Getting back in the boat.
Like, whoa. There were several times in the past few days when I wished in a big way that I'd stayed a few extra days in Switzerland. You know, where life wasn't exactly real and I laid in a heated outdoor pool with snow falling on my face and ate Swiss chocolate like it was my job. Because when I got home life got very real - major relationship questions, a swollen knee that landed me in urgent care for the entire day, many other hard conversations.
My friends laugh at times about how enchanting life looks through a blog, especially this one, and I have a tendency, always have, to not want to write about the hard stuff. When I was younger, I used to rip pages about my "bad days" out of my journal. Um, not normal. Like everybody else, I have great days and hard days. I go through inspiring times and really bad shit. That’s more than okay. That’s life, yeah?
I hadn't realized how much the pressure of the wedding was weighing on both matt and I. (you know, finances, endless family and friend drama, anxiety, to-do lists. probably pretty par for the course.) I mean I sorta did, but mostly we had just gotten shorter, snappier and more annoyed with one other in the past few months, and rather than doing something to repair that we just kept charging ahead, acting like this was normal.
If our relationship is a boat, one person was sitting in it and the other person was treading water.
Not very inspiring.
Things came a head in a super big, ugly way this weekend and we had to seriously question ourselves - "do we want back in the same boat?"
In every relationship in the past when shit goes wrong, I usually run for the hills (many times with good reason.) sitting there, both of us in tears and feeling the lowest of the low, I realized I didn't want to go. I was ready to fight, dukes up, and not in the icky way, hitting below the beltway, I have been lately.
I know the way his hair looks in the morning, how it sort of sticks to one side of his head. I have laughed with him til I’ve almost peed my pants, and I’ve always had such awful arguments that I was ready to move to Bali. He drives me absolutely insane, and he makes me extremely happy. I hate the way he drives (new Yorker all the way). I love his generosity and huge heart - how he'll cook five-course meals for my friends who normally subsist on nachos and red wine, how he buys gifts for his "nephews and nieces" (friends' kids) every time we go over, how he supports me in every way he can, when he wrote my brother and I letters from "Santa" after we fell asleep Christmas eve.
The list goes on and on, and will continue to grow as we do. All we can do is work hard, love hard, and get back in the damn boat.