To thee I wed, wiser and whole

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.

Things I will never tell you.

How my breath stopped for a second when I saw your beautiful face light up my phone tonight.

How I battle within myself every day to fight to love YOU (and not need you) and not just my feelings for you, because I really do want your utmost bliss in this life, however that comes for you.

How I restrain myself (and fail) from looking at your recent activity on social media and interpreting your place in time-now no longer relative to myself, though I know it never was relative to me, which was the beauty of us, incredible space and freedom, but nonetheless feeling like you saw depths of me no one else has.

How proud I am of the work I am doing and want YOU to see it.

How I need to thank you for helping me to fall in love with myself again and want to be better to myself, because I deserve it.

How much in the moment I was during our time together, and because of that, my memories are vivid and sharp in my heart and so very difficult to let go.

How I used my body with other bodies while you are away, to feel wanted.

How you silently taking my hand for that very brief moment when I told you my dad died minutes into our first date touched me deeper than any words ever have, and words and I go way back.

How I am writing this to put my heart on something tangible so I don’t have to feel it so hot in my chest, always burning. But it is futile anyway.

How I think about the things we never got to do and the likelihood that we never will and the void that brings to my future self and unsurety and fear of what will come in its place.

How you have set the bar higher for me than I thought I deserved, not because you’re perfect, but because the things I’d have liked from you and did not get, are things I will not settle for the next time. And the things I did get, that I never knew I needed,  I will not compromise for anything less than going forward, so thank you.

How much joy and love I have for this life and the people in it. Because of the experience of you, I embrace instead of resist which has led to a few declarations of love to me gone unrequited. People want to be connected at the deepest levels and I tend to listen well and make people feel warm. And I’m getting better at making them feel loved even when I have to say “you are not him”. And you, my love, may not even be him.

How I associate you with all things warm –coffee, sunshine, tea, socks, water, fire, stocking hats, yellows and reds and always sunsets.

How I watched you in our time together–your tiny moments of insecurity and your quiet confidence that never made me feel less than.

How I memorized the lines of gray in your hair and fell in love with each one. I watched you war between embracing them and sheer resistance, joking about something so precious as growing gray due to worrying about me.

How I have never hated you or disliked you. How even now I feel pure joy at your name and understand that association will never fade even in our different life paths. We were always too practical to let our dreams get too carried away, but the dream was ecstasy when I did let down the logic for just a bit (and still do!) and let my heart paint what hope looked like in 2 years, 8 years, 15, 40 with you.

Just exactly how much time and space and energy I’ve given to you without you ever knowing.

Even though you may see this, there are some parts of my crazy that you’ll never see because they make me way too vulnerable, too raw, and possibly insane. Even those will not make this list. You have to show up for those.

Somewhere in the middle of this, I fell in love with your hands sometime before I knew that they have magic.

That when I see you in a photo that you post, I can’t stop thinking about who took the photo. Because that means something, who you’re choosing to spend time with.

How I dream of how we can make this forever and what that looks like. Small little blonde curly-haired children. (Yup, there’s the crazy.)

How you haunt me, day and night, and I can’t help wondering what depths I didn’t get to see, where I couldn’t reach in our short time. What was even real and what was not.

How I worry about how you are, really? Who you are really. What parts are truth and what was just for “fun” or worse, show.

How I stalk your music choices which I believe allows me to look into your soul for just a few minutes, and it crushes me or lifts me higher, depending on which man I think I’m seeing, but you’ve already changed so much, or maybe not at all. And that scares me more.

How one first bite of ice cream told me you loved me, well before you did.

How even now I know I’m not ready for you, or you for me. And the saddest part, that I may never be. We may never be.

How much I’m battling the fine line between retaining my self-respect and preserving the relationship with subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle,  fruitless efforts to communicate;  placing unfair expectations on when I’d like you to reach out to me, for me, and the devastating disappointment that brings, every. single. time. Keeping score even when I know I shouldn’t, trying to keep in mind that love in its purest form exists no matter what. And recognizing that I don’t know if that’s what this is.

But also recognizing that typical conventions of someone wanting to be in your life look like them making an effort to communicate and actually be in your life and not just one-sided initiation.

How this last revelation about how people make space and time for the ones they truly love means that this is likely not that, love. And how much that hurts even when I tried so hard not to let you in. Because inevitably I did, wholly and full of hope once again.

How I, moving forward, will continue to be fully engaged in the hope of love. I will continue to love deep and fast if I deem it to be true, and if that’s too scary for you, then I do not want your fear.

How I’ve refined my greatest fantasy – like Romeo and Juliet without the tragedy (or maybe with?), standing on my porch screaming out, in front of the whole world,no matter the time or distance that has passed,one very real and raw declaration of love.