Walls

I am just continuously creating walls to run up against.

Wall after wall after wall after wall.

Oh, these walls have names. Names like Fear. And Shame. And Trust Issues. Etc. Etc.

My poor husband. He is so stoic. Sure he has his difficulties, his bad days, those little habits that get on my nerves (like leaving his sock trail through the living room). But these are far and few in between. Mostly he is just this amazingly sturdy, trustworthy, calm and deeply-loving man. And my walls just keep driving "wedges" between us.

I guess I would like to say that it takes two people to put up a wall. But mostly I think that's not true. Mostly, one person puts up a wall and the other has to struggle to figure out some way to get over it or under it or around it. All the while the wall-builder sitting isolated on the other side, trying to figure out exactly how the wall got there and why they can't see their lover's face anymore.

So, I am in the place of trying to figure out why and how I am building walls. I know their names but I can't figure out why they have multiple lives. Do walls reincarnate themselves? Do they clone? It seems like every time I knock one down (with the help of many others, but mostly my husband), I build the same bloody wall right back up in a new place.

And so I am here, typing out my thoughts in a slightly wittier prose than they actually occur in my mind, to try and decipher the clues to this not so new mystery.

I was recalling today in a conversation with my husband what we might call a "schoolgirl crush" that I had on a much older cousin of a friend when I was in high school. It was one of those crushes like you might have on a teacher, or a friend's brother or something. You know, the kind that you know will never go anywhere. And so it is safe and silly. You might look forward to seeing your crush when they show up to your friend's house, but that is all it ever amounts to. Well, in this particular case my friend and her cousin were part of a very large, very social family. And everyone and anyone who even met a family member was treated like family. So, I began going bowling with them (a family ritual) and a few other people from my school, once every few weeks during my senior year; total maybe about 5 times. The particular cousin was about 10 years older than us, and very silly and flirtatious. (In retrospect, I think of how immature he must have been, flirting with a bunch of high schoolers.) In any case, one week bowling was canceled (I don't remember why), so we decided on an in house movie. I sat next to this crush. We were the only two on the couch and he felt a little too close to me. Ok, way to close. I remember beginning to feel nervous because I realized the situation I was in. Usually we were in a public environment, not the dark den of the family house. I was never this close to him. All of a sudden, the fun flirting-with-the-older-guy turned into something a little more...concrete. I was so nervous that I started shaking and I couldn't breathe (lucky asthmatic that I am). I faked that I was just cold, so he pulled a blanket off the arm of the couch. About five minutes after I sat under the blanket, practically cuddling with a grown man, I thought, "OK, this is crazy. I'm out of here." And I actually got up and left. I think I said something about it being late, parents worrying, blah blah blah.

Ok, let's be real. We all knew the potential for something going waaaayyy wrong. Dark den + movie + late night + blanket = trouble. Luckily, I was smart enough to get myself out of the situation before anything happened. But, had he wanted to take advantage of the situation, he could have. It didn't really matter that other people were there. We have all heard about things happening at parties full of people. My point is, I felt bad about it then. And I didn't feel any better recalling the incident to my husband over 7 years later.

But why?

Well, I think it boils down to the bricks that I use to make the walls. I felt ashamed because I knew, even at 17, that staying for a movie probably wasn't a great idea. My dad has always made me aware of the "safety" of public places. You never really know the boundaries that people set in their homes. I felt ashamed that I sort of fell into that doe-eyed, ego-boosting crush and allowed that to override my judgment, even if only for an hour or less. I feel the same shame now as I did sitting on the couch, convincing myself that getting up didn't make me look like an idiot. Or, more accurately, that I didn't care if I looked like an idiot. Actually, I think the fact that he let me get that comfortable shook me of my crush. I lost a bit of respect for a grown man that would encourage a high schooler to get that close.

So, I walked out of the situation unscathed, unharmed. But, it doesn't ever make me feel good to admit my dumber moments to my husband. Those situations where, if someone told me that they had done the same exact thing, I would have said, "WHAT where you THINKING?" or "Man, we are so silly when we are young aren't we?"

It has led to this habit of me holding my tongue when I randomly think of something that perhaps my husband doesn't know about me. Something that makes me feel a little less strong or capable or smart than the woman I would like to be. I hold it in until my stomach hurts and my heart aches and I practically burst from anticipation of the moment of divulging.

There is really only one solution. And that is to speak uncensored. To let my words come as they need to, with tact of course. To trust that my husband knows I am far from perfect, and to accept that he will love me no matter how stupid I was at 17. To trust that my choices in life have led me to this moment and that recalling that path gives me strength in my now. And to hear the words "I love you" and let them soak into my skin.

To my dearest Courtney. This was for you. And for me. I love you madly.