One Year

This last weekend marked one year from the day I almost gave up on my dreams.  All of my dreams.  The big and the little.  My husband and I got into a fight... after the most wonderful month of marriage I felt we had ever had.  He didn't see it that way.  He didn't see it that way at all.  He said that he had bit his tongue for the last month, instead of sharing his ideas.

This cut to the core, because, after 13 years of marriage, that was the only one in which I hadn't felt criticized and inadequate.  When the fight had ended, or we had both walked away -- how ever it happened -- I remember posting on facebook an apology to all who knew me, for being a complete failure.  This elicited quite a bit of response, but I wasn't there to see it.  As soon as I posted, I logged out and started a new account on facebook, with the pen name I had had such high hope for a few months before.

I did this to help the ONE person I felt I could be of any use to.  That's how low I was.  I felt there was only one person in the world who could benefit from the fact that I was alive, and that was only because I could do something to help his Google listing.

Just as I was getting ready to log out of that account, he sent me a friend request.  He had seen my other post, and was there to find out the meaning of it.  We talked for the next couple of hours, and he gave some of the best advice I have ever been given.  It was simple, but to me profound.  Basically, he told me to be myself and to quit trying to please other people.  He reminded me that no one is perfect.

Later that evening, another friend, contacted me.  He had an insight to my family and my husband I couldn't see.  He asked me to trust him, then proceeded to tell me that my husband loved me very much.  That he thought the world of me, and that there was no reason the two of us should fight, since we were clearly devoted to one another.

I told him, as much as I wanted to believe that, it didn't seem possible.  Then he asked the question that set the road for change.  He asked, "How does it seem to you when you share an idea with him?"

Immediately, I knew the answer.  "I feel like I am standing on a narrow cliff edge, inching my way along.  Every idea I put out there is like taking a step forward, feeling my way along.  I can't see what is coming or if I am going the right way... but when I lean out to look, he is like the wind, waiting to suck me off the cliff and hurl me to the ground.

He was stunned by my word picture, and again asked me to trust him.  He said, "I see things very differently.  First, you are not on a cliff edge.  You are in a meadow.  There is nothing around you but tall grass and a few butterflies.  Second, there is no wind to hurt you -- a gentle breeze, yes, but not a wind.  Third, if you fall, it won't be far."  Then, he asked something of me.  "Here is what I want you to do.  Every time you feel pushed by what he has to say, I want you to remember you are not on a cliff, but in a meadow.  Then, I want you to dance.   Dance, dance, dance and dance!"

It took several months to remember who I was and to live in that reality.  The entire time was spent reminding myself that I couldn't fall far and to dance.  Dance, dance, dance and dance!  And dance I did, until it became natural.  Until I could smile when I felt pushed.  Until I no longer felt pushed.  Until I was happy.  And then the strangest thing happened.  My husband and I started talking to each other -- things beyond, 'When do you think you will be home?' and  'Where are yo going and how many kids are you taking?'

We started talking about things that really mattered to us.  At first it was scary, and there were a few fights. Old habits die hard, but soon, we were talking in depth, sharing thoughts and ideas and enjoying each others company.  Today, one year later, I am so in love with my man and so grateful he is part of my life.