Just F’ing Love Me It’s Not That Complicated

Excuse me while I vent about love and marriage

I’m not sure who coined the oxymoron ‘Happily Married’ but I wasn’t.

I tried to do the honorable and expected thing and cover it up.

Only sadly, I don’t do unhappiness well.

Eventually, I had to come clean. I had to share. I had to talk about it. It seemed like there were others out there like me. And lo and behold, I found them. The others like me that were suffering from marital maladies.

But then I said the word divorce. I was like an unwanted mosquito on a hot summer night. I was an alarm going off in the middle of a bank robbery. No one wanted to talk. No one wanted me around. The others like me clammed up.

It was a miracle. Hallelujah, they were cured. They were maritally saved.

Not me, I hadn’t recovered.

I still wanted someone to, “Just F’ing love me it’s not that complicated.”

But it was.

LOVE that is.

I had to drag my husband to marriage counseling. And like my friend Trixie says it’s like dragging an iceberg behind you. It’s heavy, it’s dense, and it’s not moving. No matter what you do.

I yelled at the iceberg, “Just F’ing love me,” I said. “It’s not that complicated.”

I wanted my iceberg to talk. He didn’t wanna chat. I wanted him to share his feelings. He said he didn’t have any. I wanted him to engage. But he didn’t wanna get off the couch.

“Just F’ing love me,” I said. “It’s not that complicated.’

I wanted my iceberg to care. He didn’t wanna care. I wanted him to work at our marriage. He didn’t feel like working. I wanted him to listen. He didn’t wanna listen.

“Just F’ing love me,” I said. “It’s not that complicated.’

I wanted my iceberg to talk about what was bothering him. He said nothing was bothering him. I wanted him to make time for me. He said he was a busy man.

“Just F’ing love me,” I said. “It’s not that complicated.’

I wanted my iceberg to stop needing to be right. But he said I was wrong. I wanted him to stop being rigid. He said he was the easiest man in the world. I wanted him to stop his bad behavior. He said I drove him to it.

“Just F’ing love me,” I said. “It’s not that complicated.’

I wanted my iceberg to stop making me cry. He said I was emotional. I wanted him to stop hurting me. He said I was overreacting. I wanted him to know I felt lonely. He said I was too needy.

“Just F’ing love me,” I said. “It’s not that complicated.’

I wanted my iceberg to not quit marriage counseling. He refused. I begged and I pleaded for him to return. He said it’s not gonna happen. I said I can’t go to marriage counseling alone. He watched me walk out the door.

“Just F’ing love me,” I said. “It’s not that complicated.’

My iceberg was dragging behind me, it was heavy, it was dense, and it wouldn’t move. No matter what I did. No matter what I said.

My iceberg couldn’t F’ing love me.

One day I’m writing a marketing plan for a client. I grab a legal pad. What’s the brand of relationships? What’s the brand of marriage? Love. What’s the tagline? “And they lived happily ever after.”

Everyone knows that.

But I wasn’t happy in my ever after, and this brand that requires two had only one.

Well, at least only one moving part. Because my iceberg wasn’t budging. It didn’t look like it was ever going to F’ing love me. Which was becoming a bigger problem.

While I had been waiting for it to F’ing love me, I had lost so much of myself I was beginning to F’ing hate me.

I had to rebrand to survive.

It wasn’t, “And they lived happily ever after.”

“It was now, “And she lived happily ever after.”

I couldn’t wait for the iceberg to F’ing love me.

I had to F’ing love me before it was too late. I had to untether myself from the iceberg to save myself. I had to put myself first, blah, blah, blah. Even if I didn’t authentically believe I could or should.

Women who are married to icebergs don’t put themselves first.

It’s not because we are so good and selfless that we toss our needs aside. It becomes a mindless romance. That’s a misnomer. It becomes a mindless marriage. We are just going along to get along.

We don’t know any better.

It’s like how we got to enjoy Mcdonald’s before Whole Foods came along and ruined it. Our mindless french fries were interrupted by us authentically believing we needed sauteed, organic veggies.

We F’ing believed it.

I had to F’ing love me.

It wasn’t a fad, it wasn’t misguided, it wasn’t indulgent, and it wasn’t a luxury. It wasn’t selfish, self-centered, or spoiled. Someone had to do it. It couldn’t be fleeting, inconsistent, or periodic. It wasn’t to be questioned. It wasn’t wrong. It was necessary. It was mandatory.

I couldn’t mindlessly ignore it.

I was tired of dragging an iceberg behind me. It’s heavy, it’s dense, and it’s not moving. No matter what you do. Trixie was right.

The iceberg couldn’t love me.

I decided to F’ing love me.

It just wasn’t that complicated.

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