When I got married at the ripe old age of 26, I believed a lot of stupid things about how love was supposed to look.

Given, my reference points weren’t exactly ideal: an emotionally absent bipolar father and a steady diet of Sandra Bullock rom-coms left me somewhat confused.

I spent plenty of time in high school learning about safe sex, but almost none on what a healthy relationship in which one might have that kind of sex encompassed.

I came to the conclusion that somewhere out there existed true love and a magical person waiting for me; a kindred spirit or ‘other half,’ otherwise known as ‘The One.’ 

Someone so perfectly designed for me, they’d intuit my every thought with but a glance, and fill the gaping void left behind from a childhood spent growing up without a dad with all the cravings left lingering in my soul.

I was, not surprisingly, very wrong.

RELATED: What It Really Means When People Talk About Finding ‘True Love’

Six years later, when my husband and I came to the devastating decision to end our marriage, I realized that, even at age 32 with hundreds of relationship miles and a year of therapy behind me, I still understood almost nothing about what love is.

I knew for sure though, that the myths I’d grown up prescribing to had played a role in the undoing of what had been — at least to begin with — a deeply trusting, happy relationship full of promise and potential.





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