Ten Years of My Life

I’ve shared before that I struggle with hearing the song Three Little Birds, now. At some point over the years, the song began to hit my heartstrings differently, bringing unexpected pain as the words reminded just how not alright everything little has been.

To be honest, when I think about my life these last ten years, it has been filled with constant worries. Nothing about it has been rainbows, singing birds, and sunshine. Instead, it’s been broken dreams, soul-crushing pain, and life-changing memories.

Obviously, this wasn't always the case as this song once elicited such hope, encouragement, and inspiration. Nearly ten years ago, we sat in a hospital room and chose it to be the song we danced to at our upcoming wedding. I don’t think I’ll ever forget hearing him sing these iconic words so sweetly to me as tears flooded my eyes for the very first time since the moment our lives suddenly changed on July 16, 2014. It wasn’t a typical first dance song but it fit us perfectly at that time, and for so many years. The well-known lyrics, Don't worry about a thing cause every little thing is gonna be alright, were staples in our homes, even having Etsy-made posters made for my daughter's room.

Maybe subconsciously I wanted her to believe this to be true, even if I was struggling to believe it myself.

The truth is nothing has been alright since that day, for neither one of us, no matter how it may appear to a social media follower or anyone else living outside of our home.

But as time goes on, I’ve come to find that I can only speak for myself and share my own struggles. And I choose to do so not only for my own well-being, but to shed light on the true complexities and hardships that have come alongside his decade-long illness.

Only my closest friends know this, but my ring has been off for a few months now.

And honestly, it is hard for me to admit, but I want to tell my truth.

I could share all of the reasons why I finally came to make this decision, but essentially it is something I knew I had to do for myself. After one too many disagreements over his health and the choices that he was making (as well as the ones he wasn't), I knew that it was time for me to relieve myself from the pain that I grew so accustomed to.

After a long year of self-reflection, soul-searching, and emotional healing, I could no longer sacrifice my own happiness. Life had become so serious. I lost my silly, I lost my fun. There was no joy. I barely laughed and my smiles were toothless, as evident in any pictures that were taken over the last few years.

I was in so much pain, and even though I felt every ounce of it, I didn’t feel like I could admit it. I had to be strong. There was no other option. There was no one else helping us in all the ways we needed help.

Therefore, I relied on hours-long naps to help recharge my overthinking mind and emotionally-drained body and avoided looking in a mirror or taking selfies that didn’t capture a tongue-out silly face. And I drank so much red wine at night, because not only did it quiet my racing mind but things just didn’t feel as sad, lone

But when I woke up the next morning, it felt like Groundhog Day, as the endless cycle of his health struggles remained, with no one else to witness them except me.

I knew I had to finally choose myself. And it wasn’t only for me but for my daughter, who deserved the best version of me and not the one that she had been getting over these challenging.

For almost ten years, I stood by the vows and the commitment I made. I was loyal and faithful, barely even looking at another guy and never having anything more than a celebrity crush.

Without any hesitation, I cared for the members of my family, always putting their needs before my very own. I didn’t complain or look for pity, instead I found myself connecting and empathizing with other chronic health spouses and family members as they proved to be the only ones who really understood the painful madness that I was living through.

No matter how upsetting it was at times or how low I felt, I kept fighting for him and our family.

I tracked the mounting symptoms, changes, and concerns that I was witnessing firsthand in my own home. I spent all my free time googling symptoms (sometimes with a sleeping baby in my arms), listening to various health podcasts and webinars, and connecting with providers and caregivers all over the world in hopes to find the reason why the man I was married to was struggling, hurting, and, at times, literally and cognitively disappearing before my eyes.

In my heart, I always knew he wasn’t fully responsible for all the ways that his symptoms have hurt me or to blame for how much his struggles impacted both of our lives. He didn’t ask for any of this, and he didn’t choose to feel the way he does. It’s all unfair to him, even more so than it’s been to me.

And I knew he needed me, especially when it became ever so clear that no one else really believed or understood just how concerned we really were.

So I kept fighting, giving, and believing that things would somehow get better, especially if we finally got the right diagnosis and the real support we needed.

I kept going, even when he no longer wanted to, and it’s something I’ll never regret. I just couldn’t sit back and pretend that everything was alright, even if others hoped it was. At times I wished I could believe it was a curable virus or mental health condition that be treated with therapy and medication, but my intuition always knew it was so much more than any of that.

When I look back on these last ten years, I realize just how much of myself was fading away as I searched for answers and kepty family going against all the odds. In prioritizing his declining health and being so concerned with his needs, while raising a young child, I was careless with my own, because I had to be. It was all too much to begin with, but I didn’t have any other choice.

Even if I have to let go and move on, I won’t forget all that I’ve been through, and I truly hope that one day I am able to share much more of my story. But for now I have to let go (or figure out how to) and move on.

My ringless finger is my reminder. I’m on my own. In reality, I have been for a very long time now. Maybe it’s why I’m not so afraid, even if I have absolutely no idea what’s next or where exactly life is planning to take me.

But in time, I know I’ll look back and understand the purpose of all this pain.

Maybe I’ll even come to be grateful for it too.

I always swore to my friends, my therapist, and most importantly, myself that I would stand by him forever, no matter how hard it was. And even if that isn’t as his wife, I still will.

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