I don’t know when I became accustomed to not being happy, where waiting for the other shoe to fall or the rug to be swept out from under me became the norm, but I am acutely aware that it’s not at all normal now.
I am actually happily married. It’s happened. It exists. I don’t’ have to try very hard. I’m just myself. He’s himself. We go to work, we come home. We eat dinner as a family, we do our own things, we do things together, we hardly ever fight, we have sex, we don’t have sex, we laugh together, I fall asleep snuggled up to him or him curled up behind me, there are no expectations…things just fall into place. It works. And I’m happy. He’s happy. The kids are happy. But I find myself looking for signs that something is amiss. Looking for whatever it is that I’m missing because it can’t possibly be that this is it. There isn’t a secret I’m going to find out 4 weeks from now? He’s just suddenly not going to decide that he’s unhappy? He’s not suddenly not going to come home one night? That could be a touch of bipolar paranoia.
But seriously? This is it? Life is this easy? Love is this reliable? Happiness just happens?
This guy comes home everyday happily. Helps the kids with their schoolwork. He even makes dinner and does the dishes. He sends me text messages every morning that say, Good morning, beautiful. I love you. Have a great day….or something to that effect. He kisses my good night, every night. And when I tell him how wonderful he is or vice versa we both say, but I’m really not, I’m not doing that much. It just happens. There’s no drama, no tragedy, no ultimatums. We just are. It just is. We are happy.
It’s absolutely phenomenal to me that I spent so much time, living is such a distorted, unpredictable, alter reality and THAT actually became so normal to me that THIS is hard to accept???
I’m relearning happy.
What a concept.