My husband and I had a rather unique path down the aisle to “I do.” Our relationship, round one, was characterized by times of idyllic friendship which inched us toward emotional intimacy, which resulted in him hitting the eject button. Repeatedly.
Whenever he said he needed space, I obeyed the letter of his law but not the spirit. Within a month, we were back together, typically because of my charitable, good nature (read: I was a skilled manipulator). This cyclical drama culminated in a proposal (we had a good week) and a short engagement. Not short because we planned a quick wedding, but short because he panicked and called everything off.
His decision precipitated two years of separation, two years of counseling, two years of coming to terms with some significant fears and broken patterns of relating–for both of us. By the time he re-initiated contact, we had each made significant progress toward relational wholeness. This time, his proposal stuck and we celebrated our nuptials with friends and family who admittedly remained somewhat suspicious of our sanity.
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