Andrew and I have two wedding anniversaries, and neither of us remember the dates and quite honestly, the years. If we sat down and calculated it then I’m sure we’d figure it out but why would we waste precious making out time with math equations? Fuck that.
We just spent gobs of money on our weekend in Seattle, validating the splurge with the idea that it is (one of) our wedding anniversaries, after all. Until his mom informed us that we got married mid-July last year, not June.
A few years ago on a quiet evening in October we exchanged rings and blended our families, spoke vows from our hearts to each other and to our children, our parents and our siblings. We couldn’t legally marry because Andrew’s divorce hit Supreme Court and not enough bodies were sacrificed at that point to rule a final order, so we, you know, we did it under the table.
I’m going to tell you a secret.
Getting divorced pulls the rug out of everything you have ever known to be true.
Divorce survivors second-guess the goodness of spinach and the rules of gravity and so when a few of us blind idiots get remarried, or involve ourselves in a new committed relationship, we pretty much set out to sabotage it just to test it. We think oh hey, let’s blow this shit up and see if it survives. Right? So true.
I flushed the first ring that Andrew gave me, and minutes later, he threw his away. I literally flushed my ring. Downstairs powder room toilet. Boom. Gone.
When you find your everything, the primal, fear-driven animal takes over as a way of self-preservation. Which works in the animal kingdom, sure. But we are humans, built for connection and intimacy and so fear ends up being our ultimate demise.
Fear has turned me into someone I am not proud of, but by grace Love has been stronger.
For those of you who are dabbling with new relationships after a broken heart: Make sure your dysfunction matches your partner’s. It doesn’t have to be the same (it wouldn’t be anyway!) but it’s got to yin the fuck out of your yang.