A Twentieth Anniversary

Dates matter.
Sometimes, I feel that time does not heal wounds as it is supposed to. This is because time does not heal wounds, you have to do it for yourself.

Twenty years ago, today, I was marrying the one who would become the father of two beautifully loved boys, our sons. This was a sunny day, like today where I am at now.

Although the dates are the same, I think I would have forgotten it was the anniversary of my marriage, had I not wondered why I was feeling kind of over-emotional. And because I always tend to analyze (over-analyze?), I realized that was it! Especially because several recent conversations with that partner in life had been pretty tumultuous (understatement intended).

The newly wed walking out of town hall on July 25, 1992
We did it! finally

It was supposed to be a happy day, and certainly it was. But it had already so many red flags that will not show on the official picture, but that I will eventually read in those that stayed still in the memory book.

I chose to hide and not to tell, until much too late. I chose to pretend that the story was the one I was making up, showing off, and eventually brushing under.

There was no blogging at the time. No Instagram. No Twitter, nothing to catch glimpses if they were not looked at with the scrutinity they deserved. But I knew. I knew something was doomed, something was wrong and I failed at dealing with it.

It is certainly time for me to heal from my stories. This one too. Twenty years ago I got married to the man I thought would be a soulmate, not another cloud in my path. I now want to see the skies, as blue as they are, and not carry that cloud above my head, over and over. It is time to heal.

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Otir

French blogger in the US writes on cultural differences, disabilities, religion, social media and politics.

5 thoughts on “A Twentieth Anniversary”

    1. This is beautifully said Stilllearning2b.
      I believe that what is still painful is when you can’t let go of the past, and live in the present of the moment.

  1. This is extremely complex, Otir, and I do not know what led to the dissolution of your marriage. You mention here “red flags” that you chose (?) or preferred to ignore… It’s tough to realize, day in, day out, that one may have made a “bad” decision. But is “bad” really “bad”? If you had not married the man you married, you would not have the two beautiful boys with whom you now share your life…

    It is tough that you still have a rather “tumultuous” relationship with that man who was “a cloud in your path.” But maybe he is the kind of individual with whom a peaceful and decent relationship is impossible.
    I, too, married a man I loved dearly (no red flags there for me at the time) and that marriage led me to go live on another continent. The marriage began to deteriorate very seriously some 15 years later and, for all intents and purposes, was over 21 years later (although it took another two full years before we separated.) My not-so-ex-husband and I are good friends now (we never divorced, but that’s another story…), and I do my best not to dwell on a few horrific years of that marriage that took me into a vortex of deep depression. I still think that I do not deal well with relationships because I am incapable of dealing well (and effectively) with difficult and hurtful situations.

    1. Sure, Elisabeth, and each marriage is unique, each story is different, and definitely this intimate blogpost is not intending to draw conclusions on what to do or not to do, but only for me to let go out of my present moment something that I am still experiencing as painful.

      I am not finding solace on the pain that we both endured by saying that had we not married, the children we gave life to had not been, because I don’t believe this is the point. As you know it from me, I am a believer, and I believe in what I would call “a greater plan”.

      Therefore I believe that if there was a purpose in bringing those two specific lives via us, it had nothing to do with entering a contract together, the kind of contract a marriage is.

      Another friend of mine mentioned on Twitter that “Just because a love doesn’t last passionately until the day you die doesn’t make it a failed love. Love is not failure.” (@Purplecar)
      To which I answered: ” I agree. Except in this story, it was not love. It was need. was lying to myself, so that not to admit I needed to be married, because I felt bad about myself. I needed reassurance, and instead I entered a doomed contract.”

      Because of my lack of clarity at the time, a lot of pain was also inflicted to a lot more than only the one who is writing the story today here: and I feel very sorry for that too.

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