family

My Husband is a Saint

My husband is a saint. Probably not the way when you think of saint, but he is to me. A definition of a saint is: a person who is very good, kind, or patient – according to Merriam-Webster dictionary.  He is also a Christian.

I have put my husband through so many trials. I have been mean to him when he didn’t deserve it. I would push his buttons to the limit to see how far he would go. Mainly, I did it because of the trauma I suffered as a child. Don’t get me wrong, he was not perfect either. He did his fair shares of screw ups too. We wreaked hell on each other the first 6 years of our marriage. Of course, a lot of those I was pregnant most of the time. Hormones are a cruel beast on their own.

I won’t go into the sordid details of it all, but we did have our fights. He never abused me in any way, shape, or form. I, on the other hand, would throw things (and not soft things either). I was always a thrower. I put my poor mom through hell too.  See, I have always dealt with a mental illness, but never knew what it was. I would be so emotional and moody. I would have fits of just pure anger and never knew why. I knew something was wrong with me and asked my mom for help. The doctor said I was just a hyper kid and to cut sugar out of my diet and drink diet soda. So I did, nothing got better though. I went to therapist and a psychologist. They gave me techniques to try when I felt myself getting upset. Yeah, that didn’t really help either. I went to see our pastor (I was Lutheran at the time), he was a really good listener and sympathetic to what I had been through, but didn’t really have the answers as to why I was like I was, other than God created me. I was seeing a psychologist at the time I decided to join the military. I convinced her I was stable enough to join the military. And, I was, to some extent. The military gave me structure I needed at the time. Of course, that brought a new set of problems. Which we will explore later. I did get the best thing out of the military, I met my husband.

He has been there for me through all the muck. He has stood by me, forgiven me and just loves me. It has always been hard for him when I get depressed or in a “funk.” He automatically wants to fix it. He’s a man and that’s what they do, they fix things. It’s not that easy to do with a mental illness. Sometimes it is a slight rub of the back, just holding in an embrace, or saying “I love you” that fixes the moment. He is always ready with words of encouragement when I am down. It is harder when he is at work, but an encouraging text or just hearing his voice when he calls at break that makes me a little hopeful. Words are a powerful tool when dealing with depression (or any mental illness).  He doesn’t always know what to say and that is okay. That is when hugs and long embraces step in. He has never made me feel like there isn’t anything I can’t do.  I love that about him. He has always very good, kind, and patient with me and continues to be so. I am so thankful to God for bringing him into my life.  That is why my husband is a saint, to me.

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