Falling for Jared

I am in school now and have shifted my time away from blogging to more productive things, but I feel like I cannot leave off where I did. There was more left unsaid that ought to be grouped with the theme at hand. If I am going to be looking back at old journals, at old regrets, and old feelings, then there is one person who is missing. I haven't written about Jared.

Jared was casually charming. In fact, he was casual in just about everything. I see him in flip flops and khakis, singing along to Spanish songs or old country in his decrepit red car. He was tall, dark, and casually handsome--but far too un-brooding for romantic inclinations. He was always involved in every activity, the laid-back center of the ward social circles. Or maybe just mine.   

This was the year 2007, Austin, after I'd dropped out of BYU to follow Kevin. Initially, I was dating Kevin, and that drama took up most of my time and focus. And for a while, that spring, Jared was dating a girl in our ward. I don't even know how long or how serious it was, but I was jealous and anxiously denying it. Even still, Jared pops up by name in my journal. When Kevin couldn't pick me up from the bus station, Jared was there. When I struggled to make it to activities or church or institute, he was there. When I needed anything, he was there. And Kevin wasn't.

But Jared was everybody's hero. He would drop anything to help anyone, any time. I remember once, him driving three hours to help a complete stranger, a friend of a friend of a friend, whose car had broken down. Jared was a protector. That's why I never took to heart any of his "thereness." Or tried not to. I knew it meant more to me than to him. He charmed everyone, a general favorite among the fairer sex.

And I tried very hard to resist.

Nevertheless, I talked of him nonstop. Ted, Emilie, and Bryan all heard of him during our catching up phone calls. They loved him for me. One problem, however, was that my friends in Texas also loved him. Just, not for me. Vivian and Elizabeth both had crushes on him. It was Bryan all over again. Jared even took me with him to meet with other girls, as I had a boyfriend and was thus "safe."

Jared was the reason that I broke up with Kevin. Not that I was choosing Jared over him--because, again, I didn't think I had that option--but because Jared had been there for me through those horrible months of adjusting to a strange place with no job and no friends, while Kevin had not. Jared knew how my day had been, how work was going, what we would do that night. I talked to Kevin rarely and saw him even less. I chose my friendship with Jared over my dating relationship with Kevin.

And, once I was single, Jared began to show romantic interest. He took me out the very night that I told him, in fact. The most memorable was when he took me to the movies. On the way to our seats, he turned and pushed me against the wall. I waited, breathless, for him to kiss me, terrified to be the one to make the move, frozen and waiting and hoping. And then he stepped back and we watched the film in friendly casualness. Like nothing had happened. 

But that wasn't the end. When we drove, he would rest his arm on the back on of my chair, hand on my neck, fingers in my hair. He took me to the movies and to dinner, danced with me in the grocery store, drove me to every activity. We'd sit in his car and talk for hours. He told me I was beautiful and fun and that he always enjoyed being around me. He would wait until we were alone, and then lean in close as though to kiss me; but every time he backed away. I thought he was teasing, but I wanted so badly for him to mean it.

I was so in love with that boy.

He took me to play ultimate frisbee and won my heart with his gallantry. He dressed up for the twenties-themed party and looked at me like I was the only one in the room. He got me to sing karaoke and play volleyball. He selected a Bollywood film to watch on a night in. He was fun.  He was perfect. 

He asked me once when I would ask him out. I told him that he had to ask me. But nothing ever happened, and I don't know why. I once asked him straight out where I stood with him, but he refused to answer. He also wouldn't answer what response he was hoping for when he pretended he was going to kiss me. He told me on multiple occasions that he wanted to kiss me, to which I replied, "so do it," but then he'd tell me I should be dating other people, making me promise not to kiss him unless we were dating officially. He'd joke about finding a dark corner, but he never asked me out. So, despite his flirting like crazy, I never knew where I stood with him. 

I stayed in Austin, instead of returning to school, and Jared helped me move to my new apartment. He came over for dinner and cake and chick flicks. But he never asked me out. He told me I was limiting myself. Then, he just kind of disappeared from my life and my journal. Months later, I ended up going back to Kevin. But when I moved away in December, saying goodbye to Jared was...tender. And gut-wrenching.

He came to visit me when I was in Provo. He told me that he was looking for a wife. Someone who looked like an elf, he said. I thought he meant me. He had made such comments on my ears before. He came that night to my house to play games with me and my sisters, and I texted him under the table. I asked why he never asked me out. "Because you were in love with Kevin," he said. "I saw no point." I tried to correct his understanding, as we sat out on my porch in the dark. But I guess he still saw no point, because he never made a move. I was heartbroken. 

Jared met my moving truck when I went back to Austin, but so did Kevin. Jared started dating Andria and got engaged before I did. I cried with jealousy. Even being with Kevin, I hated that Jared was with someone else. 

When I look back on my life, there are three people who, romantically, were influential parts of my life apart from Kevin: Bryan, Jon, and Jared. 

With Bryan, if anything had been different between us, it would have played out one of two ways. We would have either continued on best friends for two more months, or possibly dated and broken up, just as I did with Kevin. Though I might have healed and grown more as a person sooner, things between the two of us would have continued on after in the same trajectory and be the same today.

With Jon, I mostly see the life that I wanted: the big family, the adventures, the adoration. I am envious of that life, but I am not jealous. I was not in love with Jon. I doubt any of that life would have been mine. Had I continued to date him, I might have learned to better communicate, but we also might have ended up in a Ted and Emilie drama of being unable to stay together or apart. We wouldn't be friends today, but my life would be the same.

Jared, on the other hand, would have changed my life. 

Not kissing him, when he pushed me against the carpeted wall of the movie theater, is one of my life's regrets. I feel like who I am and where I am have hinged on that moment. I don't know what would have happened if we had kissed, but I know it is not what has happened. I would have stayed in Austin for him. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth. Had he wanted me, my life would have gone up in flames, and I would have been the one holding the match. 

But he never wanted me.

 

Good News

 I was given a scholarship to nursing school!

Resolution

There is no problem in life but complaining about it makes it worse. Time to just pull up my big girl pants and fix myself.

Think of Me - Emmy Rossum | Andrew Lloyd Webber’s The Phantom of the Op...

Reaching Out

Eventually you realize that you are the only one instigating interaction, the only one starting conversations. No matter how politely the other party responds, no matter how friendly, the level of friendship is not reciprocated. There is no reaching back on their part. They are not thinking of you, missing you, wishing for more of a relationship. 

I have tried to revitalize some friendships recently, in light of my trip to Provo. Tried to create some sort of casual message relationship, like I have with my siblings. Like, "hey, I saw this funny thing you'd like," and "I had a weird dream where you were NPH," and only half-facetious, "when will you come visit me?" etc.. 

Ted and Tarythe have taken up the new dynamic eagerly, replying and reciprocating, and I feel more a part of their lives. Others, no so much. And I need to get the hint and leave them alone. 

John Denver - Rocky Mountain High (from The Wildlife Concert)

Family Vacation

I just spent most of a week with most of my siblings up in a mountain cabin. For days, my kids ran wild with cousins in pine forests, climbing on boulders. We did a couple  planned activities, such as our yearly horseback riding. But, mostly, it was wild, in the most wholesome sense of the word. 

17 Days

It has been seventeen days since I sent the latest chapters to the editor. The fact that I haven't heard back is freaking me out.

Taylor Swift - Anti-Hero (Official Music Video)

Mostly Fine

 

This is how I've chosen to illustrate the states of my marriage. I am the blue circles on the left, and Kevin is the yellow ones on the right. The size of the circle represents the individual state of being, from struggling out to thriving. Kevin is most often in his middle circle, maybe 90% of the time. I vacillate more, spending time in each.

And with my vacillation comes fluctuation in our marital happiness.

When I am struggling, our circles do not overlap. There is no marriage, really. No connection. Kevin is fine, and I am not. There is no support given or received. If I need something, I need to look outside my marriage for the strength to get me through.

When both of us are fine, which is the majority of the time, then our circles also overlap in the light green. We're fine. Our marriage is adequate. So, if I am doing well, then our marriage is pretty good. It's not really that our relationship has changed, but that I am more fulfilled in and of myself, and thus require less from him. 

When we are both thriving, both our best selves, then our marriage falls in the dark green. As I said, Kevin rarely leaves his contented central circle, but this has happened on a handful of vacations. It is enough to keep me hoping for something better and more fulfilling than we have. Hope can be a two-edged sword, however, as it also lessens my satisfaction with anything less. 

For a few months, Kevin and I were both struggling. We're better now. We're both doing fine and thus our marriage is adequate. Friendly. Supportive. Respectful. It is not the type of marriage that I want, not intimate companionship, but it is still a functional partnership. Not the type of marriage he or I could ever justify leaving. 

We get by, and we've accepted that. And I don't know, given our different desires for emotional intimacy and different goals for life, how we can ever sustain anything better than fine.

Through a Glass Darkly

I've written twice lately about wishing I could know how someone else saw me. It's certainly not a new speculation. It is probably a common to all social creatures. We have to analyze how we fit into our society. Or maybe I'm just egocentric. I can't say narcissistic, given that I tend to assume people have less-than-ideal opinions of me. 

Turns out, maybe they didn't?

I saw myself as awkward and frumpy, and very immature compared to the older friends around me. I was the tagalong kid sister type that the others put up with. I had a strange combination of cynicism and naivety and an off-putting lack of social savvy. I had spent my high school years just trying to survive; I didn't have the same socialization as my peers, my worries different, my priorities skewed. College was when I came alive, but I had a lot to learn, socially.

When it came to my appearance, I felt what I might compare to imposter syndrome. Makeup and stylish clothing made me feel like a child raiding her older sister's closet, borrowed feathers, so to speak. I saw myself as plain at best, awkward in my own skin, uncomfortable with the shape of my body. Far from seeking admiration, I felt better being invisible.

Because I could never see myself clearly, I struggled to understand others' intentions regarding me.

I had trouble trusting friendship. I just assumed that other's friendly gestures were empty performances. I had iron walls between me and casual comradery. I hated small talk and new faces. It is a strange concept to me, now, going into social interactions expecting to be rejected. Yet, that was my reality.

I hid my feelings from everyone. (Well, everyone except Tarythe and Ted, who could and can read me like a book.) I would freeze when faced with a situation I didn't anticipate or one where I felt out of my depth. I was not emotionally impulsive and reactions did not come organically. The bigger the feeling, the more time it took me to process, and the tighter the reins I felt against showing it.

It took me a long time to develop true friendships with others, to trust their affection for me and to show my affection for them.

I certainly never believed anyone had romantic feelings for me. Jon cuddled with everyone, so I'd heard. Bryan charmed everyone. Jared flirted with everyone, or at least everyone flirted with him. I could not see myself as an exception, or even worthy of one. I was nothing special and thus dismissed any positive attention as meaningless. Never mind the fact that I didn't actually observe them treating everyone else like that; I just assumed.

I wish I could hear their sides. 

Acknowledging my own bad behavior with Jon, I want to know how the story looks from his point of view. My curiosity is such that I would willingly hear how I went from princess to villain in his tale. 

With Bryan, I always thought there was no attraction on his part. I simply couldn't fathom it. As Tarythe described it, liking Bryan was like having a celebrity crush. Thus, I was at a loss to explain his actions or to know how to act in turn.

With Jared, I thought he had feelings for me. Hoped he did. He gave all the signs, but he never made a move. I blamed myself for being too hard to read, not encouraging enough, but maybe, instead, I had read him all wrong. Maybe to him I was only ever just a friend.

I clearly had zero ability to tell how people saw me or felt about me. I wish I could go back and ask them. Just so I could flesh out the memory in my mind. But how awkward would that be? Hey, did you have feelings for me 20 years ago? Ha!

Maybe that's why I actually managed a relationship with Kevin even back then. He used his words, and I clearly needed it spelled out, literally. He told me how he saw me and how he felt, and I was able to do the same thing. We fell in love over email. 

I do wish, however, that I had seen myself a little more clearly earlier. Perhaps I would have seen others better, too, and believed what they showed me about themselves and not just what they said.

Bipolar II

Nora recently got a diagnosis of Bipolar II, and a lot of what she describes sounds familiar to me. I have always noticed, in fact, that I have good days and bad days, often coinciding with how much the sun shines. On days when I am most productive, I also find myself very irritable. And the more that I learn about the condition, and the more I read my past journals, the more I wonder if the same diagnosis might apply to me. Given its high genetic component, Nora having it is a risk-factor for me.

Reading my old journals, I can definitely see the mood swings. Not bipolar shifts, the huge swings between long bouts of dangerously severe mania and depression. My mood swings were more frequent and less severe and mostly consisted of depressed and functional, but also involved swings in anxiety. Turns out, that's characteristic of Bipolar II. 

I don't ever get manic episodes, but the description of hypomania sounds like the call is coming from inside the house. I am never frenzied or psychotic, but some days I can do all the things. I am fun and adventurous, social and outgoing. I tend to start new hobbies and household projects, spending too much money on supplies. I exercise and diet and get optimistic about weight loss and my appearance, buying toiletries and cute clothes. 

Then, a few days later, reality sets in, and I return the unopened packages.  

The fact that my reality is more closely synonymous with depression is not just sad, but also a potential symptom. A lot of BII is misdiagnosed initially as depression, because for both the baseline is lower than normal. The difference is the cyclical swings into hypomania--days of feeling normal--which isn't part of major depressive disorder.

For most of my life, the symptoms of depression were manageable by a well-timed nap. My performance sometimes suffered, but it was often the anxiety that followed a depressive episode that hurt my college career the most. Even still, when I learned discipline and hard work, I was able to muscle through. When the lows threatened to be lower, friends and exercise pulled me up.

It wasn't until postpartum that I needed medicinal intervention. And, then, boy did I! Severe postpartum depression is common with bipolar, but it was only ever an independent diagnosis for me, not a symptom of something more chronic. I was lucky that the first antidepressant tried worked wonders on me. I went on it after each baby, and two other times. Zoloft is my friend. Generally, SSRIs aren't very effective against bipolar, but that's another way the two subgroups differ: they do work on II. Well, until recently. 

After the recent emotional rollercoaster, I went to my doctor to increase my meds, only to be told that sertraline loses efficacy about my current dosage. There is a family of mood stabilizers (technically antipsychotics) that pair well with antidepressants. Unlike the latter, they can be a short-term solution to a short-term depression. Just enough to raise my baseline to normal. The fact that I have felt both much more energized (I went off caffeine) and slightly more irritable is another indication that I might have more than just depression.

My nightmares are as much a part of my life as daily eating and, sadly, more frequent than showering. I've had them almost every night for over twenty years. Others are always amazed and dismayed to learn this. According to the interwebs, "People with bipolar disorder are more likely to experience nightmares than the general population. These dreams can be disturbing, well-remembered, and cause anxiety, fear, and helplessness." That sounds about right.

Additionally, the fact that the nightmares started when I was nineteen coincides with the average age of mental illness onset. Typically, bipolar is triggered by a traumatic event, whether physical or emotional. Labor is a common cause. I have often wondered what triggered my nightmares. My own theories over the years have basically boiled down to going home for the summer. I left home the same time my dad did, and going home meant facing the divorce and all its implications. It meant dysfunction instead of the warmth and love I had grown accustomed to in Provo. It meant  breaking up with Kevin. It was heartbreak. While the wounds have healed, the nightmares remain.

In general my sleep is not great. I am often exhausted, needing hours more sleep than others just to function. However, at other times, insomnia hits hard. Oddly, the exhaustion is not part of the insomnia. At those times, I just feel like I don't need the sleep. My body and my mind are just unwilling to stop going. I always blamed the fatigue on the nightmares, but if it was in fact the result of a depressive episode, the insomnia may be explained by hypomania. 

There are just so many things that I take for granted that can be explained by one diagnosis. It may be time I talk to a psychiatrist. But for now, I am grateful to a GP who thought to try a different approach with me, which is so far making a difference. 

Friends

 

The Bridge

I went looking for the bridge. And, while I mean that in the most literal sense, it is also an apt metaphor for my state of mind at the time.

Tea Time

I had an amazing weekend back in Provo with some of my best friends of my entire life. I had so much fun with Ted and Tarythe. We revisited old memories and made new ones, meeting his family and hiking Stewart Falls. It was everything I hoped for.

I didn't intend to spend the weekend venting about my pain. But, somehow, when those friends asked how I was, the tears sprang from my eyes and my voice wobbled. Provo just brought back a lot of very complicated emotions. Ones I hadn't dealt with since and ones that I have dealt with continuously throughout my life. 

Turns out, we all felt that way, and being together allowed for some deep catharsis. Tarythe and I cried together in our hotel room. And, more embarrassingly, Emilie, Caitie, Tarythe, and I cried together at lunch. 

I told them how I love Kevin, but it feels like I have to choose between him and the life I want. I told them how he is kind to me, but I feel invisible when he plays computer games. How he is a supportive co-parent, but emotionally avoidant. How he carries his weight around the house, holds down a job, is responsible in his calling, but never does anything with me and rarely with the family. He makes me laugh and matches me intellectually, but he doesn't want more children, and my heart is breaking.

Caitie described his behavior as neglect. I disagree with this. Maybe there is some apathy, definitely distraction. Maybe I would say inattentive, but not neglectful. Maybe it just comes down to having different priorities than I do. He is...differently caring.

The thing is, he has always been this way. Work comes first, always. I am convinced in my soul that had Kevin not been laid off from PWC in 2009, he would never have proposed. He had the ring for five months, but until he no longer had work, he did nothing. It's like he woke up and realized I was there. Then he began working at Dell.

So, Caitie said, the marriage has always been bad. Yes and no. The marriage has never really been different, but I would not say it is bad. There are times when I can handle it. I've explained this multiple times before, so forgive me. I'm trying to sort through a lot of baggage. I imagine many people would envy me this marriage, full of respect and helpfulness, free of violence or anger. I just want more. And I feel horribly guilty for that.

The girls asked what I was going to do about it. Truth be told, I don't know what there is to do. Leaving wouldn't make anything easier. It wouldn't give me the large family I want or the attention I crave. If life were a highway, I would simply take the next U-turn and go back to the exit I missed and go the right way. Time doesn't work like that. I can't undo. 

And I don't know how to move forward.

My friends gave practical advice for prioritizing time together. They talked about attachment styles and emotional intelligence. They talked about making choices and not being a victim, choosing to stay or to go. While I still don't know how to fix the things in my life that hurt, I feel seen and loved and supported.

Back to Provo

The drive back to Provo was a long one. Seven hours, plus. Luckily, with high speeds and good music, I managed to make the best of an otherwise monotonous time. I listed to the soundtrack of my years there: Rascal Flatts, like Matt and Troy; Billy Joel, like Bryan; musicals, like my roommates; and, of course, the mixed CD April made for the very purpose of travelling along I-80 as I was. I sang along with my whole soul.

GPS told me to turn south before reaching Salt Lake, and I wasn't about to object to the scenic route. I left the interstate near Park City, where Kevin and I honeymooned. I drove through Heber and into Provo Canyon.

Then the memories hit.

I used to go to Heber for shakes. I drove past Deer Creek Reservoir where we watched the meteor shower, while Ted played guitar. I passed the turnoffs for South Fork Park, Stewart Falls, and Bridal Veil Falls, places I had gone time after time with people I loved to hike or stargaze. Memory after memory after memory poured over me.

About this time, the song "For Good" began to play from my car's speakers. If you don't know the lyrics, look them up. The song is about best friends saying goodbye to each other for what they think will be the last time and reflecting on how their friendship has shaped them. The song always gets to me, but this time I sobbed, gasping for air as I sang with despair and loss.

These memories from college, these fun adventures and late night bonding, the singing, the cuddling, the loving and laughing--these shaped me more than almost any other events in my life. And I realized that Kevin wasn't part of any of them. And those who had been were no longer salient characters in my life. I began to wonder how I had ended up in the life I live, and how I had ended up married to Kevin,  whose ghost didn't haunt me from those places and times. How did I turn away from the joy and intimacy and fullness of those years? It felt wrong, like a betrayal.

I continued onward, passing the intramural fields where the Akulas played in yellow, with Ted pitching; the Riviera, where we danced in the courtyard and sang on the balcony; and BYU campus with the oh-so familiar mountains in the background. The memories felt clearer to me than my own life, like I had surfaced from a dream, and the last fifteen years weren't real. 

I thought revisiting would bring with it nostalgia for the past--and it did--but it also brought a hefty amount of regret and mourning. I didn't just miss those days, remembering them with fondness. I longed for them back, with a fierceness and desperation that surprised me. I found myself thinking that I would give anything to be back there, with those nights and years and choices still ahead of me. And nothing could ever make that possible.

When I finally got to Ted's office on campus, my eyes were swollen from crying, and I felt raw inside. 

I think that drive to Provo will haunt me for the rest of my life. 

Vulnerability

At the art retreat in June, I met an editor, who approached me about my writing. She asked me to send her some chapters. I finally did so, and received back some incredibly encouraging commentary. She asked for more. Twice. She's now received nine chapters. The last I sent her was over a week ago, and I have yet to hear back. 

I know people get busy. They get distracted. They have different time tables than I. I am not at all put out by any delay on her part. That would be only too hypocritical of me. No, I'm not annoyed. I'm worried. Because, what if she did read it? What if it's bad, and she just doesn't want to say so? Or maybe it's taking so long because of all the editing and comments necessary. I think I'd rather receive a rejection than wait for one.

Sharing my writing is incredibly vulnerable for me. I don't even share it with all of my friends, let alone strangers. I haven't let my siblings read it or even my husband. I'd rather be seen naked. It's less embarrassing. And I'm far from peak physical attractiveness. 

Part of it is that I feel silly for making up stories. Like I got overheard playing "pretend" as a kid by my older siblings. Like my imagination is something I should have outgrown. 

Additionally, it feels presumptuous to think that I could have anything to offer the literary community, that I should want to count myself among their number. I compare myself to the authors I love, and I fall short, even in my own estimation. 

But most of all, my stories are the innermost workings of my soul. They are what I think about when my mind is free. Words feel inadequate to capture what I see and feel in my head. Yet, I try. I try my best. I work hard to attempt to convey what it is about these characters and places that means so much to me. To have that mocked or rejected would be too deep of a criticism for me to handle. 

I know all I did was send an email. But it feels like an act of bravery. 

As Ready as I am Right Now

Believe it or not, but I did actually get into the nursing program this fall. They weren't very on top of things, getting the news out on time, but as someone who has dropped a lot of balls lately, I can't blame them. 

Today, I got my tuberculosis test completed, which is the last of the documentation I needed to gather for official admission. I got CPR certified, updated my vaccinations, submitted to a background check, registered for clinicals, etc. I even took a very lame class on how to succeed in the nursing program. It covered things like managing time and stress, etc., in a very general way. Luckily, I have developed those skills over time myself. I even bought myself a new planner, complete with highlighters and sticky notes.

The next step, then, is nursing school, starting in a month. Do I feel ready? I mean, I'm prepared. I've done all the things. But I still feel totally blind. I don't know what to expect. I wish someone would walk me through what my time will be like for this first semester. I know they'll do that in the first class, and that everyone is as blind as I, but I want to see. To know. I like having a plan and detailing and overthinking every step of the way, even if that plan changes from time to time. 

Nursing was never the plan, until recently. I want to be a labor and delivery nurse, but I also know that hours will be tough. So, maybe I'll start as a school nurse, while my kids are still little. I can even work on furthering my education at the same time. That's the plan, anyway. And that part of the plan scares me a lot less than actually taking the classes to get there. 

One reason for my nervousness is that most of the other students have been practicing CNAs for the last few years at least. While I am licensed, I have never worked in the field. I have never taken blood pressure with a sphygmomanometer (the exam only required digital tests). The most I've done was a weekend of clinicals. I feel like in the practical skills, I will be far behind.

I have to remind myself that I am smart. Not just smart. Really smart. And focused and hard working. I aced my anatomy and physiology courses. I aced microbiology and statistics. My lowest grade going back to school has been an A. I got an almost perfect score on the standardized test. When it comes to the terminology, pharmacology, etc, aspect of nursing, I am going to be ahead of the pack. 

I can do this. I am as ready as I am right now. And I can work with that.

Reunion Update

Emilie and Caitie are available, just wanting to do something more intimate. So the weekend will be divided between Ted and the Gardner sisters, with Tarythe accompanying me to both. 

A Journal Tidbit

Wednesday April 5, 2006

Bryan was in town for a visit. At the end of the entry, I wrote, "Bryan's new aim is for me to marry Aaron, his brother." I laughed aloud reading this.

Either his goal was not communicated to the other party or it was simply not consensual. Too bad. I would have definitely been up for a date at least.

The Way a Sandwich Should Be

Kevin brought me Subway the other day, just because. There was an online deal, and he knows I love sandwiches. 

Kevin does the dishes every day. When he is on a call for work, where he doesn't have to talk, he carries his computer downstairs and washes pans with his headphones on.

He reads scriptures to the children every single day. And, he doesn't just read, he pauses and explains and asks insightful questions. He never rushes to get through scriptures to get the kids to bed (unless it's very late). 

He does his own laundry and cleans up after himself. I know some women complain about their husband being another child they have to take care of, but not Kevin.

Kevin is responsible. He has held the same job (though different positions) for our entire marriage. He is valued by his managers and his coworkers. He works hard and is loyal.

He is also responsible with money. The worst offenses from him have been occasional small late fees on utility payments. I can trust him with money and with bills.

Kevin is funny. He makes me laugh, even when we're angry at each other in marriage counseling, even when our kids are fighting for the tenth time in a single morning. 

He reads stories to the children, complete with voices. He reads for at least half an hour every night. We might have ridiculously long bed times with the kids, but they will always remember that we read to them.

He has a great singing voice. 

Kevin takes out the garbage and mows the lawn. Always. The only time I've done it is when he was gone on business. Early in our marriage, I said I hated those two chores, and he took it to heart.

He gets along with my family. He has always been polite, no matter what, and usually very friendly. He likes them, crazy and all, and they like him. He let my brother's family of five live in my basement for month and never once complained.

Kevin doesn't complain when I need a break, either for a twenty-minute shower or a few days away. He simply steps in and takes care of what needs doing. He is patient and reliable. 

Women's Stories Matter

I wish I could post this video, but I can't find it outside of Facebook. I hope the link continues to work. 

Don't worry, it's not offensive. 

 

Divorceable Offense

A scenario arose this morning wherein Kevin said if that same thing happened to him, relationships would end. Something about that bothered me. After I thought about it a bit, I realized something. There are "divorceable offenses" in our marriage, and I have named none of them. If I got pregnant without planning it with Kevin, that would absolutely be a divorceable offense. If I got a dog, divorceable offense. Hell, if I get my eyebrows done, that's a divorceable offense. 

I have never drawn such a line in the sand. 

I have never threatened to withhold affection if someone makes a decision I don't like. I've never even threatened divorce if he ever cheats. I mean, I'd take all the money from the joint account, but I wouldn't threaten. It feels manipulative and controlling. He grows thin-lipped about my orange hair, because he doesn't like warm colors. I can't decorate with them or wear them, especially yellow. I can't have bangs or wear red lipstick. He made me promise before we got married that I wouldn't get fat.

These things make me feel terrible about myself. 

Had Kevin and I just been dating, when he forgot my birthday, I would have dumped him. It was that big of a deal to me; it hurt that much; it signified that much to me about the nature of our relationship. It's not the first event to occur in our marriage that would have ended us had we been dating. But that is the nature of marriage, the "for better or for worse" idea, that you don't give up, even if you want to. I asked for marriage counseling, but I never used the word "divorce." 

I didn't even use it at six months into our marriage, when I could have left without regret. I would have been happier, had closure. But I was too depressed to face that prospect. I was afraid. I was afraid of admitting defeat. I was afraid of what people would think. I was afraid of being alone. And I was afraid of breaking my covenants. Not with Kevin but with God.

So, even though I was the injured party, though I struggled against the darkest depression of my life, I was the one to repair the relationship. As I had ever done.

During later bad times, I stayed because what other choice did I have? I felt lonely and overburdened; leaving would have made it worse. But that's becoming less and less the case. 

Studies show that there are three most common times for divorce. The first is in the first year of marriage, when the couple involved recognize that they made an honest mistake. They don't want the same things and shouldn't be married. The third one is the "empty-nest stage" when the kids are out of the house and the glue that held the couple together is gone. The middle one was eye opening to me: the child self-sufficiency age. This is when the oldest enters high school or the youngest enters kindergarten. Or, in other words, when parents finally have a bit of time to reevaluate and realize that their children are old enough to handle change. 

I'm currently in the second phase. I started back to school when Katie started kindergarten, and I will have a highly marketable skill by the time Andrew enters high school. Many of my reasons for staying during bad times are dissolving, the practical reasons, anyway. And still, I have never used the word "divorce."

Why not? 

First, because I don't want to be like my parents.

Second, because I have made covenants. Sometimes, I feel trapped by a choice, which, in hindsight, I  made in ignorance as a dumb kid. I wonder at a system that would reward me for keeping my covenants by continuing forever the marriage that I struggled through in life. Luckily, I believe in an all-loving, all-wise, all-powerful God. I definitely feel mad at Him at times, even resentful, but I believe He'll forgive me for that, too. Like a parent when their toddler yells at them.

Third, because I have never defined anything as a "divorceable offense." I have never looked at someone I love and thought, only insomuch as you do things my way. I have never made love conditional. I have never been unforgiving. For a short time, sure. I have to work through my anger, same as anyone. But I do. I have never thought, "in good times, in richness, and in health."

And, fourth, because I believe in sticking it out through the bad, I can attest that good times come again. And they will. 

Remember

At the intake appointment, the counselor asked us questions about our history. Kevin led the narrative, but I had to correct him, either silently or aloud. He doesn't remember. Events that scarred me or shaped us, and he doesn't even remember.

I shouldn't be surprised. Kevin has a terrible memory, and even I remember the past differently from how it happened, as evidenced by my recent journal reading. 

Still, the past is the part that I thought we'd agree on, at least. It is the future where we encounter conflict.

The Things I Carried

I was so hard on myself for years for my early academic failures in college. It took me so long to get my act together, and everybody else seemed to do okay. 

And, then, I reread my journals and see just how much toxic family drama I had to deal with. 

I had dad in town with me, and it was my job, while a freshman in college, to take care of him. There were times I had to drive him to the hospital, or even the mental hospital in Salt Lake. Once, when I was supposed to pick him up, his doctors waffled on his discharge, and I missed classes, including a dance test. I got calls when he needed things or when he fell. Those times, I didn't have his car, and I had to ask for rides to go pick my dad up off the floor. Even when the needs weren't acute, I was the one worrying how to help him: if I ask to do laundry at his place, can I cheer him up? if I ask him to cook me some stew, will that make him eat a real meal? how can I arrange a blessing for him? can I get him to attend church if I go, too? 

I got calls from Joyce when Mom let Bob move in. I got calls from Mom when Joyce got arrested for drugs. I got emails from the family about Dad's (non-existent, turns out) schizophrenia and (very real) PTSD. I got calls from Dad asking about Bob. I got calls from Joyce when Mom put the dog down. I got calls from Mom to discuss the divorce. I got calls when Mom sold the family home. 

I also had financial worries, as Mom had disowned me for asking about Bob. Jason helped with rent my first semester, but I hated asking for help. I got campus jobs to pay rent after that, and Mom did change her mind and start paying my tuition my second year, but money from her always comes with strings attached. I never had enough and I always worried about it. 

I should not have had to deal with any of that. I feel such anger on behalf of my younger self. I want to step in and shield her.

No wonder I struggled so much to handle additional responsibility. One thing I can say in favor of myself is that I kept trying. I kept fighting. I got therapy and retook classes. I learned to work hard, and I began to ace my classes. It was never that I was stupid or lazy, but there is only so much that one person can carry at a time. 

 

Home

 From my journal dated Dec 5, 2004

"The best part was getting home. Seeing Bryan, Matt, April, Tarythe, and Jocilyn was the same feeling as seeing my family. It was coming home."

Baby Fat

Something I have noticed whilst rereading my journals is my worry about my weight. At nineteen and twenty years old, I was a baby, with gorgeous skin and a flawless figure. I would love to be now the fat I thought I was then.

Joe

To the tune of "Wonderful Tonight," written by April Flory and Jamie Bond in December 2004.

Joe came to see Audrey
Five times in one day.
He gave her a phone call,
But she was away.

So then we ask her, "What're you gonna do?"
She says, "My roommates, like I'm going to tell you."

She sat on Eureka.
Joe came back upstairs. 
Her feet were freezing,
But she stayed out there. 

So then we ask her, "Do you think he'll be back?"
She says, "My roommates, I'm not telling you that."

Now she is blushing
Like rarely before.
She sits on the sofa,
We wait to hear more.

So then we ask her, "Audrey, do you like Joe?"
She says, "My roommates, that's for me to know."

Rereading my journal made me realize that I had forgotten about Joe. He was Matt and Bryan's roommate and got dubbed early on "the hotness." He pursued me for a little while, but when Bryan asked if I considered Joe a friend, I replied, "he amuses me." He was nice enough, but we never bonded, and his affections later switched to April.

Setting the Record Straight

One problem with my blog is that I write how I am feeling in the moment, which is not always indicative of truth. The summer I started this, I was mad at Jon. Angry. A deep, defiant anger. Undeserved anger. My journal, while it includes the wrath in the middle, paints a very different picture before and after of him, of our relationship, and of our fight. It will surprise no one, I think, that I behaved badly. So, I am here to set the record straight and to apologize, twenty years too late. 

Jon was a friend for nearly a year and a half before I ever suspected anything more than playful flirting between us. He was Ted's roommate, played on the ward softball team, sang with Kevin. Always up for anything, he was fun and adventurous, but also gallant and kind. He gave compliments and opened doors. A true Texas gentleman. Jon cuddled with anyone any time, famously whether he knew their names or not. So he was safe, in a way. Safe to flirt with. 

When I returned to Provo in late summer before my Sophomore year, I began to notice some differences, some interest on my part, and maybe on his. Definitely flirting. In my journal I said things like, "Jon amazed me today," and when my dad went to the mental hospital, I listed among others Jon as a wonderful support.

On August 17th, I wrote, "My relationship with him is so odd. We almost always have tickle wars and wrestling matches, in which I always come off worse, but then we'll stop mid tickle and just lay in one another's arms, playing with each other's hair. If he were interested in me, this would be the perfect relationship, but he's not. And if he were, I'd be bad for him."

At the start of fall semester, he and Ted moved south of campus, which I viewed as a pity. "We could have been great friends." To my surprise, he started to come visit me. He said he was homesick, and I really enjoyed seeing him. He was fun and uncomplicated. I really never thought he had any romantic feelings for me, despite the assumptions and teasing of roommates and Bryan.

New Year's Eve changed things. "It may as well have been called a date," I wrote. I cuddled with Jon for nigh on nine hours: first, watching Sandlot at Julie's; then while watching Napoleon Dynamite at Ted's; then watching fireworks in the snow; then on Eureka until 3 a.m. with my head in his lap while he played with my hair, my ears, my eyelids, and eventually my lips. "Suddenly, it wasn't 'just Jon' anymore." My insides melted and my knees got shaky. 

You'd think then that I would have known how he felt. But I sure didn't. My journal entries are full of  things like, "I still wish I knew how Jon feels." That said, I didn't know how I felt. We had definite chemistry, but I wasn't ready for anything serious. I loved Bryan and was being pursued by Joe and others. It was all very confusing. 

To Jon's credit, he persisted. He called and took me on dates with regularity. He continued to be fun, flirty, and flattering.  "It's strange being nervous around Jon." 

"Jon likes me for sure, and I am worried that I am leading him on. I like him, I'm having fun, and I want to stay friends, but I'm not interested in anything serious right now. I just don't feel as strongly about Jon as he does about me, not saying I never could. Until then, I enjoy the fact that he smells my hair." 

The second week in March, he took me on a picnic. We watched the clouds, tickled and cuddled, and I fell asleep on his shoulder. "I knew he wanted to kiss me, but as he would nuzzle his face toward mine, I would present my cheek and not kiss him. I'm not ready to kiss Jon." I knew he hadn't kissed anyone before, wanting to wait for love. And, while I liked him, I didn't love him. I feared he would regret it if he kissed me.

When Kevin and I got back together, I ended things with Jon. "I went to talk to Jon. It was easier than I foresaw. Jon is such a good guy. He told me he hoped Kevin and I work out."

I really had nothing bad to say about him. 

About a month later, he returned to our group, right before Kevin dumped me. Two nights later, because I am a horrible person, I went to Jon's with Julie. No, I did not know where the night would go. I simply intended to flirt and feel better about myself, to have an evening where I didn't cry.

Jon offered to teach me stick shift, and the lessons turned into a drive up the canyon, which turned into watching the stars, which turned into cuddling on a bridge under the huge full moon. I did say, when he wanted to kiss me, that I didn't think it was a good idea. "Who cares about good ideas," he replied. 

I did not try to rebound. That's why I tried to stop him. But I did think, naively, that we could just pick up where we left off, like Kevin had never happened. I tried to slow things down, but I couldn't always think straight around Jon. We had a lot of chemistry, and he was persistent.

I wrote, "I just got out of a cold relationship... So now I am dating a very affectionate guy who wants me enough to be dumped by me and come back, who has been my friend for over a year and a half, who tries for me. I like him."

Jon was a really good boyfriend. He surprised me spontaneously after work and planned dates in advance. He gave me flowers and compliments and danced with me in the kitchen. A really great guy. His persistence and attention, however, began to feel claustrophobic after a few weeks. I wrote that I needed me time, roommate time, and even guy friend time. When I said as much to Jon, he understood, "graciously giving me time without him."

When I broke up with him a couple weeks after that, I wrote, "He took it very well, as gracious as ever. I wish I had answers for him, and don't. He treated me like a princess and would be the safest guy in the world to love." But I didn't love him.

Even then I had nothing bad to say about him. 

I know the line, 'it's not you, it's me,' is super cliché; but it was me. I had a lot of things I needed to process, and I hadn't done so. I never dealt with my feelings about Kevin dumping me. I was trying to fix what I'd done wrong by rebounding so fast and hard. I was scared of vulnerability and emotional openness. Jon treated me well, and I didn't deserve him. I had to leave, so I didn't get left. 

I had just been put on academic probation, my parents were dumping their emotional baggage on me, and I was questioning everything in my life. Everything.

A week later, Jon invited my whole apartment to his for dinner. I worried it would be awkward, but I was pleased that he was attempting to remain friends, that he gave me space without drama. If he had kept on that way, I can almost guarantee I would have gone back to him. I couldn't help myself when I was with him. But not then. I wasn't ready.  

The whole saga of Jon reading my blog is only too well documented in earlier entries. Some of his accusations had merit, but I was defensive and thus focused only on what he did wrong, turning my shame into anger. His persistence, which before had been most admirable, got my hackles raised. He backed me into a corner, and I felt more feral than ever. I lashed out.

On August 1, I confronted him. I called him "scum" on my blog, but in my journal, I wrote, "I was angry and cold the whole time. That is me at my absolute worst. I am too articulate and absolute and completely uninhibited verbally. Emotionally, I am constipated. I alienate people and make them feel small." I was ashamed.

I didn't spend time with him again for three years. 

Jon and I saw each other at Ted's house, unsurprisingly, at the beginning of August 2008. I didn't even write the events that led to us hiking together at night to watch the meteor shower, staying out until 3:30 in the morning. A couple weeks later, I needed to sell plasma, but was too afraid to go alone. When Emilie couldn't accompany me, I called Jon. We began to sell plasma together on a semi-regular basis. 

Again, I had nothing but good to say about him.

Ted, on the other hand, I had plenty to complain of. I wrote that his teasing was unquenchable. I finally had to threaten to stop being friends before he relented. 

Emilie, too, was curious, and asked if I was still attracted to Jon. Yes, I told her. But I worked very hard to restrain myself near Jon, knowing how badly I had treated him before, and worrying that I might mess things up again. I wished I knew how he felt, if he'd forgiven me, if he wanted something more. But I never tried to broach the subject. And, I think we can all agree I am rubbish at reading people. He probably felt only friendship for me and, likely, a little trepidation. 

Nothing came of our interactions that fall. We hung out as friends, and then I graduated and moved away. I was very glad that we ended it on a good note. 

I know I can't ever tell him that I'm sorry for how I treated him. Again, there are things that just can't be said twenty years after the fact, one married friend to another. It would not be appropriate. Still, I can set the record straight here, and offer an apology that he will never read. 

I am sorry, both for how I behaved to him and for what I wrote about him. Jon was a great guy. He always treated me well and he didn't deserve what I gave back. I did care for him, and I regretted that I ruined it. I am glad he was gracious enough to become my friend again. I am glad he is happy with someone who loves him. That is what he deserves.

Unhealthy

I wonder if my new fascination with events twenty years gone is emotionally unhealthy. I cannot go back, for better or worse. In fact, "for better or worse" is why I'm looking back. I am in the middle of a midlife crisis, a career change, and marriage counseling; and I'm hoping by looking back that I'll be better reminded of why I'm here and better able to decide where I'm going. To make healthy choices here on out, even if I did not always do so in the past. You can't move past feelings by burying them. I'm hoping that by digging up the past, I can face it, fix it, and heal. Then put the unhealthy bits to rest for good.

What the Hell, Bryan?

In anticipation of next month's trip to Provo, I have been reading old journal entries. There are so many things that I remembered, that I expected, and that I was even looking for. That was what this blog was going to be about. Instead, I found some things I hadn't remembered, dots I hadn't ever connected before, some things that surprised me from my own journal. Last night's reading blew my mind, and I am reeling. 

So, this is where I will start. Ostensibly, the story is about Bryan, but truly it is about my insecurities in relationships and how I run when I get scared. 

Sophomore year, I wrote page after detailed page of my friendship with Bryan (and others, but this is the relevant one). Mundane things that I remember with deep fondness. Homework parties at his apartment. Grocery runs in his Honda, listening to Billy Joel. Late-night movies. Shakes at the Malt Shoppe. Pie at Village Inn. All these I picture with a golden aura haloing our group of very good friends.

I also had a deep and personal one-on-one friendship with Bryan. He made me trust him, treating me gently, like the feral animal I was. He was patient and persistent, and he won me over, heart and soul. I loved him like I loved Matt and Ted, April, Tarythe, and Jocilyn. The one difference is that I was also in love with Bryan. Like, like liked him, to use the common vernacular. He treated me like a princess, was always kind and charming. Plus, he was cute in a preppy pretty boy way. A golden doodle puppy.

I did not treat him like a crush. If anything, I tried to banish those feelings. For one thing, April loved him, too, and, I loved April. Secondly, Bryan and I were friends. Maybe some people would read that and think, "just friends." But there was no "just" about it in my mind. I was starved for friendship, for the true, deep, meaningful friendship, and Bryan offered me a feast. 

April, to whom love and friendship came easily, did not understand.

April wanted more alone time with Bryan, and as her friend, by girl code, I was expected to give it. But as Bryan's friend, I needed to know if he wanted more alone time. Was I was in the way, an unwanted third wheel, a charity case? That would have been the end of my time with him. I did not tell him of my feelings or April's. I merely asked about his own. He shared in confidence that he had no romantic interest in her, and called me one of his best friends. He charmingly forbade me from ditching him.

April, alas, overheard her name and wanted me to tell her everything about the conversation. I refused. Bryan's feelings for her were shared in confidence; his friendship for me felt precious; and, plus, she was being mean about it. I didn't realize that not sharing would break her heart and lead her to question my motives over and over in regard to Bryan.  

While April and I grew apart, Bryan became one of my very best friends.

He would literally give me pennies for my thoughts, and I shared everything with him. He also shared with me. Once, when he came to meet me at work, he told my coworkers, "she's my best friend in the whole world." I knew he was exaggerating, of course, but he also told me in sincerity that he trusted me. Which was good, because I practically forced him to open up to me. If I was going to share, then he was, too, dammit. 

Tarythe, envious, said, "He doesn't tell anyone anything, and he tells you everything." I didn't think that was true, but, I mean, did they even ask him? Maybe they needed pennies, like the ones he and I passed between us.

He and I spent a lot of time together, hours sometimes, and often one-on-one. We'd do homework or run errands or go out to eat. If I didn't see him, we'd talk on the phone. Sometimes our conversation was trivial and sometimes we'd tell each other about our families or our romantic lives. He pestered me about Jon, and I did likewise about about Natalie. 

Michael, my therapist, loved Bryan. He often assigned me homework regarding my friends: ask for a ride, share a difficult memory, tell someone you're mad. He'd ask me to pick someone I trusted, and I often picked Bryan. Bryan always reacted the way Michael predicted: with warmth, compassion, and love. 

I could cry in front of Bryan. When my mom and I had a fight over Christmas break, I emailed him. When I went skiing my first and only time, Bryan remained by my side as long as I'd let him, patiently teaching me, while the others skied ahead. I don't think he knew how much that meant to me. When family threatened drama, Bryan was there. When there was friendship drama, Bryan was there. When I struggled with school, Bryan was there.

We shared our dreams, both nocturnal and waking. After I shared the one about the apple tree, he reassured me of his continued friendship. "I'd come visit you even if you were soaking wet." That's the first time I told him I loved him. We began to say it routinely. He once even told me "Of course I 'as you wish' you, silly." 

There were times where I'd get mad at him and he'd get mad at me. I could always confront him with a "what the hell, Bryan," and somehow we'd work it out and then hug it out. 

Because, Bryan was a hugger. Like Tarythe, April, Ted, Jon, and Elise. We all hugged each other hello and goodbye every time we saw each other. We all cuddled when we watched movies or meteors, fireworks or clouds. We had pillow fights and wrestling matches. We went to playgrounds and played sports. Touch was common and uncomplicated among us, a completely new and wonderful concept to me.

Bryan held me when I cried. He laid his head on me while I read books aloud. We took naps together in the living room, even once touching hands while we did so. I soaked it in and did my very best to keep the swooning to myself. I never assumed he meant anything by it, even though it angered and hurt April. I had to defend myself again and again. There is nothing going on between me and Bryan. 

But, was there? Something began to happen that I did not remember. Bryan's hugs began to get longer. He would hold me and smell my hair and nuzzle my neck. Nineteen-year-old Audrey was suddenly very confused. It threw my mind into absolute tumult. I wrote in my journal that he only hugged me like that when April wasn't around. But others noticed. Tarythe asked me if I was in love with Bryan. Jocilyn asked the reverse. And Bryan himself told me on the phone that Jon would watch him like a hawk. I tried so hard to trust his friendship, but my mind kept asking, What the hell, Bryan?

I wonder now, as a more mature and world-wise reader, if he was hugging April like that during my absences. She certainly had been giddy since she'd confessed her feelings for him. I found out months later that they would make out sometimes in his car, strictly secret and completely noncommittal. April didn't confide this to me until after he moved, so I never got the chance to give him the smack on the head he deserved for playing with her like that. Now I wonder if their NCMO was already going on, if he was a bigger player than I gave him credit for. 

Or maybe his hugs reflected sincere feelings? I honestly do not know, and I didn't then either. I always thought he saw me as the tag-along kid sister type, the safe girl, the sand to his ostrich as it were. He told me he was fond of me, but that he was fond of a lot of people. He told me that I was beautiful, but he gave compliments to everyone, all the time. In the confusion caused by those hugs, I began to wonder if he felt some attraction back. 

I wish I could reach into his mind then or now and find out what he was thinking. I mean, what the hell, Bryan? But there are some things you cannot ask twenty years later, one married friend to another. 

Then Michael gave me my next assignment: to tell Bryan how I felt about him. Not the friendship part, the important part. He meant the attraction part; how I like liked him, in addition to loving him; how I wanted him to hold and nuzzle and smell me.  

I put it off for two weeks.

Some parts of the ensuing drama I remembered accurately. Others, not so much. The awkwardness, though, is ingrained in my soul, how utterly excruciatingly uncomfortable I was while confessing my crush on him. I had recalled that Bryan didn't return my feelings and that nothing ever happened between us. But something did happen. 

I lamented in my journal that it came out all wrong, that I didn't explain properly why I was saying it or what I wanted. I was terrified of abandonment. That's why Michael challenged me to ask for help and express difficult feelings: to show me that my friends don't view me as an inconvenience, that they won't leave if I make a mistake or a demand. That I could take up space and still be loved. That's why I told Bryan, so I wouldn't be afraid anymore of that secret ruining our friendship. I never expected him to reciprocate. I just needed to open up to him and have it be okay.

And he said it was. It probably wasn't even a surprise. Everyone had a crush on him. Seriously. He promised me that it wouldn't change anything between us. But, then, he didn't drop by to see me at work the next day like usual. It was one mistake in his perfect record as best friend, but I was utterly heartbroken. 

There was probably a really good reason, but at the time, I viewed it as the end of our friendship. He had lied. He'd said everything would be the same, but then he didn't come. I'd pushed too far, said too much, and overstepped the bounds of his affection for me. I had lost my very best friend. For days, I cried in the shower.

I cried again reading the journal entry, so sad for my younger self who had loved so fiercely and thought she deserved so little.

I put up walls, fast and hard, and didn't even know that I had done so. Today, I wish so badly that I had asked him why he hadn't met me at work--such a little thing--maybe even confronted him. What the hell, Bryan? You said nothing would change. But I didn't. 

Instead, I emailed Kevin after months of silence. That's part I definitely didn't remember. Reading my journals, I couldn't believe myself. I emailed Kevin the next day after my failed confession. The. Next. Day. Reeling from the perceived rejection--not the romantic one but the one of friendship--I ran back to the boy I'd dumped twice. 

Reading this in my journal, I marveled aloud, "What the hell, Audrey!?" I couldn't believe what I had done, how foolish, how desperate. At the time, I thought I had lost my best friend because of my confession, but if I lost him, I lost him because I ran away, to be the one to leave for fear of getting left. 

Clearly, I needed more therapy.

I made things right with April, and Bryan began bringing his brother Aaron (on whom I later developed a crush) to all of our group things. And it was group things after that. I have no further record of days spent one-on-one with Bryan. I wonder now if he brought Aaron to diffuse the focus on him or to prevent misinterpreted intimacy. Or maybe it was because I began dating Kevin, but I had been dating Jon before and still had time with Bryan. 

Don't get me wrong. Bryan and I were still friends, but it wasn't the same. I had withdrawn. 

Still, weeks later, when Kevin and Jon were duking it out over dating me, in my journal I wished for Bryan. He used to tease me about boys, asking where each fell on the scale of my affections, comparing them to each other. What he didn't know is that I would have chosen him all along, even then.

When I failed a class and, later that same day, royally screwed up my finances, I felt too ashamed to tell Kevin, by then my boyfriend. A note in my journal says, what if I had gone to Bryan? He was, after all, the one person I had learned to ask for help, and he had made me promise him that I would always do so. 

Kevin and I dated for a month, until the last day of the semester, Bryan's very last day of college. Our group of friends had spent the night at a bookstore, reading children's stories to each other. It was one of those golden-aura nights of nostalgia. Then Kevin came over, asked me to go for a walk, and dumped me. As it was after midnight, I took my pain to my roommates, not to Bryan. 

I went from dating Kevin to dating Jon, and Ted was the one there for me who took up the mantle of protector-friend-at-arms. When Bryan moved, we began calling and emailing. I emailed him when Ted moved, when my mom sold my childhood home, when Kevin resurfaced in my life. I asked him about Natalie and then Wendy. We drifted apart gradually over time, staying Facebook friends and sending periodic updates. I still consider him a Friend. I wish he were coming to the reunion.

I always wished that I had never said anything to him, that we could have kept on like we had been. Now, I wonder what would have happened if I had trusted Bryan enough to stick it out despite my very real feelings of rejection. I mourn for myself the loss and loneliness I experienced and the reinforcement it gave to some very damaging beliefs I had about myself. Bryan was a good friend, my best friend, and I wish I had just continued to love him instead of letting myself like like him.

P!nk - Just Give Me A Reason ft. Nate Ruess

Adele - Hello (Official Music Video)

Just Good

By virtue of the blog being my emotional outlet, it is bearing more than its fair share of my complaining. These are the things that I need to work through, and writing helps. But I am tired of my own whining. 

So, here is the good. Just the good.

I got into the nursing program for this fall. I was so so prepared for a rejection that I sat and stared at the letter for at least five minutes. Kevin asked what was wrong, and then heartily congratulated me, and I still just sat there gaping. 

I met an editor at the painting retreat. We each wrote and read an essay to the group. Afterward, she approached me to ask if I was a writer. She asked me to send her some chapters. She responded very positively (and quickly), asking for more. Maybe I'll actually do something with my writing.

I am excited to see Ted and Tarythe at the "reunion." They are still two of my very best friends of all time, despite long silences between us. Ted and I text at least once a year on birthdays, and then any time we see something that reminds us of the other, such as a funny license plate or anything referencing "Waiting for Godot." I am excited to meet his family.

I haven't killed the plants in my garden yet this year, and the flowers out front have been spectacular. Watering in the cool of the morning brings tranquility and hope.

A local utility company needed to lay a new cable, so they had to dig in our side yard. As they cleaned up their mess, they leveled the dirt, laid new landscaping fabric, and covered it with new rocks. They essentially gave my side yard a free glow up, removing all the weeds for me. 

The boys are doing really well in their swimming lessons right now. And chores seem to have become an expected part of summer to which my children are resigned. The routine is moving smoothly. 

When I workout in the basement, I watch part of a movie. I just introduced my kids to A Knight's Tale, which they enjoyed a lot. It's fun watching their enthusiasm.

Yoga was a great class this spring. I felt better after every class.

My sisters live nearby, and my children love having cousin time. I have so much joy in listening to them play and knowing that they are forming life-long bonds. I am so grateful for the relationship with my sisters, from trading babysitting to emotional support through trials. We really did become best friends like my mom wanted.

I have learned that I love drawing with colored pencils, and the art retreat reinvigorated my love of watercolor painting. I have been taking the time to do art or to write this summer, and it leaves me feeling extremely satisfied.

I love that on library days, my kids ignore computer games in favor of reading. They all curl up on the couch in blissful silence. I have introduced my boys to Sanderson's YA novels, and they love when I read aloud with the voices. "Cuddle parties" are favorite points of our days.

My hair is almost to my waist. Again. In that, I keep cutting off three to four inches at a time, and it grows like a weed. My hair loves Colorado. Maybe it's the water, maybe it's the lack of humidity, maybe it's the vitamins I take. All I know is that this is the hair I have always wanted. I even really like my silver streaks, though today I died them orange just for fun. 

While I have messed up a handful of times, I have been without Coca Cola since the new year. I found I can't give up caffeine, as it messes with my antidepressants, but I found a Crystal Light caffeinated option without artificial sweeteners that I actually enjoy drinking. I tumble out of bed and stumble to the kitchen for some mixed berry goodness and my morning NYT puzzles while cuddling with my early bird kiddos. I enjoy my mornings.

Today, the sun is out, and I feel fine.

In Hindsight

I'm in a marriage with no dates, no adventures, no vacations (he missed two in the last year), no travel, no theme parks, no picnics or parks, no playing; because I dated a man who wouldn't do those things. Our dates consisted of watching Castle on his couch. So, why does it surprise me that his bonding time with his kids consists of playing computer games sitting on the couch?

Cognitively, I knew that people don't change. But I was super blind to my own naïve optimism.

If you read back, my unmet need for affection in marriage is the direct result of marrying a man who left me with a desperate need for affection while we dated. He wouldn't hold my hand or kiss me in public. He rarely called or emailed. He didn't try to see me even when we were dating. He told me he loved me, but then dated Lori. He told me he wanted to marry me, but then immediately clarified that he wasn't proposing. 

Meanwhile, I felt so unworthy of love that I cherished any crumb tossed my way. In fact, his indifference reinforced my belief that I was undeserving of said crumbs.

In hindsight, my personal trauma was as much a problem as his lack of affection. The dissolution of my parents' marriage left me desperate to form my own family and, to be honest, do it better than they did. I would never have called myself "marriage hungry," but I craved the security of a home. I had been lonely for years, and I feared I always would be. My fear of abandonment meant that I never wanted to push too hard, to overstep my value, to become a liability instead of an asset.

I measured my worth by my income, my debt, my education, my broken family, my weight. And the thing is, he did, too. He said to me early on in our marriage, "I make the money and you spend it." I cried in the bathroom, sobs smothered in a towel. It took years to feel myself his equal. 

Our courtship was one of convenience (for him) and insecurity (me). I often felt while dating him that I wasn't a high priority, that he didn't have time for me, but there were always reasons.

I remember one Easter, I had dropped out of college and moved halfway across the country because he had told me he loved me. My Mom had invited us up to Dallas for the holiday, but Kevin declined because he wanted to sing with the choir that Sunday. I took a bus by myself. Even choir was a higher priority than I was.

In 2006, he held me on his lap and explained how unaffectionate his parents were. He remembers the first time he learned that they had ever been in love. He'd been incredulous. That's not what I want, he'd said. I want my kids to know that I am in love with my wife. This was some months after he told me he loved me, and three years before he proposed.

The intervening time was filled with "he loves me, he loves me not," and even with my own vacillation. There was a time, in fall of 2008, when Jared or Jon could have won me, free for the taking; but neither showed inclination to do so. I even told Jared to ask me out. I guess he didn't see the point. I moved across the country twice for love, but I was apparently not the type to inspire risk-taking in others.

Before I moved the second time, I asked Kevin if he was going to propose if I did so. "You mean, right away!?" I sent him a link to the ring I wanted, complete with my size, and still five months passed without commitment. I am convinced in my soul that had he not lost his job in 2009, Kevin would never have proposed.

I thought that him finally committing to marriage meant that he was choosing me, that I wouldn't have to wonder anymore.

I feel like these subsequent events have belied his words, and that maybe he just settled for me after all. Or maybe we didn't mean the same thing when we said, "I love you." I remember in our marriage interview, the Bishop asked us what we meant. Kevin said, "Even when I don't feel it, acting on that commitment." And maybe commitment was all he meant. He'd grown accustomed to my face.

It is not a bad marriage. It's not. But it is not the marriage that I wanted, full of companionship and intimacy. I feel like it is all my fault: I ignored red flags in my desire to find love. I have exactly the marriage I should have foreseen, the one that, in hindsight, I chose.

Reunion

 Emilie and Caitie are not coming to the reunion. While there are many others who are not coming, they were two who were enthusiastic about the idea and even the date. Plus, they live less than an hour from Provo. Tarythe is flying in from D.C.. I am driving from Colorado. But it is not worth it to them to give up an afternoon to see us. It's heartbreaking.

Also, when I told Kevin, he asked, "What reunion?" Only the one I've been planning since last October. I guess it wasn't important to him, either.

Avril Lavigne - I'm With You (Official Video)

I don't want to be like my mother

When I went to therapy back in my BYU days, my counselor offered this observation: "Your biggest fear is being like your mother."

Back then, it was.

Mom's midlife crisis destroyed us. Yes, she was in a crap marriage, far worse than mine, with a partner she couldn't rely on in any way (but who at least adored her). And yes, she deserved happiness. But she went about it in the worst way possible. She replaced martyrdom with utter selfishness.

God was the first to go, because who needs guilt? and she pulled the rug out from under our family's faith. Then she and my dad both gave up on parenting. I felt utterly abandoned. While I had muddled through with some success, Joyce fell off the deep end and stayed there. And I felt responsible. Someone had to. I had a roof over my head and food on the table and no support whatsoever. 

They never talked to us about any of it. Mom's new religion, new philosophies, and then new boyfriend snuck in amid shadows and whispers and dropped leaflets and breadcrumb trails. And if we asked questions, she shut us out. Or disowned us. She took backpacking trips "alone," bought an SUV for the canoe she wanted, and she went backpacking in Italy. She moved to London for months.

Mom threw out the old plates and silverware, replacing them with things she thought pretty but weren't microwave or dishwasher safe. The moss-green glaze chipped off the plates, showing the ugliness underneath. I remember once, talking about my mom's sudden new independent life and bawling over the silverware. They were the symbol of her "out with the old" philosophy. 

Then she divorced my dad.

I never want to be like that. She couldn't handle her own emotions, didn't know how to process them or how to instigate healthy boundaries and helpful change. She couldn't face her trauma, so she ran from her responsibilities. She just said, fuck it, and left us all to fend for ourselves so she could follow Thoreau and find herself. She abandoned us in chaos so she could chase momentary pleasure. And when the glaze chipped off, the damage was irreversible. 

She did not just leave God and Dad. She left us all. And it took years to forgive.

I know that I am unhappy with the current dynamics of my marriage and with the direction of my life right now, but I will not--WILL NOT--throw away what is good or betray the trust of my children, God, and husband to go chasing something shiny and new. I will not let my pain become the catalyst for my life's destruction. I will find a way to fix it, to rebuild, to strengthen. Not destroy.

Compromises

You know, I came back from the painting retreat full of gratitude to my husband, who kept things running in my absence. Things were looking up. For almost a whole day.

I want a dog. Andrew is allergic, so I routinely check the animal shelter's website for Doodles. They are rare enough, and often they get snagged right away, or they are too old, or bad with kids. Today, I found a golden doodle, four years old, trained, good with kids and other dogs, loves to cuddle. 

Kevin does not want a dog. I know this. But I also know that we've had a dog before and let Michelle's cats live with us. I broached the subject of the Doodle. 

"He sounds great for someone who wants a dog."
"I want a dog."
"Absolutely not," he snapped and walked away.
I texted him next. "I want the dog."
"I don't like pets."
"I don't like feeling like an inferior in our marriage."
"I'm not trying to be controlling. I truly hate pets. This issue is a 9/10 for me."
"Like me wanting more children?"

He hasn't spoken to me since. And, though the dog is still there today, I have not just gone and gotten him, because I know that for Kevin that just may be a divorceable offense, and I haven't decided if it's worth it.

I know that he doesn't want all the things I do, but why is his opinion more important than mine? As long as we don't agree, we stay in limbo and nothing changes, which is what he wants. Our simple inability to compromise on these issues means he gets his way by default. 

We knew going into our marriage that we didn't always see eye to eye, but we did discuss the big things and find common ground. Over the course of our courtship, I got talked down from wanting ten kids to five. I wouldn't budge below five. Kevin kept dropping his number every time I lowered mine to compromise. He started by saying he couldn't go above six, then five, and, finally, he sat at four and wouldn't budge. 

I remember the conversation that ended the stalemate. 

I had never had a single baby, and I couldn't guarantee that I'd want more. But if we were in it together, we would be on the same page. The things about big families, I had said, was that they put family first. That is the priority. Family. Family prayer and scripture study, family meals, family vacation, cuddling in bed together, gardening together, serving together. That's what I wanted. Kevin agreed. He remembered his dad coming home from work too tired to do anything with the kids, laying on the couch and napping, while his mom played catch with the kids in the yard. He wanted to play with his kids. 

I get that life has a way of getting in the way, and Kevin couldn't know that his job would become more and more demanding. But he has also adamantly refused to do anything about it. He will not look for another job. Will. Not. He also stays up late every night, so can't possibly keep his eyes open after work. He lays on the couch, using the same exact phrase about "horizontal studies" that his dad used, and naps until the kids go to bed, then stays up late playing around on his computer until well after midnight. 

Meanwhile, I continue to want more children, while he dropped his number first to one, then two, then three, trying to get us to stop after each one. He gets mad that I keep telling everyone that I want two more babies, but I have never been the one to change my mind on family.

When my kids were small and waking up early, I felt too tired and too distracted to study scriptures. I began getting up earlier and earlier to have an hour to myself. Eventually, a 4:30 alarm became the routine, which necessitated an early bed time, too. It hurt our marriage. I found I had to stay up several more hours and nap during the day in order for us to have any meaningful time. It's still the case. Either I stay up until I'm nauseated with fatigue or we are ships passing in the night. 

Never does he try to switch his sleep schedule, to go to bed early or wake up with me. Hell, he won't even change his pillowcase to match the rest of our bedding. Fourteen years in, we have cream sheets and a brown comforter. His pillowcase is the same green plaid that he had before we got married. Like he just can't bring himself to change. 

The Thanksgiving of 2007, when he told me he wanted to marry me and then immediately retracted, he also told me I should have pets. I squeeeed at the sight of a bunny, and he thought I was adorable. I guess he forgot that later. 

That's not to say Kevin hasn't compromised. He has. He moved to Colorado three years ago. Of course, it took me five years to convince him, and it only happened because he could keep his job and work remotely. If he hadn't been able to keep the same job, he would not have moved. Full stop. He agreed with me on adopting, even though it came with a dog. He later allowed Michelle to move back in with us, even with two cats. In both scenarios, he did it because it was the right thing to do, and Kevin is a good man. 

There have been good times. Really good. Even long stretches, years at a time. But there are always these really big issues between us that don't go away. I have coping mechanisms for when I am lonely and hurt. I find fulfillment in the gospel and my children and my sisters and my writing. But when I look forward, as I have been doing of late, and I see myself continuing to compromise my wants and feelings, I burn with resentment. I don't want to do this for the next forty years. I shouldn't have to cope with my marriage. My marriage should be what strengthens me to cope with everything else. I don't want to compromise my happiness for the rest of my life, and there is so much of my life left.

I want to fix my marriage. I want date nights and temple trips and time spent together. I want real compromise. I want to feel loved.

And I want that damn dog.

Essay

I'm at a painting retreat up in the mountains for several days. We paint a new piece each day, and I will show pictures later. We also had a writing assignment. The topic was cars. Here is my essay. It is not what I felt in the mood to write, but it fit the assignment and length. I basically stole it from my blog 14 years ago.

It started with locking my keys in the trunk of my rental car.

I had flown into Austin to be maid of honor at my friend’s wedding, and I was crashing on her mother’s couch. The events didn’t start until evening, so I decided to take the morning to meet up with an ex-boyfriend for a tour of the city. I hauled my suitcase out to the curb and heaved it into the trunk of my lime green Chevy Malibu. Then I thought, I don’t need my purse today, and tossed that in for good measure. Even as the lid slammed down, I realized my error and stood in paralyzed horror. I had dropped the keys into the bag. Then, no matter how many times I patted my pockets or rattled the door handles, no miracle occurred to absolve my blunder.

About the time that I knew I was good and truly screwed, Kevin arrived on the scene. It is one thing to do something stupid in isolation. It is another to be humiliated in front of friends or even strangers. Screwing up on that scale in front of an ex-boyfriend for whom one still harbors romantic feelings? The stuff of nightmares.

First, I called the rental car company. Did they have a spare key I could come get? Of course not. Because that would have been too simple. I called AAA who said they’d send a locksmith.

To escape the growing July heat, Kevin and I sought refuge in his green Honda, blasting the air conditioning. With nothing to do but wait, we talked for hours, while first one and then a second professional failed to break into the Fort Knox of family-sized sedans. Together, they did manage to open the cab, only to discover that the trunk release lever didn’t function. So began another round of lockpicking attempts, this time on the trunk itself.

Just about the time the third locksmith arrived to help, I hit my deadline. I had to leave or be late to the reception. Kevin offered to drive me, and a neighbor, a complete stranger to me, volunteered to wait with the locksmiths and retrieve my keys for me. Mercifully, my bridesmaid’s dress was still hanging in the closet inside my friend’s childhood home. In borrowed, ill-fitting black flats, I climbed back in the passenger seat of the Honda and braided my hair while my ex drove.

My plans had completely derailed. What was supposed to be a casual catching up now became a date to a wedding, and my hopes for poise and composure were shot all to hell. I was bug bitten and sunburned, flustered and famished. My makeup had all melted off hours before, and I didn’t have a single bobby pin to my name. I burned with embarrassment, convinced that Kevin just wanted out but was too kind to say so.

Still, he put on a tie and danced with me at the reception. I managed my toast with grace, and I even caught the bouquet. Then, Kevin and I sat up till the wee small hours of the morning, whispering in the dark of his car, somehow unable to say goodnight.

The next week, he told me he loved me. When he told me he wanted to marry me, we were in that same green Honda, driving back from Thanksgiving at my mother’s house.

Eight years after the wedding in question, four years after our own, he totaled his sedan during an ice storm. He spent an entire month scouring the whole of Texas for another green 2001 Honda Accord, not yet ready to let it go. But it wasn’t the car that was special. It was the memories, and I am forever grateful that I locked my keys in my trunk all those years ago.