Tell Him…

Tell Him…

Sometimes I stop myself. Because… I don’t want to harp on it. I feel sometimes that keeping it to myself is probably the best policy because I don’t want to aggravate him… or chase him away. That somehow I think that hiding myself in this little corner… hoping he doesn’t notice that I have any thoughts or feelings or opinions of my own, might keep him here longer. It’s a reaction to the many failures of the past. Somehow, I managed to chase them all away. And although in my own mind, I think I’m the perfect girl for any man willing to let me be theirs… looking back on my journals makes me think… Gee… maybe it was for the best that they got out when they could. I don’t want him to have a reason to leave. I actually really want him to stay.

But I’ve had concerns and worries and nightmares and bad thoughts and cold feet and what-ifs and bad omens. And I hold them inside and smile and yes-we’re-great everyone to death when they ask about us. The perfect couple. The Great Black-Love Hope.

Today I told my perfect baby that I was afraid of our impending marriage. That it would end up being horrible and we’d get to hate each other. That we’d get into the situation and realize that there was “no” way out. Like the person who jumps off the cliff and changes their mind in mid flight. “There’s no ‘getting away’ from each other once we’re married,” I said, “there will be no ‘separate corners’ anymore. Our home will be our corner, and we have to be okay with that.” I just notice for the last few years that he’d never get to being completely comfortable around me. And would vy for the days when I’d go back to “my corner” — if I stayed for the weekend, Sunday night couldn’t come fast enough. Or if I was sitting there in his living room while he tried to do his routine for the night, it was with a constant eye over his shoulder or a check and double check of what I wanted. Instead of him just doing what comes naturally. To the extent that we don’t spend weekends together anymore… I sleep over there… maybe once every 6 or 7 weeks. And instead of complaining and saying “hey… this doesn’t feel right” or “gosh, i miss our weekends together,” I told myself that I’d learn to adapt and be alright with half of his personality coming through when I was around. That I was essentially… getting married to be all alone. So I started to train myself to not want him around. So that it would be okay when he wouldn’t want to be there. Numbing myself in advance.

Today, I stopped feeling alright with being alright with that. And I told him. Off of a completely unrelated subject. But it led me right to the heart of the matter — and I risked hurting his feelings, and maybe even what we’ve built together to tell him what was on my mind.

And for the first time in a very long time, we talked for 2 hours. His true voice came out and he told me what was on his heart and I shared what was on mine. And I remember our conversations having always been like this in the beginning — what happened? So busy trying to be “perfect” for each other. We forgot to just be each other. He poured his heart out to me, standing there on the phone in the park where he was waiting for me this evening… and neither of us felt out of place, just focused on each other’s words, asking for explanations of things, clarifying misunderstandings, vetting out fears. It was so cathartic and perfect. I feel a million pounds lighter. And I could feel he was lighter too, before he even said it. And we hung up the phone completely different from our conversation.

Definitely a good start. I hope we stay on this road.

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