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 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.

Hurt Feelings

Yes, I am depressed, and that is skewing my perspective on things.  Then today, the sun came out. Literally, not figuratively. My depression eased, and I could see things a little more clearly. 

My husband is a good man. A kind man. Funny and insightful. He doesn't lose his temper. He reads bedtime stories with voices. He goes to the store super late on Saturday so we'll have milk Sunday morning. He changed diapers and he unclogs toilets and he takes out the garbage. He does his own laundry and makes his side of the bed. He is responsible and reliable. When I am sick or overwhelmed, he steps up and does more.

I am grateful for him. I know things would not be easier for me if he weren't in the picture. I can't even sleep when he's not home.

There have been plenty of good times in our marriage. But the thing with my depression is that the best times in our marriage have been when I am in the best mental health. When I am fulfilled in other ways, when I have goals and projects and good friends and I'm doing my best with scriptures study, temple attendance, and prayer. When I'm good, the marriage is good. 

But if I have emotional needs...

When I was pregnant, I felt fat and unattractive. I expressed this to my husband while we lay side by side in our bed. I cried. He literally turned his back on me. Rolled over so he didn't have to deal. I learned to cry in the shower instead.

He is a partner in parenting, in household operations. But not emotionally. If I struggle, if I am hurt--physically or emotionally--I am on my own. He might step in and take care of additional things around the house, but he doesn't take care of me.

Andrew's birth is a funny story that I love to tell. Kevin unconscious on the couch while I pushed. His aversion to blood and pain led to many humorous (afterward) misadventures. But it becomes less funny when he goes quiet when we disagree, when he rage cleans the kitchen with his headphones on, when he makes passive-aggressive comments and won't own up to it, when the silences stretch so taut that a person could break herself on them. 

I know Kevin is feeling stressed by work and by his calling, and now, additionally, he is frustrated because I've rejected his recent advances, after the birthday thing. But I am tired of him taking out his emotional constipation on me. And when I say something, he withdraws. We never talk about our problems; we just wait them out.

Today was better, because the sun was out and I was feeling better and he was less stressed, we had pleasant conversation and even laughed together. He did a celebratory dance when I got my acceptance letter to the nursing program. It was almost normal. 

But again, it was because I was feeling better. I can share the good things with him. I can even express in words anger or sorrow if it doesn't relate to him and if I don't become emotional. 

But if things become messy, if I become weak or mad or sick, he shies away. And I am left alone with my emotional wounds hemorrhaging. I have learned not to expose them. To keep them bottled, close to the chest, protected and cradled. To cry in the shower or my pillow or the car. 

Kevin supports me, and I don't just mean financially. He supported my idea to go back to school, picking up my slack on household chores while I was in class. He agreed to move to Colorado for my sake. I am going to a painting retreat this week while he has the kids alone. I can trust him to take care of things and to have my back. 

I just wish that I could trust him as unreservedly with my heart.

Exit Ramps

I once had a crisis of faith, where I could see the end of my activity in the church looming ahead, just off the highway and the exit drawing closer. For the first time since my parents left the church when I was fourteen, I could actually envision making the same choice, ending up like them. That shook me to the core.

What grounded me was tithing settlement. Tithing is a principle of which I have a perfect testimony. I could never not pay it. Back when I was employed outside the home, paying tithing was the very first thing I would do with each paycheck. I knew I couldn't leave the church, because I needed to pay my tithing.

That experience taught me to always go back to the things I do know, before I give up due to what I don't know. I have not faltered in my testimony since. 

After the events of last summer, and then again recently, I began to see another exit ramp looming ahead; or perhaps I began to look for it. I am not yet forty years old, and despite all feelings to the contrary, my life is not ending. It's not even winding down. I have forty more years ahead of me.

And I don't want to spend them like this.

But as I lay awake at night and think through all my choices, past and future, I feel overwhelmed by despair. I made covenants, and I have children, and there is no exit ramp that I can take from my current challenges, that I can live with. And then, I think abut not living with it, just not living, and I terrify myself into remorse. 

Something's got to give, But not that.

The Thief of Joy

My sisters and I have periodic dinners out, and oftentimes we end up griping about our respective husbands. It's harmless stuff, that we just need to vent about, reassure each other, and recharge ourselves. Like how all moms do about their kids.

Honestly, these dinners often leave me grateful for my husband. He never leaves me alone with the kids for weeks at a time. He never lies, never spends money without consulting me, never loses his temper. He can cook dinner and put the kids to bed. He pulls his weight around the house and as a parent. He is righteous and conscientious. 

But I do not feel like he is attentive or affectionate.

My birthday and Mother's Day left me in a bad place. Left our marriage in a bad place. It was already on the waning side, coming down from a really good peak, but that took it from meh to bad. So, it was my turn yesterday to vent the most and need the most comfort and strength. Heather reassured me that we all know what it's like to go through a bad patch. Everyone gets it. And they do, I know. 

But some people have really loving marriages.

Kevin and I once had people over for a game night, and one of the men casually reached out and played with his wife's hair while he was talking. That was all. And I felt a ridiculous surge of envy, loneliness, and anger. Emilie posted several years ago on her husband's birthday about how he was the best man she'd ever known, etc. I actually reached out to her to ask if she meant it, as surely not everyone does. "Yes!" she'd replied. "I had no idea that marriage would be this fulfilling!" 

They say comparison is the thief of joy, and that envy is its death.

I am envious.