I’m not good at being vulnerable, and I think that may have a lot to do with why I have a blog like this.
Confessional writing gives me the opportunity to be vulnerable…safely.
You can’t see me. Most of you don’t even know me, though you may feel you do (and rightfully so, in many regards, because if you read my words here, you probably know the deepest me better than my own family).
But this difficulty with vulnerability is exactly the thing that complicates my marriage.
It’s something I need to work on.
One of the places it causes trouble is with my difficulty in reaching out to my husband in times of deep separation. When we fall apart, I’m never quite sure how to reach out and bridge the gap.
I put my hand on his thigh on the couch, hoping he will take my hand.
I scooch a little closer, hoping he will put his arm around me or invite me to put my head on his chest.
For awhile now, I’ve been wearing pajamas to bed. It’s a clear message of division in our marriage; I have been sleeping naked for years, as that is his preference.
Last night, I went to bed naked, and he curved around me, our bodies knowing more about how to reconnect than our brains or hearts did.
We didn’t have sex, but it was a beginning.
It was a beginning.