This Pregnant Body

This is me.  I'm six months pregnant.  Can't you tell?  Look at that belly!  Where did it come from?  It's honestly like it wasn't there and then it just was.  This is my body now.  This is what it looks like.

This is what it looked like when I first got pregnant, before I had a bump:

Those are size 1 bluejeans.  I was quite thin.  I've spent the vast majority of my life quite thin.  My body hasn't changed much from puberty to adulthood.  I'm 29 years old and (until recently) I frankly looked about the same as I did when I was 16.  I weighed about the same too.

I never had any serious body image issues. I guess that makes me fortunate.  I wanted bigger boobs, but other than that I figured my body was what it was and that was all there was to it.  I had a healthy attitude about my body, about bodies in general really.

Before I got pregnant I didn't think I could get pregnant.  Neither did my doctors.  But I always assumed if I did then my healthy attitude about my body would carry over into the pregnancy.  I just knew I'd be one of those Mother Goddess type women who gloried in their pregnant bodies, who rocked those baby bumps with pride and knew they were still sexy.

Confession:  it didn't carry over and I am apparently not much of a Mother Goddess type.  I really wanted the bump.  I wanted the big, obvious, look-at-me pregnant belly.  I wanted it.  I yearned for it, especially during the first four or five months when I was horridly sick with extreme morning sickness and I was losing weight instead of gaining it.  In fact, I lost 10 whole pounds.  It scared the bejeezus outta me.

Now I am at six months and I have gained exactly 10 pounds--the total number lost.  I have this glorious baby bump.  I have those big boobs I always wanted too (shocker!).  And sometimes I look in the mirror and I am in awe of this pregnant body.  Sometimes I look at this bump and I think my god, this is an amazing and beautiful thing!

Sometimes, though, I look at this pregnant body and I think ohmygawd, what happened to MY body?! Where did it go?  I look at this stomach that is suddenly not completely flat like it has been my entire life and I stare at it like it's some foreign thing that doesn't belong to me--like it's not my stomach at all.

On days like today I look in the mirror and I find myself thinking oh wow, I look like one of those starving children you see on charity commercials on television.  Yes, I know that's absolutely horrible of me.  I know those children are suffering from malnutrition and hunger. I feel bad for them.  I have donated money to them (when I had it to donate). But that's the analogy that pops into my mind.

On days like this I feel disconnected somehow from my own body--like it's not my body at all.  This is not the body I am used to living in.  Things hurt that never hurt before.  There is constant discomfort and indigestion I never had before.  There are headaches and backaches and breast aches that won't go away.  My breasts are not the same.  My stomach is not the same.  I haven't gained much weight anywhere else, but sometimes I get puffy and my feet swell.  Even my skin is not the same.  It is taut, stretched tight like an unpainted canvas across this marvelous life growing inside me.  It is dry and itchy where it was not before. I have acne when I haven't had a single pimple since I was 14 years old, and I have dry skin when I've never had dry skin in my entire 29 years of life! What kind of bipolar body is this?!

For some reason it's not PC to say that.  I'm supposed to be some kind of constantly happy pregnant glowing lady who thinks she's freaking supermodel beautiful all day long.  I'm supposed to hide these feelings with a smile and swear to the masses I love this body ALL THE TIME.

Well to hell with that.  I don't love this body all the time.  This body has heartburn.  I never even knew what heartburn was until I got this pregnant body.  This body has nausea and dizziness and faintness and swelling and itchy skin and sometimes my freaking gums bleed when I brush my teeth, and all my doctors say all of this is "normal" like that's supposed to make it all okay.

So I'm writing about this for all the other pregnant women who look in the mirror and some days find themselves thinking, "What the hell happened to my body?"  I am writing this for all the pregnant women who occasionally feel like giant whales and like the least desirable thing on the planet.  I am writing this because by god someone else should have written it long before me.

And now that I've written that I would like to say this:

There are other days.  There are days when you feel your baby move and you cradle this giant baby bump like it is the most precious, amazing thing on earth....because it is.  There are days when you marvel that your heavy, aching breasts are in the process of creating food for the baby you are carrying and you think that is awe inspiring....because it is.  There are days when you look in the mirror at your growing, rounded belly and even though your back is aching you think you look like a fertility goddess and it makes you feel powerful and connected to the earth and to life in a way you never have before....because you are.  There are days when your baby moves and you know that you are not alone in this body, and somehow you feel more connected to your body than you've ever felt in your entire life....because by god you really are!  

Daddies

I have always been utterly fascinated by that movie "Father of the Bride."  Even as a child I'd stop whatever I was doing to stare at the television and absorb George's relationship with his daughter, Annie.  Way back in 2011 I wrote about this movie on a different blog.  This is part of what I wrote:

"Father of the Bride" is on t.v. today.  I can't help but watch it every single time I come across it.  I marvel at this movie and George's relationship with his daughter.  It takes my breath and makes me insanely jealous and horribly sad, but I can't look away.  It's like this movie is the embodiment of everything I missed--all the things I never had, but somehow knew I wanted anyway. I cry every time I watch it.

My father wasn't the kind of father George Banks is in the movie.  He wasn't there.  He missed a lot.  Even when he was there he was absent in some ways, gone off in a drug induced haze....lost somewhere I could not follow.  I have a handful of painfully poignant memories, though, memories where my father was fully present. While I am grateful for the two or three moments in my life in which my father was actually a father, in many ways these simple events somehow only make it more heartbreaking that my daddy had it in him to be a good father and somehow never managed to do it. 

But he was my daddy.  I loved him anyway.  I loved him even when he was not there to love me.  And as I write this I cry because he is not here now.  He is gone forever.  He died when I was 19, and despite all of his faults and his inability to be a daddy, he was the only daddy I had and my heart breaks when I think of him because I miss him now even more than I missed him as a child.  I miss who he was though, not what he could have been. 

Last night as I watched my husband carry our youngest daughter in from the car where she had fallen asleep, her little sleeping face resting on his shoulder, I wondered if my father had ever carried a sleeping me into a house to tuck me into my bed.  I wondered if he'd ever loved me like that. 

But then it dawned on me that maybe my daddy wasn't like the George Banks's of the world, but my husband is.  He is present. He doesn't want to miss anything. He makes an effort.  He is there in every way he can be, and when he isn't there his heart breaks a little because he wishes he was. 

My daughters get to be Annie Banks.  They get this daddy who is always their daddy.  They get memories of sitting in their socks and nightgown at the breakfast table in the morning with their father.  They get memories of playing with him in the yard and being tucked in by him at night.  They get memories of him loving them and they get lots of these memories.  I don't have those kinds of memories, but I am so very grateful my children will.  I am so glad they will be able to remember their father as the kind of father who loved them enough.  If, somehow, my missing out on those things ensured that my daughters didn't have to miss them then I would miss them all again.  My husband is the kind of father to our children that I always wanted my own father to be.  I am lucky to have him and so are our kids. 

So on this Father's Day I'd like to say Happy Father's Day to all the fathers out there who step up and give their children all of the memories I missed out on.  I'd like to say Happy Father's Day to my husband who shows my girls what a man should be.  I'd like to say Happy Father's Day to my grandfather and my Uncle Richard, both of whom were there when my own father wasn't.  And I'd like to say Happy Father's Day to my daddy because, please believe me when I say this, a half-assed father is better than no father at all.  Happy Father's Day for what you could have been Daddy, and Happy Father's Day for what you were because what you were was all I had and now that you are gone I'd give anything just to have even that little bit back.

Out the Window

Photo courtesy of this blog.

I was still a teenager the first time I ever thought about a birth plan.  I was 19 years old and sitting in a college classroom learning about maternity nursing and midwifery when the professor gave us an assignment:  write a birth plan.  We would have two weeks to research the amazing variety of options available for labor and delivery and at the end of that two weeks we would have to present our plan to the classroom, and we'd have to justify every choice we made.  At the time I did not think I'd ever have children.  I had, in fact, sworn not to ever give birth or be a mother.  Nevertheless, I took this assignment very seriously and I researched it with myself in mind.  What would I want if I were giving birth?  What choices would I make as an informed woman?  What would be best for my body and my hypothetical baby?

I delved into my textbook and went to the library to check out every pregnancy book I could get my hands on.  Then two weeks later I presented my birth plan to the class.  My plan was different than most of the other birth plans.  Most people went with the standard hospital birth:  hydration via intravenous fluids, epidural to relieve pain, lying down during the first stage of labor, continuous fetal and contraction monitoring, give the baby antibiotic eye ointment after birth, etc. 

My plan differed from that greatly.  All of my research indicated that women who were allowed to hydrate naturally without IVs and whom walked around during stage one of labor had shorter and less complicated deliveries.  Epidurals can make pushing less effective and increase risk of caesarian section.  The eye ointment they put in a baby's eyes impedes vision for a few hours and is unnecessary unless the mother has an STD.  So my birth plan included delivery at a birthing center with no intravenous fluids, the ability to hydrate naturally, freedom to move around during all but the final stages of labor, pushing in a squatting position or in a birth tub, no epidural for pain management, no unnecessary fetal monitoring, and no antibiotic eye ointment. 

In the decade since I created this birth plan I have never once questioned its validity.  When I found out I was pregnant I pulled it out and examined it again and again, and though it had been ten years since I initially wrote it, I knew in my heart this was the optimal birth plan.  This was the best case scenario for having a happy, healthy birth experience.  This, though created when I was still a teenager and long before I ever even thought I would be a mother, was my birth plan.

This entire pregnancy I have had one choice after another taken away from me out of medical necessity.  Last week my entire birth plan was thrown out the window.  I am too high risk to deliver at a birthing center. I have to change doctors and deliver at a hospital.  An epidural was never a choice I was given in the first place so even if I wanted one I couldn't have it because my body does not metabolize anesthesia properly and it would make me sick.  Hospitals pretty much mandate that you labor from the bed and have all kinds of monitors hooked up to you from the get go.  I won't have a water birth option, and I'll be lucky if I am allowed to squat during delivery.  At this point I will not even be permitted to select my own doctor.  I have to transfer to an ultra high risk practice and the doctor "best suited to meet my unique needs" will be selected for me. 

To say I was devastated would be an understatement.  My husband held me while I sobbed hysterically for the better part of an hour.  Once I finally calmed down enough to drive myself home I went home where I cried some more.  This has been a difficult pill to swallow.  I have no control anymore.  My birth experience will not be anything like what I envisioned for myself, my husband, or our baby. 

I have had several people tell me this baby was a miracle in and of itself and therefore I shouldn't be upset about this abrupt change in birth plans.  I am well aware my baby is a miracle.  No one is more fully aware of the miracle growing inside me or the fact that this pregnancy by all rights should medically not even be possible than I am. 

I've also been told that the most important thing is for myself and the baby to come through this healthy and the birth plan doesn't matter.  Well maybe a birth plan did not matter to you, but it sure as hell mattered to me.  And of course I am also well aware that having a healthy baby is the most important end result of this pregnancy.  It is absurd to assume I don't know that.  It is absurd to assume I am more concerned with a birth plan than a healthy baby. 

But the bottom line is, I am allowed to grieve the loss of my birth plan and the illusion of control it has afforded me throughout this high risk pregnancy and all of the bed rest and activity restrictions I've been subjected to.  I am allowed to be upset that I won't be able to have the experience I wanted.  I am allowed to be a little bit selfish and angry, and wish that my body would allow me the opportunity to live out my own birth plan.  And I should be able to feel this way without facing the judgment of other women, women who, for the most part, have never had to walk in my shoes and who had the option of their own birth plans even if they did not take that option.

I am more at peace with this now than I was at the beginning of last week.  I am more able to process this, and more fully aware that there are certainly women who are facing or who have faced much worse situations than this one.  I find myself incredibly grateful that this baby is still healthy and growing inside of me, and I am overcome with relief and joy every time I feel him (or her) move. 

Forgiveness

"Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself."

--Suzanne Somers

"One forgives to the degree that one loves."

--Francis de La Rochefoucauld

Children change everything.  These tiny, defenseless, loving little humans somehow open adult eyes and minds and hearts to new discoveries, or perhaps to old discoveries that were long ago forgotten and discarded. I vaguely remember reading a quote somewhere when I was in college that said something like "A mother's love is endless and her heart always has room for forgiveness."  I tried to find that quote and who wrote it, but I couldn't so maybe I dreamt it up myself.  Regardless, I think it's true.  Motherhood makes you see things differently.  It changes how you view the world and how you interpret events.  So does real romantic love--that deep, endearing kind of love you can find with a person that makes everything else pale in comparison.  It changes you.  It makes you better.  

I didn't have a very easy childhood and my teen years and early 20s were no walk in the park either.  I did not love easily or fully.  I think perhaps it was a self defense mechanism and I thought it would keep me from feeling more pain.  If you did something wrong, if you treated me badly just once, then I would throw you away.  I would throw you away and never forgive you.  I said I forgave but never forgot.  Now I know that's just not true.  There can be no true forgiveness if all you see when you look at a person is their mistakes.  You can't ever repair the trust that is so essential to human relationships if you cling to a bad memory like that.  If you've had a long run and a good relationship with a person then sometimes you just have to chalk a broken confidence and hurt feelings up to human nature and move on.

You see, forgiveness really is, as Suzanne Somers said, a gift you give yourself.  It isn't for the other person.  It is for you. Forgiveness sets you free and it melts away all the hurt.  I know that sounds like hogwash to some of you, but it isn't.  This is a lesson that was a long time coming to this grudge holding, word wielding chick.  Forgiveness really will make you feel better.  

I also think Francis de la Rochefoucauld must have been a genius.  One really does forgive to the degree that one loves.  If you can't forgive fully enough to let go of hurt and maybe even attempt to repair broken friendships, then you aren't in a place where you are loving fully.  I am loving fully now.  My heart is so filled with love for my tiny little family that there just isn't room in it for grudges and ill will.  That may sound cliche and like a big load of crap, but it isn't.  I don't have space for old wounds anymore because I am far to busy making space for good memories.   

It really is amazing what love can do.  Real love really is limitless.  So today I am letting go of old wounds and hurt feelings and offering forgiveness to anyone who has hurt me.  So today I am letting go of two events, and the people reading this will know who they are.  As I write this, I realize I've already let go.  I am not sure either of them has, but perhaps this will allow them to do so as well.

1) You said something ugly about the man who is now my husband and spouted off opinions about legal and financial issues you didn't actually have all the information for.  I said, "Fuck you," in response. When you love someone as much as I love my husband then that love does not leave room for any person to say anything ugly about that person you've given your heart to.  I can't be sorry for defending him, and if you ever got to know him then you'd understand why I love him so much and why I jumped to his defense.  When you find your "one," and you will, then this will all make more sense to you. One day you will understand. 

I wrote some not so nice things publicly and tweeted them too. So did you.  Someone else was stirring the pot and I fully believed a number of rumors that I am not sure were ever true now. I apologize for my part in that. These not so nice things have long since been removed, at least on my end, for whatever that is worth. 

Then you got your friend to call my phone from her business line to try to ruin the best thing that has ever happened to me.  Fortunately, I didn't for one second believe any of the nonsense she was spouting and I recognized her voice, and was able to trace her number.  It didn't do you any good and I'm still not sure why you would act that way.  All that phone call did was reinforce what I already knew:  I love and trust this man with my whole heart.  That's an amazing thing.  I can only assume that for whatever reason at the time of this phone call you had yet to realize what I already knew:  this is the real deal and there are no doubts about it. This kind of love is an amazing thing.  I hope you find it for yourself.

2) I got married before you.  I had medical reasons I was not ready, willing, or able to discuss just yet and my wedding needed to be moved up in order to protect my unborn child.  My body could not handle the June wedding we had planned and I saw no reason to delay exchanging our vows until after the baby was born.  Neither did my husband.  Our reasons for moving our date were financial, practical, emotional, moral and completely justified. We moved our wedding forward and had a very small, intimate, and low-key ceremony in Charleston.  

But I think you were already upset before I had to move my date. My wedding, originally put on the back burner and planned for June, was moved up to about two weeks before your wedding. I had been helping you plan your wedding for over a year.  In fact, your wedding had been in the works for nearly 2 whole years, and for 2 years all your friends and family were happy and rejoicing for you--myself included. I created your wedding website for you. I found the hairstyle you used for your wedding day.  As your wedding date drew closer and there was nothing left to plan for you, I began planning my own wedding. I was happy and joyous and excited about getting married to the right person for the right reasons.  My heart was happy.  I can see now that you were never happy for me. You were angry that I dared find happiness and get engaged before you could walk down the aisle with the father of your child.  Then you were angry because I had to move my wedding date. When I asked you if you would be able to make the new date you flew off the handle and threw your healthy pregnancy, one which you'd gone to great lengths to hide and keep to yourself, in my face. That was ugly and uncalled for, and I think you know that. 

For some reason you felt my happiness and my small wedding ceremony took away from your big day.  I am sorry you felt that way.  I am not sorry for getting married on March 14th to the man of my dreams.  I am not sorry for being blessed with an unexpected medical miracle, no matter how fraught with complications this pregnancy has been.  I am not sorry for being happy for myself and rejoicing in this amazing love I found.  Love should be celebrated.  I can't be sorry for those things. 

I am sorry our children don't get to play together anymore because they were best friends. I am sorry that our mutual friends are in an uncomfortable position of being in the middle. I am sorry that my getting married, for whatever reason, made you feel bad.  My wedding didn't have anything to do with you, though, and neither does my marriage.  A marriage and a wedding are about the bride and groom, and doing what is best for themselves and their family.  It wasn't about you and it in no way reflected a lack of love, respect, or happiness from me to you.  I am sorry you felt it did.  I hope now that you've walked down the aisle yourself you can see that my wedding didn't take anything away from you and my happiness in no way has the power to diminish your own.  I wish you the best.

The two ladies addressed in this blog were very good friends to me once upon a time.  I was a good friend to them too, of that I have no doubt.  We are all guilty of allowing pride and pettiness to ruin good, strong friendships.  Friendships like that are hard to find.  Friends that truly understand you, who are more like family than anything else, friends like that are few and far between.  I was a friend like that to both of these ladies, and they were friends like that to me.  Our friendships were thrown away over silly, silly things.  For whatever it is worth I have forgiven both ladies fully, and I've forgiven myself for any part I played in the ultimate demise of these friendships.  I'm not the only one at fault, but I am woman enough to fess up to my part and apologize for it.  I extend warm wishes and friendship to both of you.  I am here if you need me, whenever that may be.  

For me, all is forgiven and forgotten.  Grudges and ill will only bring harm to the bearer.  I am a very blessed person, and I won't hold on to petty things anymore.  I have learned the true value of forgiveness.  I hope my readers will too.

 

Facebook Okays Rape Culture

I am a social media junky.  I have a personal Facebook profile and two professional Facebook pages. I have Twitter accounts and a LinkedIn account. I enjoy networking via social media.  I fully advocate for free speech, and I have frequently uttered Evelyn Beatrice Hall's famous quote (often misattributed to Voltaire) ,  "I disapprove of what you say but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

However, when a website has the option of choosing to report offensive material and refuses to remove said offensive material....well, I take offense. 

Facebook frequently removes images of mothers breastfeeding their children.  Breastfeeding is not offensive.  If you are offended by breastfeeding then frankly you are a moron.  There is no other suitable explanation for even reporting an image of a woman breastfeeding a child as offensive in the first place. The only explanation as far as I'm concerned is you're an idiot.  Facebook does not agree with me.  Just last month they made the news yet again for removing breastfeeding images.  Don't believe me?  Read this Huffington Post article.

Facebook will remove images of women using their boobs for their physiological purpose--to feed their young--and yet Facebook won't remove images I find far more graphic and offensive.  The image I want removed RIGHT NOW is an internet meme on the group page for Offensive Humor at its Best.  This image shows a young adult with tape over her mouth and reads, "Don't wrap it and tap it. Tape her and rape her." 

Let me reiterate that:

"Don't wrap it and tap it.  Tape her and rape her."

This image has been reported and numerous users have been informed that this image is not considered offensive by Facebook and will not be removed.

So Facebook thinks promoting breastfeeding is offensive, but promoting rape isn't.  

I am sickened.  This meme literally makes me want to vomit.  It promotes rape.  It advocates for men to ditch condoms and consensual sex, and rape someone instead.  

How is that not offensive?  How is that not offensive enough to merit removal?  How is that not graphic, violent, and hateful?

I am DISGUSTED.  You should be disgusted too.  

There is nothing even remotely funny about a meme that promotes rape.  Don't tell me to get a sense of humor.  That's not funny.  If you'd ever been raped then it really wouldn't be "funny" to you now would it?  It really wouldn't be "amusing" then.  It shouldn't be amusing now.  

This isn't humor.  This isn't just some tasteless joke.  This isn't a haha-funny-funny meme.  

This is ABHORRENT.  This is DISGRACEFUL.  This is REPUGNANT.  

It isn't laughable.  It isn't a laughing matter.  Rape isn't funny.  

There is something seriously wrong with a policy that allows images of women feeding babies to be removed while at the same time allowing images promoting graphic sexual violence to remain in place. 

7 Dress Sizes: The Authors!

Seven Dress Sizes is a remarkable collection of short stories highlighting the intrinsic value of loving yourself, no matter what size or how little your little black dress is.  Each story is a story about body consciousness and overcoming body image issues.  These stories are about finding yourself and learning to love yourself just the way you are.  No matter what your size, you'll find a character you can relate to.

Available in ebook and paperback on Amazon. Available in paperback at Barnes and Noble, will be available for Nook in about a month and a half!

The Authors:

A.T. Russell:  A.T.hails from the greater Chicago area, and his upcoming Alpha Rising Saga will be published by Twisted Core Press.  The first book in the series, New Alpha Rising: Ascension Part I, is available on Amazon. More info on A.T. can be found at his website, click here to see it!

Dawn Kirby:  Dawn is the author of the Serenity Series, also published by Twisted Core Press.  The first book in the series, Secrets, is currently available on Amazon.  Dawn calls Texas home, and you can find her website here.

Jude Johnson:  Jude resides in Tucson, Arizona, and her books are nearly as hot as the weather there! Jude's Dragon and Hawk Series is available on Amazon. Click here to see her website. 

Tina Carreiro:  Tina is from Florida, and the first book in her Power of the Moon Series is available on Amazon!  Tina also has a website and a blog!

Michelle Horst:  Michelle offers our book an international flair! She is writing all the way from South Africa! Her book, Vaalbara, is also available on Amazon.  Michelle has a ton of social media sites and you can find them all posted below:

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Michelle-Horst/e/B007BBSJR2/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1 

Twitter: @MichelleAHorst

FaceBook: Michelle Horst:  http://www.facebook.com/MichelleAnnHorst

FaceBook: Vaalbara: http://www.facebook.com/VaalbaraVisionsAndShadows?ref=hl

BlogSpot: http://authormichellehorst.blogspot.com/

Freado: http://www.freado.com/users/29738/michelle-horst
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/vaalbara-visions-shadows-michelle-horst/1112501370

La-Tessa Montgomery:  La-Tessa is truly one of the most enthusiastic people I've ever had the pleasure of working with.  I'm embarrassed to say I somehow never got around to finding out where Tessa is from, but we had lots of fun commiserating as the token "skinny bitches" of the series!  We're thin and we rock our curves, or lack thereof with pride! La-Tessa is also a social media junky and she can be found:
Author Site: www.LaTessaMontgomeryAuthor.com
Personal blog: www.LaTessaMontgomery.com
Twitter: www.Twitter.com/LaTessa25
FaceBook Page: La-Tessa Montgomery, Author

And, finally, I suppose I should say something about myself.  I'm a southern girl. I'm addicted to sweet tea. I lack that filter everyone else seems to have, and that means I don't have any tact.  I am an editor, and when I'm not writing I'm also a social media junky.  Of course if you're reading this then chances are you already knew all that, didn't you?  Here are my links (minus this website because you've obviously already found it):
Twitter: @WordsmithJenn
Facebook: Jennifer Welborn
Amazon: Author Page

On Romantic Love

I was never the sappy sort.  I was never much of a romantic.  I desperately wanted to believe in the whole white knight in shining armor thing, but it always seemed a bit too absurd for me.  And let's face it--I've never been the damsel in distress type.

Sure, I went through that phase all teenage girls go through--you know the one, the one where you convince yourself that every minor infatuation is true love and no truer love could possibly exist for you until the next infatuation pops into your life.

But I did fall in love eventually. I fell in love once, as all teenagers must.  I fell in love with a blond haired boy with the bluest blue eyes I'd ever seen.  And I watched this boy turn into a young man, and I loved him still.  I loved him in that all encompassing way teenagers love.  I was a girl, really, but I loved him all the same.  And then when I was 18 and he was 21 this first love of mine died.  He was ever so rudely ripped from this world, and my heart tore itself in two with the loss.  

And after that I threw romantic love away. I gave up on it. I decided as much pain as it had wrought me, it must be a truly useless emotion. I never again considered the idea of soul mates or "the one" as actual possibilities.  Instead, I convinced myself that these were silly notions for silly people and no such thing could ever exist in any productive, good for you sort of way.  I believed quite wholeheartedly that the only real, grown-up love that existed was a love born of mutual affection for one another and perhaps friendship, but passion or anything like it was simply unnecessary and would only lead to wholly preventable heartache.

This belief system was truly the folly of my young adult life.  Or perhaps the folly was clinging so stubbornly to such a ridiculous idea of what love must be.  In any case, it led me to make stupid decisions.

Then, quite suddenly, or perhaps, not suddenly enough, I once again found myself feeling a love as all encompassing and complete as the love I had felt once, long, long ago, for the boy-turned-young-man who had died far too soon. 

I was faced with the raw fact that no matter what utter codswallop I had been feeding myself for 10 years about "choosing" to love the "right person" (i.e. logical and practical person), one simply does not "choose" to love someone romantically.  You either do or you do not.  There is no choice.  When the person is actually the "right" person for you, you are left with no choice but to love them--with all you've got and with every breath you take, no matter how you fight it. 

I fell in love, ever so madly, with a man I had been friends with for at least 14 years, the man I am now married to.  I fell in love with him even as I tried not to.  I fell in love with him even as I denied it was happening. I fell in love with him even as I insisted to myself that love like this was not practical and would only prove harmful.  I fell in love despite my protestations and fear, and there was fear.  I fell in love all the same.  

And then I had to admit it to myself.  I had to admit that all the things I thought I knew about love were wrong and that perhaps, as silly as I'd always believed it to be, soul mates were very real.  I had to admit it because I'd just found mine, my soul mate, in a man I'd called friend for over a decade.  

My husband is the answer to a question I never even knew I had.  He is the kindest, most patient man I've ever met.  He balances me, and yes he really does make me more whole, somehow, than I ever was before. 

I now fully believe in soul mates, and I believe there is a "one" out there just for you--whomever you are.  I believe it as I never allowed myself to believe it before because I was lucky enough to find mine, and I found him right under my nose, where he'd been all along.