The more M and I slowly melt our lives together…the more I want to share my story with him. Anytime I am blogging about something , I feel the urge to show him. Anytime I get a cute, funny, inspiring or heartfelt comment (so, pretty much all of them!), I feel the urge to show him.
Yet I have hesitated.
And he has never once peeked over my shoulder or tried to read it. Even when I tell him he could (last night, when I was writing my sister post, I told him he could peak, and he still declined. Willpower, man!)
But I have showed him just one post. One really big, important post.
My throwback on the end of my marriage.
Of course he knows what happened, why we divorced, etc., but I wanted him to read it first-hand.
So I put the post into a Word document (so to still keep it ‘separate’ from my blog) and let him read it as I sat back and watched, re-reading over his shoulder in places, with a small lump growing in my throat, the power of watching him read my story, my really raw, sad, scared moments. Looking from the outside in, the lump growing in my throat wasn’t so much because I was sad to re-read it, but overjoyed at the scene unfolding…the man I love, whom I absolutely believe I was meant to meet and be with for as long as we’re meant to be…was reading the story of the end of my marriage, something I wrote in what feels like eons ago originally, never believing I’d find anything close to what I have now.
But I have. And I cannot put into words what that feels like. Just. Blessed.
And as he finished reading, I saw a tear trickle down his face.
And by the time he looked at me, he just sat there, silently. Crying. Eyes red.
“Babe, why are you crying?”
M: “Because of the pain you were in. I never want to see you that sad. I don’t like to see you hurt or upset.”
*resting his forehead on mine, looking into my eyes*
M: “I promise to never hurt you like that. Ever.”
A moment. One I’ll never forget.
His reaction, his words, his utmost love…are all reasons I want to share my story with him. Share parts of this with him. Perhaps not all of it, but some. Selectively. Because he’s part of me, part of my heart, and this is my story.