we made it – Sweat & Sparkle

On any given morning, I certainly do not leap eagerly out of bed in my excitement to get to work. But this morning was even tougher than usual. I was wrapped up snugly in my husband’s arms, so comfy that it should be illegal, and if the alarm snooze would have stopped rudely interrupting me, I could easily have drifted right back to sleep.

On my commute this morning, I was pouting about being on my way to work instead of still cozy and happy in bed with my husband, when it occurred to me that it really wasn’t that bad. At the end of the work day, I would be heading home to him, to a home we love, to another evening and another morning of snuggling happily. There are worse things, right?

I thought about our roughest days. Over the past nearly 20 years, we have had some humdingers: jealous attacks, groundless accusations, depraved insults, endless court dates, confused questions and heartbreaking cries from four innocent children who didn’t understand what was happening and who were too often thrust into the middle of it by selfish others. It felt like a never-ending battlefield for a long time, but under that barrage of ceaseless cheap shots, one thing remained constant. We always ended up moving toward each other, protecting each other, finding comfort in each other.

As I thought about it this morning, instead of feeling angry, I smiled. I wished I could go back in time, find the two of us on one of those brutal days, and tell us: hey, you make it, you two. You make it through this. You come out on top. Because you will still be together, stronger than ever. You will end up married, happy, still deeply in love. Snuggly mornings wrapped around each other will bring you peace and joy every day. So hang in there, because it will be so worth it.

I have said it before, and I still mean it: the ones who fought so hard to drive us apart did nothing but forge us closer together. We have walked through their bullets and bombs, affronts and onslaughts, everything they could hurl at us, and when the smoke cleared, we were still together, still hand in hand, still loving each other.

Should I tell them “thank you”? Well, maybe. At one time, I might have even tossed in a hearty “fuck you” along with it, but I suspect that, given their loneliness, bitterness, and meaninglessness, life has already delivered more retaliatory middle fingers their way than I ever could.

I prefer to focus on us anyway. As if he can tell I am writing about him, my husband just texted me that he misses me. I miss him too. Maybe this evening, the chores, to-do list, and everything else can just wait. I want to hold onto him, appreciate everything around us, celebrate where we are, and look forward to many tomorrows with him. We earned it.

I love this quote. It’s like it was written just for me and my husband, because this is exactly where we are right now.

Last month, we celebrated our wedding anniversary at a resort on the beach. As we sat together at the outdoor bar one evening, waves crashing in and out nearby, I sipped my drink, watched my husband a moment, and thought how amazingly far we have come.

We have leapt hurdles, climbed mountains, and battled like warriors simply to be together. We found each other in the middle of our own personal thunderstorms, both fresh out of the most toxic relationships of our lives. With each other, we found peace and learned to smile again.

And that was something that certain other people simply could not stand.

I could go on and on for volumes, describing all the assaults and attacks we survived over the years, and you would think I made up at least half of it. Who’s crazy enough–childish enough–to do all that? As soon as my husband’s ex, Psycho, found out that he wasn’t sobbing in a fetal position without her, and had in fact found happiness with someone better, she devoted every moment of her empty life to harassing, haranguing, and badgering us.

Despite her relentless efforts to push us apart, we moved closer to each other. Maybe because of that, actually. We had each other’s backs, supported each other, fought for each other. We navigated our relationship through an endless battlefield, yet we still enjoyed being with each other. That says so much.

We could have given up. We could have said “Enough” and walked away from each other, just to be left alone. I know that is what Psycho wanted and fully expected. If we ended it because we just weren’t right for each other, I could live with that. But I would be damned if we said good-bye because a vindictive cockroach didn’t want us together. Fuck her.

I still feel that way. And I’m glad we chose to focus on us instead of her hissing and slithering. We quickly learned to block her out and make our relationship about just us, no outsiders welcome.

Sitting at that beach bar with my husband, I thought about our many years in a cramped, teeny apartment, dreaming of a house of our own, a garden, a swing in a tree in the front yard. After all the struggles, all the battles, all the scratching and clawing, we deserve to stand at the top of that mountain now, with our arms around each other, proud, loved, happy.

What does Psycho have after 18 years of resentment, bitterness, and hostility? Exactly what she deserves: nothing and no one.

It’s beautifully ironic. My husband and I are still together, closer than ever, waking up in each other’s arms every morning, dreaming up new things to discover and places to explore together…while Psycho, after years of hatefully trying to bulldoze me away from him, is as unwanted as a scrap of trash, hurling herself at every guy that wanders by, desperately pleading for attention. It’s humorous, fitting, and nothing less than what the stringy-haired, horse-faced bitch deserves.

Oh, I’m sure someday she will manipulate some lonely idiot with no other prospects into dating her beyond a sloppy, disappointing one-night stand. And someday, quickly, when she tires of wearing her mask and can’t keep up with pretending to be even a slightly sane and reasonably decent human being, it will crumble like it always does into non-stop arguing, screaming, throwing things, accusing, cheating, and making his life unendurably miserable, which is the only thing at which she excels.

Psycho foolishly fantasizes that she can drive us apart, when she can’t even make herself like her. (Get real, her own mother didn’t like her.) She wouldn’t lie about herself so incessantly if she is proud of what she sees in the mirror.

Well, when her reflection is a worthless sow who has never stood on her own two feet; who has never independently provided the kids with anything; whose only accomplishment is collecting a plentiful array of mug shots, arrests, and felonies; who exploits and uses the children for her own selfish gratification; who goes home every day to a trailer as trashy, used up, and beggarly as she is, like a scavenging rat returning to its slovenly hole…well, then living a perpetual lie is actually an understandable alternative to facing her truth.

Ultimately, Psycho will never have what my husband and I have. When she isn’t lying to herself, she knows that is why she is obsessed with us and the reason she attacks us. If she can’t have it, why should we?

Because we work for it. We deserve it. We fight for it. We found it with each other when we least expected it, took a chance on it, and we treasure it, protect it, and hold onto it for dear life. And now, we intend, with every beat of our hearts, to enjoy each cherished moment of what we have built together to its absolute and triumphant fullest.

Don’t worry, Psycho. You can still watch jealously from the sidelines when you oh-so-sneakily use the kids’ Facebook accounts to stalk us and make yourself even more bitter by gorging on our happiness. What else are you possibly going to do while you rot in your shitty shack, spin more lies, steal more shit, creep your exes on social media, sprout more wrinkles, and futilely, frantically, and pathetically wish you were anyone but you?