Once upon a time there was a little girl who, as she grew up, discovered that her heart came alive as she engaged with her story and learned how to share it.
When something is shattered sometimes the pieces are too small to put back together again. But that's just because you're looking at it wrong.
I wish someone had told me nine years ago that sometimes in marriage, you need to separate. And that doesn't mean you're giving up. Or you've failed.
We are in the midst of a relational Harvey-sized disaster, devastating our fragile construction of a marriage. We’re both being broken apart. Stripped down and laid bare. And it is terribly painful.
But there is hope.
She talked about the messiness of marriage in a way that I deeply connected with. She never shied away from the hard stuff. But she always did that in the context of why her marriage - and marriage in general - is worth the fight.
Or maybe that's just what I took away from it.
Anyway, always until now.