What I Thought Was Love

Despite being married at the young age of 23, my husband was not my first serious relationship.

I met him when I was 19 and we dated on and off until we got married in 2002.  In our few “off” periods (and even before I met him) I went on numerous dates and had couple relationships – only a few of which I don’t look back on with complete embarrassment and a tinge of regret.

Sometimes I think about who I was before I was Andy’s wife or Andy’s girlfriend.  I wonder if I was ever really myself in those relationships or if I became what was needed/expected for the “relationship” I was in.  It’s easy to roll my eyes now at my youthful indiscretions and silly choices, but at the time those choices defined quite a bit about what I thought was love.

I left my family, transferred schools, and moved to Georgia for what I thought was love.

I pretended to care about sports for what I thought was love.

I pretended to understand and care about music for what I thought was love.

I explored other religions for what I thought was love.

I spent money I didn’t have for what I thought was love.

I ignored people whose company I really enjoyed for what I thought was love.

I said “yes” when I should have said “no” for what I thought was love.

The list could go on.  Maybe I shouldn’t rehash all the “before” stuff.  But, I believe it is important because it shaped who I became (and who I still am) and greatly influenced some of the wonderful choices I have made since I discovered that genuine, authentic, real, grow-old-together kind of love.

I stayed in Georgia real love.

I chose to give up a career and stay home and make babies for real love.

I created a home, a life, and a family for real love.

I learned to accept (not necessarily watch!) college football for real love.

I learned to make fried chicken and sweet tea for real love.

I learned to be myself for real love.

I learned to tolerate and slightly appreciate punk rock music for real love.

And, most importantly, I found my better half in the midst of real love.

I’ve been lucky in the love department.  I’ve been blessed with an amazing, honest, caring man that would bend the world a million ways if I asked him to try.  He’s been kind and loving and unbelievably supportive of all my quirks and ideas – never once saying anything that didn’t make me think I could do something.  I found him when I was young and I’m pretty sure we’ll still like each other when we’re old.  And with him I’m the most “me” I’ve ever been…

In full disclosure, this post was inspired by the book “Lost Edens” by Jamie Patterson. This book is a raw, emotional account of the lengths a person will go for what they believe is love only to discover that love is a facade hiding behind the reality of abuse.  As a member of the From Left To Write Book Club, I received a complimentary copy of the book.