Bravery in the Dark

It seemed like a good plan at the time. Work on having a better attitude about the whole communication thing, and things might get better.  Try and change my perspective on the situation and perhaps it wouldn't bother me so much. In hindsight, I really don't know what I was thinking. It appears that I was trying to do what I hate, putting a band-aid on a gunshot wound. In reality, I was setting myself up for complete and utter failure, I just couldn't see it at the time. Instead, the entire thing fell apart. I really shouldn't be surprised, because it was a bad plan from the start. I just couldn't see it.

Instead, I have spent these past few early mornings, and I do mean early (think wee hours), having some hard conversations. There's something about the cover of darkness that makes you brave enough to ask the hard questions. Or maybe it's because you can hide the pain on your own face, or because in the dark they can't look into your eyes and see right into your very soul. Or, if you are like me, and wear your emotions like a banner for the whole world to see, the dark offers a protective barrier. Whatever the reason, there has been some conversation happening in the early morning hours, in the quiet of our bedroom these past few days. Hard questions have been asked. Tears have been shed. Long silences have spoken when words couldn't. It wasn't what I had planned for, but it has been far more necessary.