. He blinked once, twice, and waited for me to continue. When I didn't, he nodded his head. And ......?" he asked. I blurted out: "So much so that I might keep paying until I'm in my 60s." He looked at me for a moment, then shrugged. But you'll get through it. You're a motivated person." That was it. He didn't care, so the subject never came up again. He didn't hate me. He didn't disappear. We continued to see each other until we ended up going out exclusively. My debts were not as unprecedented as I had assumed.

My debt comes up when planning for the future, but it doesn't seem like a liability. Rather, it is a challenge that we will face together when the time comes to make a major financial decision. Since my debt-to-income ratio is skewed, we discussed the possibility of taking my name off the mortgage if we decide to buy a house. My debt is to be paid by me alone, but he has made it clear that I do not have to navigate the emotional stress alone.

A few months after I had laid it all bare, he noted that I had been agitated for no reason. It was then that I was reminded: my worry that the debt was making me apathetic was actually making me apathetic, not the debt itself. Worrying about debt had become a self-fulfilling prophecy, not the debt itself. Looking back on each of my failed dates, I realized that the anxiety and shame I felt at the thought of debt very likely influenced how I interpreted the men's reactions.

Unless I have a tremendous amount of money, my debt is something I will have to slowly work off over time, and it will not change overnight. What I can change is how I take it and how it affects my life. My net worth does not define me; my actions, my character, and my way of life do. It is my actions, my character, and the way I live that defines me. Now, two years after that fateful third date, I no longer care much about that. Instead, I have focused my energy on my relationship with the man who sat across from me that night, the man who accepted me as I am, debt and all.

This article appeared in the February 2020 issue of Marie Claire.

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