I’ve been browsing through my older blog entries today. It’s hard to believe it’s only been about 6 months. I feel like I’ve lived several lifetimes in that 6 months.
I’ve confirmed my husband was acting weird and insecure and paranoid before I developed feelings for someone else, and before I was honest with him and told him I’d developed those feelings.
I wanted him to see me and understand me. I wanted him to value me enough to give me the space to heal, to be able to set aside his comfort in order for me to prioritize the literal needs that had gone unmet for so long.
I wanted so much for us to make it work somehow, even as it became more and more apparent how improbable that was.
I wanted him to take his hands off the frayed strings I was using to hold myself together, before they broke.
I was afraid that eventually the only strength I’d have left was the strength to leave.
My intuition was prophetic at times.
I still wish he could see me.