When I met the love of my life I was 22, innocent, naive and totally clueless when it came to relationships. I’m not exaggerating. I had lived at home all my life and I had very strong opinions on who I wanted to marry. He’d be a year or two older than me, never married, Catholic, cute…
My husband is the complete opposite of all that.
He’s almost 12 years older than me, he’s been married once before, he’s a non-practicing Mormon and he’s not cute. He’s handsome but a bit scary looking. If you bumped into him in a dark alley, you’d think you were about to be mugged.
Just as an FYI, you should know that this series of posts is sponsored by Pandora. But all opinions expressed by the author are 100 per cent authentic and written in their own words.
Anyway, I digress….
You’ve probably figured out by now that the aforementioned ‘love of my life’ is my husband, the scary looking, divorced father-of-two who is much, much older than me. Let’s just say that when I first met him, I had no intention of ever falling in love with him. I was teaching scripture at the time, I attended church regularly, I believed everything my Catholic faith had taught me about marriage and divorce, and I had been assured by a fellow Catholic in my family that if I started dating him it was tantamount to adultery in God’s eyes and I would ‘burn in hell’.
Yes, family functions are a bit awkward, even 15 years later.
So there I was, a complete innocent with incredibly strong feelings for this completely inappropriate man and after the ‘burn in hell’ convo, I wasn’t too keen on discussing it with any of my inner circle.
There was a nun at my church called Sister Ellie. She was the most loudly affectionate person I had ever met with sunshine coming out of every pore of her body. She used to say my name “Josephine” with the most Irish of accents, loudly and happily every time I came to see her to discuss the work I was doing with the church. It was during one such discussion that she noticed I wasn’t myself.