I love the man I fell in love with. The man who fought
for our relationship. The man that never made me question anything. I could ask
him to go for a walk and he’d lace up his shoes as the words came out of my
mouth. I could ask him to fix my computer, knowing full well he hates the Apple
brand, and he’d do his best to resolve my issue. I could cry on his shoulder
when distraught over something personal. I could lash out to him in confidence
about life. He never made me feel crazy, not once. This is a man I would run to
at the end of the day, elated to share the dumb things - the “I had Jimmy Johns
for lunch.” things (i.e., happenings nobody cares about, not even him). He’d
never admit that, of course; he’d listen with ears wide open and be just
excited as I was about whatever. Frankly, it was at times too much. This man
fawned over me. I bragged about him because he seemingly had no faults. (I was
glad to learn that he had faults because that made him real. And added the
character.) He truly adored me. He never
left me doubting where we stood at the end of the day, and his actions always spoke
even louder than his kind words. As we fell in love, things were new. And they
were certainly easy.
More than a year in with a foreseeable future ahead, the
fights have been catastrophic. Particularly because, as it always does in the
moment, every words counts so much. Mean words have been exchanged. The
bickering has been often. And the fights, well, they’ve been l-o-n-g.
I hate the petty fights. I hate the way they bring out
the worst in us. I (sometimes) hate that we’re both so fiercely independent because
when face big, real life things, we make a great team. Just 10 days ago we
returned from Lesotho, where we faced the man accused of murdering a mutual
friend. A place I almost lost my life.
It’s as though we’ve created a dependency on one another than
neither wants to admit. And I don’t know if that’s wrong. Or right. Or normal. We’ve
begun carving a life that seems right together. From plans to go apple picking
this fall to building dream a homestead in Montana. And while it’s obvious we’d
be lost without one another, lately we’d rather roll the dice, than play a hand
together.
The big fights scare me too. The unknown after the “what
if” this and that.
It’s scary to open up about my past. To be brought to
near tears while expressing what it was like to be called Hamburger as a child,
in hopes of explaining why I’m so weight-conscience today. It’s terrifying to
put so much trust in another person. To not be afraid to further change and
grow (together) as we move into the future. After more than a year, I’m weirded
out by the silly things I want to
share with or do for him. After seeing my parents’ place decked out for
Halloween, I felt compelled to run to Target to pick up some Halloween decorations
for us. Instead of feeling like decorations are a waste of money, space, and
time, I thought they might help create a home… instead of a white-walled, décor-less
space for us to start and end our day. (And I thought it might show that I’m making
an effort to gear up for his abundant Christmas cheer!) As well, these little
things – finding pleasure in the kitchen when it means cooking for my man;
being excited to run our new vacuum to keep our place cleaned for him, for us;
and that kiss at the end of a tiring day, the one that feels like we’ve been
apart for days, when the clock says it’s only been nine hours – bring me so, so
much joy. From the start of our life together, to what I hope will be our entire
future.
I don’t want to grasp for straws. I don’t want to have
big or little fights. I don’t pretend; I know there will be tough patches ahead.
There will be disagreements. I want to believe we can and will manage those
situations as they arise. I don’t want to belittle the one I love. I don’t want
him to tell me he feels as though I’ve intentionally push him away. I know our
real selves are still there. They’re just hiding right now. They’re afraid. They’re
excited. They’re adjusting to change. Instead of bringing out the best in one
another, we’re provoking one another’s worst side.
We’ve reached a point where we can no longer shake our
issues with a hug. It’s time to sit down to talk through each issue (and all
the underlying ones that will be unveiled during the conversation). Then we will
have to develop an action plan to repair some damage. To get us back on the
same team – appreciating the quirks and imperfections – where we value
ourselves and our relationship.
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