I was crazy in love with my husband for so many reasons. One of the biggest was because, growing up as an adopted Korean in a small town, people had made fun of me all my life. My husband was half-Asian and told me, "Baby, we don't let people tell us where we fit in, we make our own place." I clung to him because for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged. (The puzzle piece that never fit had finally found the puzzle it belonged to... so I felt.)
But we had many differences. He was from an extremely abusive home that left its scars both physically and emotionally. The first time I saw him without a shirt, the tears just rolled even though I tried to stay in control, because he had long marks down his back. He always tried to hide the marks from me after that, because he felt he would somehow be protecting me from pain.
He had, understandably, reservations about God (part of why his mother severely abused her children is because she said they were all sinners that needed to be punished)--I thought that being around my family (which is the exact opposite of his) would help heal him. He would always go to the Lutheran church with me, but as I grew in different areas of my faith and started attending a Pentecostal church (completely different format), we grew further and further apart.
He also came into the marriage with a $10,000+ credit card debt he never told me about (I only found out because I found some paperwork in his car.) And even when we got the debt down, he simply opened more cards without telling me and spent all the more. I was angry, bitter, and never shy about holding that back--we lived in separate rooms of the house for probably at least 1/3 of our two-year marriage. I had my own issues as well, including severe depression and extreme emotions I couldn't seem to contain. I would to the other side of the house and try to talk to him about something and he would snap, "It's time for you to go back to YOUR room now," then slam and lock the door.
People told me I must be doing something wrong to cause it and to just talk to him about it and tell him I was sorry. But you can't make someone talk to you, which no one understood.
Eventually, he fell in love with a girl we worked with and left. I went to work one day like normal... and came home to a half-empty house. He'd moved out without telling me. I received divorce papers not long after that. It's been ten years, and to this day, he's never said a word again to me. I've heard he remarried, is living in his dream location, has his dream job (his own school), and that they just had a baby (he wouldn't even talk about having babies when he was with me). I realize it's been a long time, and he's moved on. But it still stings.
People tell me me I had it so easy because we didn't have kids. I surely sympathize with every single parent out there. But no one understood that I felt my life was over, and unlike the single parents I knew, in my mind, I had no reason to keep going because everyone I knew was independent with their own lives--I didn't feel like I was part of anything anymore or that I was needed.
Thankfully... God is still helping me through the process and has been graciously patient with me this entire time... and the best part is, I'm closer to my family than ever... and have made some awesome friends along the way.