Dear Husband, You Don’t Complete Me
Dear Husband,
I love you. Deeply. Like a have-a-couple-kids-and-build-a-future-together, type of love.
But…Dear Husband? You Don’t Complete Me.
Five years ago, we got married. We had a beautiful venue, a great DJ, gorgeous flowers. Most of our wedding night we were swept up in the fantastic flurry of being surrounded by 300 friends and family members.
And then, at the stroke of midnight, the fantastic flurry dispersed, our glass carriage turned back into a pumpkin, and we hit the ground, hard.
When we got married, I thought that you were my one true love. I thought that you completed me. I was wrong.
For the past five years, I have been repeatedly slamming myself against the brick wall of trying to get you to complete me. For the past five years, I have been unconsciously reliving patterns of my past in my present. I am bloodied, and broken, but for the first time in my life, I’ve come to a new realization:
I’m already whole. I always have been.
I never have, and never will, need you to complete me. I am fantastically whole.
Dear Husband, this is a love letter.
It’s a love letter to me. I haven’t loved myself…maybe ever. I have never been able to see myself as anything other than lacking. But if I am to ever fully show up for anyone else in this world, I must finally show up fully for myself, first.
It’s a love letter to you. If I’m finally free to love myself, then I am also finally free to love you as you deserve to be loved. You’re an incredible human, with so many gifts and strengths. But by trying to force you to complete me, I’ve inadvertently reduced you. I want you to show up in our marriage as your full self, because I love you. Deeply.
It’s a love letter to us. For nine years, we’ve traveled through this life side-by-side. We’ve done the exciting. We’ve done the mundane. We’ve created two new, gorgeous beings. We’ve persisted in the face of adversity.
