Life in 3D: Who am I? Mrs. Somebody.

I spoke earlier about stripping away everything that you put on to project an image to others of who or what you want people to believe you are.  Perhaps that is even what you want to be. 

The first identifier was how I identified as a wife.

I was Mrs. _____.  I got mail addressed to that person.  I loved him.  God, I loved him.  There will always be a part of me that loves that man and that love will not be snuffed out until the very breath in my lungs is snuffed out.  Jesus, we were married.  We promised to love each other forever, and I know for my part, that I will always love him.  Any man that dares to try to love me has to understand that.  But anyone who has ever been in love before, truly, madly, deeply in love knows that either you will always love them or you never loved them at all. 

Love was not the problem.  A very prideful part of me hopes he still loves me too, at least a little.  I don’t think my heart can bare it if he erases me totally from his life and his heart like I never existed, like we never existed.  But the problem of who I am is not my love for my ex-husband.  The problem is that I loved him more than I loved myself.  That is never a good thing.  I never thought I was good enough for him.  He was too smart, too accomplished, too handsome, too respectable to really love me so when it fell apart, a part of me isn’t really all that surprised.  Love can be a rock that is cornerstone, or it can be like sand and sift through your fingers.

I identified too much with being “Mrs. _____.”  Charlotte J was lost.  I allowed myself to be lost to his shadow.  It was comfortable there and I didn’t have to shine because he did it for me.  He was an engineer, had all kinds of degrees and I was privileged just to hang on his arm.  In fact, I thought I embarrassed him because I was too fat, too ugly, too dumb, too loud, and not nearly sophisticated enough.  Whether that was true or not, that was how I feel.  Charlotte J was not good enough, so I would borrow prestige from my husband and hang on to him as much as I could.  Because what would I be all by myself?  Who would I be if I was not Mrs. _______.

We soon will see.