This is an old post from my previous blog. I wanted to re-share here in this revamped space as I was proud of how well I expressed my feelings during that time. Plus I feel like it is relevant to someone out there going thru a marital blip.
August 22, 2012
It’s a title I’ve held for 11 years now. And yes I use the word as both a noun and a verb. Because seriously being a wife requires action. Constant forward movement. It’s a job. A full time job with no paid overtime. Just like being a mother. (I’ll touch on that topic in another post.) And I gotta be honest with you. I’m exhausted. Tired. Mentally and physically drained. Surprised? Shocked? Appalled by my statements? If so then you missed the title of my blog. “It's not always pretty but it’s always REAL”. And this is real talk ya’ll.
11 years and 2 kids in not to mention the years spent courting one another have caught up with me. I miss my freedom. I miss being carefree. I miss being courted. I miss courting. I miss the surprise factor. Peeling back the layers and discovering the depth of this man over and over again. I miss not being taken for granted. I miss being slightly uncomfortable in that butterfly in the pit of your stomach way. There are times when I day dream about purchasing a little pied-a-terre where I can escape to when needed. Yes visions of me playing the role of Carrie and going back to my apartment for a few days for some time away from Big aka Mr. Jones. But life as we know it friends is not a movie and I’m not reading from a script. When it’s good it’s great and when it’s bad I cry.
Now my marriage is not 100% filled with doom and gloom. We are not headed towards divorce court. We love each other and are committed to this relationship. Making our best efforts to honor our vows. Which in our defense the preacher switched up. Like he only gave positive affirmations “In health, not sickness. In good times, not bad”. His purpose was to bless us not curse us. I thrive in the security of the familiar. I love that I have a partner who has my back. Who can read my looks and respond to my needs accordingly. Who watched my body transform from svelte to pregnant with life only to then deflate like a balloon and yet he still wants to touch me. To work with me, for me. To build with me. To dream with me. To love me.
This post was obviously a moment for me to ramble. Lying in bed unable to sleep because we got in to a row over something stupid. A blip in the marriage matrix that throws you off balance for moment. But we recover and move on. Unconsciously seek each other under the covers as we sleep. Toes and elbows touching as we snuggle closer for warmth and security. I wife. He husbands. It’s what we do.