What I wish someone would have told me …
How much I would rejoice on the weeks my husband can come to church with me.
How lonely it can be to say I love you and rarely hear it said in return.
To not count birthdays with expectations, just plan for a normal day and if anything comes, great
To not let missed expectations ruin the joy of the little pleasant surprises that might happen.
How precious holding pinkies could be after a month of watching him flinch at attempts to touch.
Having him say no repeatedly and only after making other plans finding out he was ready to say yes in his head.
Going to family occasions alone, feeling like I’m single even with years of marriage under my belt.
Feeling forgotten after a night in silence with each of us in separate rooms.
Having him be so caught up in his own troubles that there isn’t room for what is going on in my life in his head.
Spending my nights alone because the only way for him to emotionally engage with me is when he is on medicine that sends him to bed early in the night.
Aching for children, but not daring to go there because the weight of fear and other responsibilities.
Feeling I bear the weight of providing for us, because if I can just take care of us well enough, maybe, just maybe there will be room enough in his mind for me and how I’m doing.
Realizing that with all these less than optimal moments I still melt when he really looks at me and I hear him pray for me. Realizing that what can feel like long moments of pain balances with the glimpses of joy. And that it is so worth it to be someone’s somebody, to be their number one and help them through hell. And to be loved with someone who has seen such darkness and has such empathy for your pain. To lay with your head in their lap as they touch your shoulder or play with your hair and know that they have seen your soul and you have seen theirs and you still love each other because of it.