The Things I Never Got to Say

To the man I married,

I will probably never give you this letter.

And if I do, you will probably never read it.

That's okay.

I'm still going to write it.

Maybe every day.

Not because I expect a response, but because I need somewhere to place all the words that have nowhere else to go. I need to tend to my own heart. I need to let out everything I never had the chance—or perhaps the safety—to say.

If one day you ever care enough to read these words, then perhaps they will find you.

If they never do...

that is okay too.

These letters are no longer about convincing you of anything.

They are about helping me heal.

I never wanted this.

Not for one moment did I imagine that this would become our story.

I wanted forever.

I wanted to grow old with you.

I wanted the kind of marriage that became more beautiful with every passing year. I wanted our love to become so faithful that even death would simply become another doorway through which we would continue loving each other before God.

I wanted eternity with you.

Instead, I find myself writing letters that you may never read.

I am so angry.

Not because I stopped loving you.

Because I never did.

I loved looking at you.

I loved sitting beside you.

I loved touching your face.

I loved hearing your voice.

I loved loving you.

That may sound strange, but it is true.

Loving you was one of the deepest joys I had ever known.

And now...

losing you has become one of the deepest sorrows I have ever carried.

I don't know if words can honestly describe what this feels like.

Sometimes the pain is so overwhelming that I almost stop feeling anything at all.

If someone offered me the pain of a hundred C-sections instead of this heartbreak, I think I would choose the physical pain without hesitation.

At least physical wounds eventually close.

This one feels endless.

I know I have to face reality.

I know I have to stop running from the truth.

And the truth, as I understand it today, hurts more than anything else.

I don't think you ever truly loved me.

Writing those words feels like breaking my own heart all over again.

The more I learn what love actually is...

what sacrifice is...

what choosing another person every day truly means...

the more I wonder whether we were living two completely different understandings of love.

You wanted perfection.

I could never give you that.

Not because I refused to try.

Because I am human.

Until the day I die, I will continue failing.

I will continue making mistakes.

I will continue needing grace.

I never wanted to hurt you.

Whenever I failed, I wanted to learn, to apologize, to become better than I had been the day before.

You are human too.

You are not perfect either.

And yet...

I loved you anyway.

Not because you were flawless.

But because you were you.

God knows how deeply I loved you.

Sometimes I wish I hated you.

I think hatred would make all of this simpler.

Hatred creates distance.

Hatred builds walls.

Hatred would probably let me sleep.

But I don't hate you.

I have tried to find hatred inside my heart, and every time I look for it, I find grief instead.

And anger.

So much anger.

You betrayed me.

That wound is real.

Sometimes I wish I could stop feeling altogether.

I wish my heart would simply become quiet.

But it still remembers.

And perhaps...

that is why I am writing.

Not because I expect you to understand.

But because my heart deserves to be heard, even if the only One listening is God.

— The woman who married you 💜