In my marriage, I lived in defense for a long time. Disappointment, while uncomfortable, became familiar. I did not realize it was a survival response. I simply thought I had high standards, or that I was being clear about what mattered to me.

It is a kind of oxymoron, a weird, squiggly journey, to start with such an adverse concept of self, only to find that love and wholeheartedness are about coming home to your own body, thoughts, emotions, and process… to own your story.

Showing up like this isn’t always easy. It asks for patience, presence, and vulnerability. It means stepping back from my own reactivity, letting go of the immediate need to fix, control, or be “right.”

Then the nuance found me and disrupted everything. I realized that despite the initial success, the changes were not sticking in a lasting, meaningful way. I struggled to stay consistent when life brought unexpected detours, detours that carried grief…

The pressure to appease me that I had put on him over the years was not intentional, nor was it a lack of kindness or love on my part. It was my effort to feel safe, shaped by a very disorganized attachment style and a nervous system that learned hypervigilance was more important than connection.

For most of my life, I believed that change required pushing harder, being different, being “fixed.” I thought something inside me, or in others, needed correction in order to feel whole or connected. That relentless striving left me exhausted, frustrated, and stuck in cycles of shame and judgment.