But sitting in my friend’s condo that night, tears running down my face, the uncertainty of it all hit me. The risk I was taking by ignoring every divorce guide I’d read and embracing love again so quickly.
Because I had so much to lose. There were the new friends that I was becoming attached to. There was the heartache I could suffer. Again. Was it all worth it?
I went to bed with a headache.
And then my phone buzzed with a text. “Goodnight beautiful.”
His signature good-night to me. His affection was unwavering. Was this guy for real?
It seemed a little late to be admitting doubt in the thing. After all, we had already said those three words to one another.
But I had heard those words before. Words that had failed me so badly. Lies, lies, lies that had been told.
So I faced the ultimate issue behind my doubt and insecurities. I needed to trust.
The events that led to my divorce represented the ultimate betrayal of truth. In the span of about two weeks the reality formerly known as my marriage fell like dominoes as the truths, the real truths became revealed in very painful ways.
I wish I could say that I woke up the next morning with more certainty, but I didn’t. I can say that I woke up still in love with him, not wanting to give up on what we had. Every day that passed, that love grew deeper. At the same time, every day, I healed a little more from the pain of my divorce.
And as our love grew, so did the trust. His love was true. His words were true. The skeptical heart knew, and she began to trust.
We took a trip together to L.A. in September. During that trip, I found the confirmation I needed to believe this was more than a summer fling.
We enjoyed Halloween, Christmas, New Year’s. The time flew by.
The past faded.
We began to plan for the future.
At the same time, I continued to find myself. This relationship was so different than the past six years of my life. I could be me. There was no criticism. No judgment. No need to get anyone’s approval but my own. Because the boyfriend loved me for me. A refreshing yet foreign concept.
And early in 2009, while I did something girly, the fiance attended Comicon in Kansas City. He called me from the event, “Babe, what are your measurements?”
What? Who knows these things off the top of their heads?
“I’m getting you something, just need your measurements.”
“I have no idea, I’m a size 4/6.”
I showed up at the mansion later that day and he had a photo on his i-phone — he had purchased a Wonder Woman costume for me. It was being finished by the costume designer to fit me.
Um, not just any Wonder Woman costume, but a hand-sewn sexy, satin corset with real brass accents and spandex navy panties with white stars. Now, growing up I always liked Wonder Woman. Although I can’t say that I ever really had a grasp on her story.
With my costume in progress, I decided it was time to figure out what this Wonder Woman chick was all about.
I began reading about her. The more I read, the more I loved it. This was a heroine who fought lies and the men who told them with truth. A lasso of truth. I could get behind this. If only I had this years ago. Scratch the “if only’s.” Those experiences made me who I am today. It was part of the beauty and quirky of me.
Tapping this story, finding my inner heroine could be the final steps I would need to conquer my divorce demons. Yes, I was divorced. But that was okay.
Suddenly, I was the girl. The girl with the courage to wear a sexy, yet powerful costume. The girl not afraid to love and trust. The girl I knew I could be.
The girl who could trust.
Because this girl had the truth. And the boy.
It was the entire package.
So, when that boy got down on one knee on a bridge overlooking the Las Vegas strip a year after that first date, and asked me to spend the rest of his life with him, I said yes.
Yes to him. Yes to us.
It’s true. I found love again.
Editor’s note: Part of why I share this story is to help other women going through the pain of divorce. If you are recently divorced or separated, I’d love to hear your story. E-mail me at queenofquirky (at) gmail.com.