I suppose I better start explaining myself now.
Where better to begin, then at the end? With the road littered with verbal indescretions and silent warning flags, it’s so easy to see how I ended up in a fix that could have been prevented if only I hadn’t started a blog/revealed my true feelings/criticized my husband’s command/maintained anonymity.
At least, that’s how I imagine it all ending.
The problem is when you’ve been journalling since you were 7 (when you got a small white hardback journal with an abstract giraffe on the cover, and gilded edges, and a real lock and key), writing turns out to be a pretty tough habit to kick.
It was there for me throughout my roughest years as a way to deal with angst, uncertainty, spiritual turmoil, unrequieted love, and countless other harrowing emotions. It’s a safe space for me to work out the knotty issues life throws at me. But maybe it was only safe because it wasn’t on the internet.
As the countdown ticks away into the double-digits of my future marriage, I’m forced to come to terms with many things regarding life, love, and family that I assumed I wouldn’t have to deal with until I was much older and wiser. I’m struggling to come to terms with my identity as a future Marine Corps Wife and the expectations of society and myself that I “do something” beyond being a Career Spouse. I wonder if I really have what it takes to raise kids. Never a sorority girl type, I fear being unable to fit into MilSpouse culture. If it wasn’t for my unshakable certainty of the loyalty and competency of my fiance, I know I wouldn’t be taking the plunge so soon.
I will miss my spiritual home, New York City, dearly. Moving to the desert in the middle of nowhere, with no job and few work prospects is not my idea of a good time… but a part of me is still excited. Something new to experience and write about.
And so Dear Reader, please forgive me whatever trouble I caused.