Friday night I was stressed. I spent 2 and a half days in training half agreeing with the subject, half ridiculing it. Trapped in a meeting room for hours with my co-workers, whom I genuinely like. But I am absolutely awful at being "trapped". Wanting to run, feeling the pavement slip beneath my feet while I race to accelerate to a speed where I could lift off.
Not long after I got home from work I had another long drawn out argument with my older daughter whose behavior challenges me daily as a parent, a grandparent, a person. With a pounding headache I decided to lay down for a little while until my husband got home from work. He, too, had been trapped in training all week.
I was feeling pretty down when I heard the bedroom door open and opened my eyes to see him standing at the foot of the bed. It's hard to put that moment into words. In literature it would be something of an epiphany. Suddenly, looking at the love and concern in his eyes I felt all my stresses lift away. "Come lay down with me." There was nothing sexual about this. Just the warmth of two people drawing comfort from one another. We didn't talk about why we felt so crappy. It wasn't necessary. It was enough to know there was someone you could rest your head on and put the rest of the world away for a little while.
Over the past few days I have thought about that feeling a lot. There has been a shift in our relationship, which was always good. But there seems to be an added dimension now. We will have our 5th anniversary in June. The passion has always been a constant in our love, and of course we are friends. But this is something bigger and I don't really have a name for it.
My first marriage was a nightmare; ten years of a jealousy so profound it drove me crazy. I couldn't talk to anyone, go anywhere, write anything, think anything without explaining why. Sometimes "why" is just "because". As a "writer" it was horrible for me. Everything I wrote was examined under a microscope for possible signs of infidelity. I learned that if you are pushed hard enough, accused often enough, you sometimes respond by fulfilling those fears. That's not an excuse, anymore than my youth was an excuse, but it certainly was an indication that things were not and never would be good in that relationship.
I thought long and hard before marrying again, walking away from some relationships that had disaster written in bold red letters on their faces. I never thought I would be willing or able to handle the give and take of a marriage again. I was free and it was good. I could hog the whole bed, watch tv until dawn, go on a trip anywhere I chose, talk to a bum on the street if I felt like it. I could go back to school, work anywhere and anytime I wanted to. If I chose to wear spike heels and a blouse cut down to my belly button or a torn flannel nightie that was fine. Marriage would surely mean giving that up. I could put my most private thoughts on paper as journals or works of fiction and not be questioned about my inspiration. I could take photos of cowboys, rock bands, homeless people pissing in the street and it was my choice. There was no room for that freedom in a marriage.
But my husband has not only embraced my not perfect body, my quirky behavior, my sometimes irrational ideas, but the parts of me that fly free, the independent me. He celebrates me and I have found I can celebrate him as well. We are individuals who come together like a well designed puzzle.
Thanks G-d. I'll continue to try to pay attention to the road signs.
