Last night, when my man’s man husband snuggled up and kissed me goodnight, I cried.
Y’all I am talking big, heaving sobs.
I wanted to be present in that intimate moment but my mind reeled out of control.
Through sniffs and sobs I managed to get out, “Do you feel like I tricked you?”
“What are you talking about?” he laughed innocently.
“Do you ever look at me and feel trapped?”
I had intentionally scooted my body to the farthest edge of the bed and was no longer able to hold in the ugly cry I usually save for the bathroom floor so no one can hear me.
“Babe.” he replied softly. “I am so sorry you’ve ever thought that. I am so proud of you and I have never felt like I am anything but grateful to be your husband.”
“But I didn’t look like this when you married me.”
“You were beautiful then and are even more beautiful now.”
In the nearly 11 years we have been married, I have had two kids, three houses, four jobs, and gained and lost over 100 pounds, gaining 40 more back. Yes, Karen, you read that right.
I would rather be inside a sleeping bag under our sheets so I could spare my husband the horror of having to touch a body that shames me daily. By avoiding intimacy with him, I feel that I am saving him from something.
But, sister, I am not.
He loves me unconditionally. It is only my own mess that holds me back and presses me down.
I deserve to allow myself to believe he still finds me attractive and funny and worthy of his love. He always has.
Your hurt may look different from mine.
I know so many struggling to be vulnerable and intimate with their spouse because their own pain creates an impenetrable wall.
It is okay to allow ourselves to feel real and genuine love in our current broken situation, friend.
So, thank you, hero husband, for loving me in spite of the ways my crazy brain twists reality and truths to detour me from your insatiable ability to love me anyway.
You are incredible.
I am grateful.
I am not fixed, but I am healing.
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