THIS COLUMN WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN WRITER’S BLOCK IN THE SEPTEMBER 19, 2018 EDITION OF THE CHRONOTYPE, RICE LAKE, WISCONSIN.
In 16 days I’m going to do it again. What’s that, you ask? I’m going to run another marathon? Nope, not this time, maybe next year. Am I going back to school? Nope. Am I aiming to climb a mountain, jump off a cliff in Mexico? Nope and nope, though I am taking a plunge, and not just any plunge, THE plunge—very willfully. I am once again getting married. And this time around is very different from 12 years ago.
It is different mostly in that I have a much clearer perspective going in, armed not just with eager anticipation for the years to come, but a healed heart and much stronger soul, full of integrity for myself that will not be compromised again. Also, I’m not pregnant this time around. I believe that if you’re not a wiser, truer version of yourself entering into your second marriage, then you divorced wrong.
But if I could go back, I would tell that 24-year-old girl that kindness is the sexiest thing on the planet. That talking about ideas is far richer and empowering than talking about other people. Saying how you feel and having it be acknowledged is healthy. That being the punch line of a joke is equal to receiving a punch in the face. That things and toys are so very temporary with no long-term value. That what other people think of you is their problem. What you think of you, however, is your problem. That choosing to care for yourself first is the only way to be a healthy mom, wife, volunteer, coach and employee. That respect is the baseline of a healthy marriage, and it is never too late to ask for or give it, no matter what has occurred.
Those are just a few to scratch the surface. But I don’t wish away that girl or the years between. I wouldn’t be who I am now without her and every success and epic failure along the way. Due to the way I chose to exit my first marriage, I’ve harbored the weight of shame for the last 4 1/2 years, though it has significantly dissipated over that time. Now, shame no longer defines me or my choices. I’ve worked harder at finding my truth in the last few years than any other pursuit I’ve endeavored. And I’m well aware that the journey does not cease, ever. I’m just glad to have a kind and beautiful soul to hold my hand along the way, while we each continue to grow individually and together.
One of the best things is that no matter how busy our schedule is, we recognize the value of checking in with each other. How are WE doing? What do we need from the other person, emotionally? We talk a lot about feelings and not just the sweet and flowery ones, though there are a lot of those. We talk about fear and shame and pain. We cry together when we should. Our bodies were made to express emotion that way. We laugh. Because our screw- ups have been both gigantic and very small. Acknowledging truth can be the funniest time or most heart-wrenching moment, often both.
So the vows will be a little different this time around. I will promise to be honest and kind always, to myself and to him. I promise to be a parent to my girls who doesn’t depend on their love for me; who is warm and firm and encourages their autonomy and growth within the rules and structure of our family.
When my girls met me outside after receiving my college diploma, their eyes said, Mom, you are smart. When I looked into my dying father’s beautiful blue eyes, they said, “I am so proud of you.” When I see my reflection in white (yes, white), this time I will say, “you are strong.” And after a short walk down a grassy aisle on Oct. 6, when I look into another set of blue eyes (it’s a thing, I guess.), I know they will say, “You are loved.” I understand the truth of that deeper than yesterday. I’ll recognize it because I saw the same message in the mirror a few minutes before—you are loved, and I believe her.
Gently Rise, Softly Call 