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.