All Things Considered: May-December Romance More December than May

At the time, The pros to marrying someone older than me seemed endless. More life experience, more financial security, less drama while waiting for a guy to grow up…I thought at the very least it would be a stable, secure deal.

What I had not accounted for was marrying someone who decided to do his 20’s over in his 40’s and 50’s. I did not expect to find someone who only pretended to hold it together as mistake after mistake that a guy his age should not be making… Was Made.

At first, it was fun-exciting! We had adventures! Everything was a new experience, and he always seemed to have a “lesson” for me to learn.

Too late, I realized that these adventures that he was selling weren’t adventures for my benefit at all. They were him running from life, character flaws manifesting in an inability to endure a hardship through to victory or to consistently apply himself to a task for a sustained amount of time for success.

The longer we have stayed together, the more the little girl in me has receded, leaving behind a grown woman whose starry eyes shine not at him but passed him to a place where there is love and togetherness and not just sacrifice after sacrifice on my part. As his surly, sullen nature grows (age and uncertainty staring at him as he wears a hole in the bed that we have on credit), I am sure that my lack of faith in him is obvious.

I have long since stopped expecting anything that looks like a winning team. Everything that I thought I was getting actually was a sham. There isn’t a team-just a losing washed up coach that I no longer want to play for. No amount of peptalks ir future plans excite me; the only thing I hear in my head is “And how long are you going to do that before you get tired and quit? How are you going to pay for that with just our one income? Are you just talking? Or are you actually going to DO something?”

If I could go back and talk to the 24 year old me, I would tell her to wait. Let him prove his worth instead of trying to prove her own. Then she wouldn’t be me at 35, gleaning happy relationships vicariously through Facebook while lying about how great mine isn’t.

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