I’m talking about marriage.
Even before Everleigh was born I knew I would be instinctually tied to that tiny, squirming, purple faced alien—that beautiful alien. My heart was just programmed that way.
Marriage, on the other hand, is a choice. And in this every-man-to-himself society it’s a risky one. It has conditions, rules, expectations and desires. It can be needy, and it can be mean.
I believe that the best gift you can give your child is to just love her mother (and her father). The image of pure delight on my daughter’s face when she watches us embrace after a long day speaks volumes. This is what she wants. It’s enough. To her, it’s far better than wooden puzzles and toys, private schools or a closet filled with the best dresses. But the responsibility that comes with marriage can be heavy; and if it’s not properly maintained, the weight of it can cause irreparable damage.
I’ve been far too evasive these days, which doesn’t suit me. After all, the reason I started this blog was to have something to hold onto for years to come—a historical document for me, for E. What’s the point of having a place to write if you can’t honestly share?
I’ve been quietly—evasively—getting everything out of my system with posts such as this one and this one. And, for the sake of his privacy, I’ve rarely spoken of my husband except in a nearly nostalgic manner. Because I’ve missed what we had; I’ve missed what we hoped to have.
Now, I’m ready to be open. At the risk of sounding dramatic, I’m going through a heart ache so intense and unbearable right now that I just haven’t figured out the right way to get it all down. The last year has been a struggle for us, and, really, looking back it’s been far more than a year that’s been fraught with struggle. Despite attempts at fixing it, my husband and I have come to the conclusion that this marriage just doesn’t make sense anymore—for us, for Everleigh. So, it is with deeply heavy heart that I write this all down here—making it official and unchangeable.
In about a weeks’ time, E and I will temporarily move to my parents’ house about 45 minutes outside of the big city. There, the hope is to heal with good food, good family, and lots of runs through the grass, the open air. Something we’ve been deprived of in this tinsel town—which, while certainly interesting and convenient—has been just a little too crowded, too smoggy, too intense over the past three years.
I’m trying hard to be brave, but in truth, I am terrified. Nobody goes into marriage thinking that the end result will be single parenthood. Nobody goes into marriage thinking there will be an end result. But in its off-kiltered way, this too is an adventure. And I plan to face it as I have all adventures in my past—with determination and wind in my hair.