I was married young, in what feels like another life (by my internal clock, very young). I got married the first time for all the wrong reasons. I got married because I was lonely, because I felt pressured, because I craved stability, because I was scared, because it was the right thing to do. I got married, well, because everyone else was doing it.
It was a beautiful day; it was a perfect day, really. I looked adorable despite also looking malnourished. My best friends by my side, in the most beautiful garden, at the most beautiful time of year – cherry blossoms in full bloom, blanketing the grass with blush colored petals. I wore blue shoes and a purple orchid in my hair. I remember most of the day well. I remember my Grandma refusing to attend unless she could wear a magenta dress. She was stunning – her silver hair perfectly contrasting the blinding pink. I remember dancing with my best friends in an empty hall – a moment, that by design, calmed my fright or flight reaction. I remember walking across the vast garden and looking back at the mansion. I stood under a tree (because obviously I was getting sunburned in May) taking in my guests; the laughing and coming together of families and friends. It was beautiful yet it frightened me. I asked my friend, “Why, in this moment, does everything hurt? Why, on this day, this BIG day, am I not overjoyed?” She grabbed both my hands – smiled warmly – and told me I looked beautiful. She told me no matter what happened, I was going to be OK, and even if I wasn’t, she would be there, always. I remember cutting in line at the buffet and I remember not wanting to leave – not wanting to step out into forever.
I know this makes me sound awful, damaged, sad, and broken – like deeply broken. If there was a receipt to be kept – it would have been mine: return policy indefinite. I’m OK with that reaction – I honestly, truly am. Because, for a very long time, I felt that way about myself. Not in some self deprecating way – but in a deep way. I felt toxic. I was fools gold personified, and soon, everyone would know. They would know I was permanently flawed and to run, not walk, in the opposite direction.
Years later, on a day – just like any other – I made a decision to leave that marriage. Even now I have no idea what grabbed hold of me – but I decided that this, this was not my story. I was not going to be defined by whatever was broken inside me; I was going to overcome it. Being OK, being WHOLE, meant more to me than the fear of being alone. If I was going to fail, alienate myself from family and friends, be completely on my own – I was going to do it on my terms. (Let me be clear – not because I care what you think – but in the context of reality – and I deal in reality: walking away from a marriage does not happen on a random Tuesday afternoon. Ending a marriage takes work and thought and conversation. For this basic, essay-style platform, it’s simplified in four sentences, but in real life – every part of it was shared. There was therapy, painful conversations, logic, lists…etc. I own all of it. There were no whims here – not a single whim).
As I ventured out into the unknown I began to unpack those damaged feelings and ideals. “She is tactless, brash, foul mouthed, and simply needs guidance and direction. She needs a man/a someone, to fix her.“ Lies, lies, lies. I learned what I was conditioned to view as personality flaws, are what I now consider amazing qualities. I spent almost a decade convinced I needed to change. And this was by someone who “loved” me. That does a number on the psyche, let me tell you. There were fleeting moments of freedom where I felt adored for exactly who I was. Cherished moments where time stopped, expectations disappeared, and night drives solved all the world’s problems. I came back to these moments often. I re-played them, they gave me life. They reminded me not only who I was, but that I was worthy of so much more. They seem simple, but it was in their simplicity that I realized – it’s not meant to be this difficult.
After some time in solitude, I surrounded myself in joy. For me, joy represented anyone and everyone who made being human, feel effortless. It felt this way because these people, my people, live in and act out love. Love in its most basic forms. I needed basics – I needed grace and acceptance. I needed reassurance that even if I showed up cynical and foul mouthed, I was loved. Period.
People have tried (and some still try) to fit me in a box- I let them struggle for bit, it’s an entertaining social experiment. But that box – that relational space where one person can control or manipulate another person – it’s a powerful box. It is not grounded in love or acceptance and can rob people of a joy filled life. It has taken me many years and much dedication to define who I am, and it’s ever evolving. I now have a partner who loves ALL of me – like he actually finds my foul mouth, erratic dance moves, and constant analyzing endearing. I did not need his acceptance or validation – but I am blessed and beyond thankful to have it. He has taught me so much, loved me so richly that now, being human, feels effortless. He is steady. He is kind. He is brave and honest. I am thankful my story remains fluid. I am thankful I play a role in defining it’s ending.