wuv, true wuv

In our first counseling session last month, our counselor asked us each to share 3 high points of our marriage. I went first, as always, because Husband thinks for 20 minutes before he ever speaks. (I should mention that when it was his turn, he couldn't think of a single high point. Not even the births of our three kids. HELLO. THAT RIGHT THERE IS THREE EASY HIGH POINTS, moron.)

Off the top of my head, I rattled off the births of our children, our trip to Paris, and buying our dream home.
I wanted to go on and on. There are so many high points!! Visiting Yellowstone together for the first time and combining the shared awe and wonder that we'd each felt on individual trips there before we were married. Slow dancing in the living room to Shania Twain's "Looks Like We Made It" on our 7th anniversary, and a handful of times since. (He's not a dancer, so the handful of times he slow danced with me are carefully packed in styrofoam peanuts in my memory.) Our 8th anniversary when he initiated what became an annual tradition: taking turns planning a secret anniversary getaway, and making it something the other would love. (On that first year, he kidnapped me from work, drove me to the quaint, picturesque town of Salado in central Texas, checked us into a B&B, and spent the weekend antiquing (we spent $12 on a trinket, a big splurge for us back then) and playing Scrabble by the fireplace (never mind that it was in the 60s out. We raised the windows and lit a roaring fire anyway.)

I remember hiking to Bash Bish Falls in Connecticut during our whirwind New England in Fall trip. I was 7 months pregnant with our first son, and could barely walk, let alone hike. Husband ran ahead to see if the hike was doable for me. I (with our daughter's encouragement and muscle - she pushed me from behind, literally), surprised him near the top as he came back down to say he feared it might be too hard.

I remember shooting photographs at a wedding a few weeks after his last infidelity, my heart desperate to know that he truly loved me and that his words and promises weren't empty. As I turned with my camera, he appeared in my viewfinder. His eyes met mine, and instantly softened. I clicked, and that photo STILL speaks love to me. In that moment, in those eyes, I knew that he loved me.

And yet, just two days ago, when I reminded him of that moment, he claims that he felt nothing but kindness. Not love. Possibly affection. But not love.

His truth is that he has never loved me as a husband loves a wife.
He believes that in the very beginning of our romantic relationship, he liked the attention and mistook it for love. He claims that he'd never been treated so kindly by a woman before, and out of selfishness, allowed it to become more than platonic. He truly believes that the depth of feeling he carried (and carries) for me is this: that he cared for me, felt affection toward me, and wanted the best for me. The feeling he claims to have experienced toward me all these years is the same feeling he has toward my best friend, or his close friend's wife. He is, after all, a good and kind person.

I become a blur of dizzy, tangled knots when I try to process this line of thinking. I mean, REALLY. Give me break, man. I KNOW you loved me. YOU LOVED ME. YOU LOVED ME UNCONDITIONALLY, and DEEPLY, and ONLY. I know you did. You're a FOOL to be so misguided now.

And then, a moment later, I start to make sense of it. For all of those years, he could never express WHY he loved me. In my needy womanly way, I would sometimes ask, "What do you love about me? Why did you marry me?" And he could only answer, "Because God made me." He never once was able to give me examples. I pleaded. He couldn't. It broke my heart, but I eventually realized that his inability to express those things wasn't a deficiency on my part, but on his. His introverted, analytical, guarded personality wouldn't allow it. I knew why he loved me: my big boobs (ha!), my outgoing, fun, spontaneous side, my deeply passionate and forgiving nature, and my desire to put God first in my life. He loved those things about be. I know he did.

Wouldn't a man who loved those things, who recognized those things... if it was truly love, wouldn't he have been able to express them? If he really did love me, could he have watched my sister shower, fondled women at work, had an affair with a coworker, and allowed himself to tell HER in a letter all the many things he loved about HER? Of course not. You don't do those things to the woman you love.

I wonder.
On one hand, I know he loved me.
On the other hand, I think he's right - he never really did.
This internal dialogue eats me alive.

Speaking of...
in the last two weeks, I've removed the extender on my bra strap because I don't need it anymore, and my too-tight jeans are bagging off my butt. What a heck of a way to jump-start my weight loss! Bright side? Heck yes. I'll claim it!