recently

the last post spoke of my engagement, this one will speak of my marriage, and all that happened in between.

we were engaged on memorial day, may 28. we’d gone sunrise skydiving that morning, had an early lunch, and then visited a quiet beach, where he proposed. it was magical.

however, later that day, as it was the final evening of a weekend and a return to work would occur the next day, i had a full-scale panic attack. panic attacks were virtually unknown to me before the early fall of 2011. 

you see, in may, 2011 i started a new job. within weeks i was unsure if i was good enough or how long i’d last, if i really had what it took. i decided to persevere, stick with it, and do my best. sure i dreaded every monday, an increasingly powerful dread leading to the aforementioned panic attacks which occurred most sunday evenings.  my poor husband-to-be would listen and let me cry on his shoulder and tell me that he still thought i was awesome, even though there were many people who i spent 40+ hours with every week who obviously thought otherwise. (i’m not going to go into why this job didn’t work, but suffice to say i’ve never dreaded anything as much as i dreaded each morning. and i’ve done my fair share of difficult and unpleasant things, including 15 hour work days staring at 5am, which were nothing in comparison.)

in december, i was preparing to go back home for the holidays. mr. now-hubby told me i should quit before i left, then take my vacation. he would take care of my financial needs until i found something else. but i was stubborn; the allure of paid vacation, medical insurance and independence was too great, plus i’d received a promotion and pay raise in mid-december, maybe things would change. i went home, flew back and went back to work the next day. but in the back of my mind, i held his promise: i knew i could leave.

fast-forward to the day i got a ring around my finger, and my largest-to-date attack. he told me, under no uncertain terms, that i had to quit the next day, no matter what. i couldn’t keep throwing myself in front of a bus for money and health insurance. when i called my mom the next morning to relay my engagement news and his commandment, she also encouraged me to stop being miserable.

i knew the man loved me long before he proposed to me. but when someone cares so much about you that they command (in a loving way) you to stop doing something that is making you dread every day, it speaks volumes. for him to say, “i love you, i will take care of you, please be happy”, was more support than anyone had ever physically offered me. sure my parents had taken care of me through the day i moved out, and i’ve always known that if something were to happen i could return to their home, they are my parents. although not all parents care for their adult children in this way, it is, to me, unsurprising that they would make such a promise. (sidenote: i’d never expect a friend to make such an offer, and i have had a number of good friends give excellent life advice/commandments, for which I am eternally grateful.) but to have someone, even a fiance, say this was unknown. my happiness was that important to him, he’d take a financial hit, take me on, as his responsibility. he would love me for quitting, for standing up for my sanity. he would love me when i had nothing to give except the ability to make excellent chocolate chip cookies, when i wasn’t miss independent anymore.

after my last day, in mid-june, i received a cash-out of my vacation days, and i was officially gone. it’s kind of demoralizing for someone who has worked very hard since their teenage years to create a life for themselves, to suddenly not wake up every morning with a to-do list of shifts and when they start. to have time to plan a wedding and read books on the beach and sleep deeply and happily for the first time in a year. i don’t have the identity of employment anymore, the pride of bringing home a nice paycheck every 2 weeks. it still bothers me that i’m basically a barnacle, relying on him. but i’m actually happy. i don’t go to bed feeling like a failure, only to wake up dreading the new day. i tell him “thank you for making me quit” almost weekly, because the change in me has been so radical. (yes, that’s right, i said my own happiness can feel demoralizing. talk about mixed feelings!)

on august 1, we were wed in a private ceremony. it was lovely and perfect. we’re a good match, he and i. i’m happy to make him dinner when he comes home and wash his clothes, vacuum and water the houseplants, make sure the bills get paid on time. i’m trying to plan my next move, see what lies around the next corner, through the next window. i do work part-time even yet (a longtime second job that i kept just in case the “real” job didn’t work), which i like well enough. he doesn’t seem to mind that i’m not the independent woman i was when we first met, and he does take very good care of me.

i guess for now i’m just a happy barnacle… and maybe, just maybe, the makes of a better blogger.