I'm hardly perfect. I know that none of us are. But...I guess...often...I feel even more than imperfect. There are days, I must admit, that I feel like a failure as a wife, mother, teacher, friend, daughter - which, in turn, makes me feel like sort of a failure as a human being.
Now, don't get me wrong. This isn't going to be a "poor me" blog. No. If I were going to use this as a platform for (only) disseminating just why and how I'm such a failure, it would be purposeless. Worse, it would be an experiment in mental self-mutilation. And it would be public. Which would make it masochism at its finest.
I'm not here to cut myself down. Rather, I'm here to sort through the "great", reflect on the "not-so-good", and hopefully come out at the end of the day with something "good enough." Perfection is not my goal. A (mostly) happy life is.
Before I begin, let me tell you a little about my marriage, since that's what motivated this blog in the first place...
I met my husband more than 11 years ago through a local online dating service. I was 28 at the time. His photo grabbed me for all the wrong reasons - he looked like a "bad boy"...and...he was the only guy under 40, without kids, on the site (we live in a small town, so the pickings were slim). I had nothing to lose, so I went ahead and contacted him.
We emailed back and forth for several weeks before we actually met. So even before I met him, I knew he was witty and sarcastic, smart and mischievous. I also knew he desperately needed an editor, as his spelling and punctuation were tragically remiss. However, his rich vocabulary and references to obscure historical events was enough to keep this English nerd from blowing a gasket (it helped that I printed his emails and red-penned them for my own well-being).
When we met, sparks flew. He was one of those "James Dean" types...calm, cool, and confident, and his blue, blue eyes turned me into a blithering idiot. I was pretty much instantly in lust.
But, I have a tendency to go at new things with gusto. That's probably something you should know about me. I like to begin things, but keeping momentum and staying motivated has never been my strong suit. That's why I have to find ways to "begin again" over and over with the things that truly matter...like marriage.
I also have a tendency to plan out my life and find things in the world that fit into my plan. I suppose you might call me manipulative, but then I'd have to be aware of it at the time to be culpable. Usually it is only with reflection and deep honesty with myself that I can admit my past inclinations to force the world into my very specially shaped box. My husband is no exception. And I do that by becoming exactly what is necessary at the time - like the perfect girlfriend.
He came to me flawed, like any other being on the planet. And I turned his flaws into gifts. He loved sex...all the time. So I did, too. And, actually, I did not fake anything to "catch him." It was all new and exciting, and, science will prove, my testosterone levels likely shot through the roof. My somewhat naturally low libido took off. And of course, as a result, I thought for sure HE was the answer.
We were connected. We were in love. And...as we were a bit older at the time and were both interested in marriage and family, we decided to get married. And pragmatic, old me, who knew the only good time for it would be the summer, just sort of went ahead and started planning. I took over. And sadly, my Mr. Right didn't even have a chance to ask in some crazy, memorable way.
So, there we were...and in less than a year, after a very complicated and scary birth, we were three. And we were happy.
But it didn't last long.
Like many new mothers, I was exhausted and cranky and overwhelmed. I went back to work, full-time, 3 months after my son was born. I wasn't sleeping, and I wasn't interested in anything besides that one thing I wasn't getting. Problem was, my husband had the same problem, only sleep wasn't the one thing he wasn't getting. Sex became the pea under the mattress for us, and it just grew into more of a problem, no matter how many mattresses we put on top of it.
Desperately, my husband suggested all manner of solutions. But nothing worked. I, of course, assumed I was "broken." Where the hell had my libido gone? He assumed we just needed something new. We read books, went to workshops and sex clubs, tried "swinging" and watching porn together. My libido would come and go. When it went, we'd fight. It came less often, and went away for longer.
By January of this year, we were on the brink of divorce, and while the cliff is still in view (we seem to have set up a semi-permanent settlement about 50 feet from the edge), we've managed to keep it together. Counseling hasn't helped. And neither of us has found the answer. But we love each other, and neither of us wants to leave.
And so we stay.
This, however, is not the life that either of us wants to live. We want a healthy marriage. We want "us" to be happy again. The problem is, it's been so long and so many things have happened along the way. We've carried loads of baggage along with us: guilt, resentment, fear. And trying to start again...over and over...gets harder and harder.
But, we do it. For some insane, unexplainable reason...we are still here. Imperfect and stubborn and cracked and bruised. We continue to fight for our marriage. Like two people treading water for too long, we cling to each other and pray for another day of breath...because no one is coming to rescue us.
There are choices, sure. And the choices we make may not be the choices someone else would make. Others might look at us, shake their heads with pity, and wonder why on earth we don't just go our separate ways and stop making each other miserable. Still others might tell us to stop being selfish children and get over our personal desires to save our family. Maybe others might tell us to just be grateful for our friendship and let that be enough.
This isn't about others. And though marriage is a deeply personal gift, it's something that a lot of people struggle to make work. My parents have been married for 46 years. So have my husband's parents. I have friends who are married, single, divorced, and I know I am not alone in saying that marriage is one of the hardest relationships on the planet...and one of the most rewarding.
I'm not going to go into a detailed defense of confessional writing, other than to say that I know sharing stories can help connect us and validate our experiences. I write because it helps me. I share what I write because it keeps me honest. What you will read here is true. It's not always going to be pretty, mind you. Because marriage can be ugly, and beautiful, and strange.
When you give up the struggle to stay afloat...you float. Sometimes, it is hard to remember that.
Addendum/December 22, 2016: The scope of the blog is expanding. Rather than JUST focusing on improving my marriage, I'm doing the hard work needed to improve my marriage...which involves working on ME first. Now, I get it...first world problems, and all that. And you don't have to read this blog if you find it to be the pedantic, whiny ravings of a spoiled, white, suburban woman who has too much time on her hands and thinks too much. If you can't find something of value here, some validation or inspiration, then (by all means) move along. There's a lot going on beneath the surface of a human expression. Some of us are deeper than others, I'll grant you that. And some of us hide from what's inside. But, for those of us who don't, we understand, that reading other people's stories is paramount to the human experience. We all have a story. And we all have a voice. Sharing it is what makes us human. Needing to share it is what makes us human. And all of it makes us vulnerable. So I offer you my greatest gift...my story...my truth...as an offering to the human experience. Our shared experience. One messy fairytale in a huge anthology of messy fairytales.
Imperfectly yours,
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