Flowers

Have you ever heard the song #Flowers by Lauren Spencer Smith? #LaurenSpencer

The first time I heard it, I cried. Not quiet tears. The kind that catch in your chest and make you feel exposed, like someone cracked you open without permission.

Want to know why?

“Always thought I’d only make a fool of someone else…Now you’ve only gone and made me make one of myself.”

That line felt like a #confession I didn’t know how to say out loud.

How does a stranger write a song that mirrors your life so precisely? My married life. My relationship. My reality.

My husband, let’s call him Jared. Not his real name. It can’t be. I’m not ready to be fully seen yet. This is raw. This is real. This is still bleeding.

Some days, it feels like I’m married to an eighteen-year-old boy with the emotional capacity of a twelve-year-old. And that’s not sarcasm. My almost sixteen-year-old makes more rational, thoughtful decisions than my thirty-seven-year-old husband.

When we argue, which is often... his solution is always the same: space. He gives me #space so he won’t be “in #trouble.”

What does that even mean?

For years, all he’s ever given me is space. He gave me space when I lost the one man in my life who truly mattered. That story #deserves its own post. I’m not ready for it yet.

He argues with me about how I feel. As if he gets to decide that. He doesn’t listen, he just says “sorry.” And I’ve said it more times than I can count: sorry doesn’t mean a damn thing if nothing #changes.

Words without action are just noise.

I can’t pretend I was young and naïve and accidentally fell into this. I didn’t fall in love with him. I fell into comfort. And maybe that makes me terrible, but it makes me honest.

He begged. I gave in. I said #yes.

I make good money. I have a solid career. Does it hurt to have more security? No. It doesn’t. People who have struggled will judge me for that. But I grew up watching my single mother drown #financially, and I promised myself I would never put my children back in that position. I refuse to romanticize instability.

During the years we dated, he broke up with me multiple times. You didn’t know that because you don’t know me. Not really. Not yet.

The truth is, I had no expectations of him. None. Zero. He wasn’t the first man to fail me. He wasn’t even close.

Before him, I had already been ruined.

I’ve been cheated on. I’ve been lied to. I’ve had a gun held to my head while holding my newborn baby. I’ve fled across state lines in less than twelve hours to escape domestic violence. I’ve disappeared from social media for years to protect a child.

So no.... my husband isn’t entirely to blame.

I was broken long before he arrived.

There are no flowers here. No apologies wrapped in meaning. Only space. And you know what space really gives you?

Distance. Distance gives you permission to detach. Distance gives you room to move on.

A relationship is not 90/10. It’s not 80/20. And it sure as hell isn’t silence.

If someone responds to conflict by disappearing, that isn’t peace, it’s #abandonment. And I have abandonment issues already. Lets talk about Bio Father issues on another day.

#Comfort does not equal mental #stability.

There are no flowers here.

Just space.

XOXO