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Did that really just happen?

Did I go on a date with someone other than my husband?

Did I really kiss him?

Did I really like it?

Yes.

It did happen.

And I did like it.

The way he smelled.

The way he sounded.

The way he kept asking me how I was.

If I felt safe.

The way his eyes sparkled when he smiled.

The way our conversation just flowed.

No long pauses.

No awkward moments.

The way we talked about the hardest part of my life and also the plot of the book he’s reading.

The way it felt like I’d known him for so much longer than a month.

The way he seemed familiar to me, like an old friend.

The way he tasted.

The way his hands felt in mine.

So soft.

So strong.

So gentle.

I liked it all.

How sacred it felt.

This leap into the unknown we were both taking.

Taking a chance on our hearts, sharing them with someone new.

Unlocking a new piece of ourselves in this energetic container we were creating.

It felt so sweet, so easy to fall into.

Terrifying and liberating all at once.

Like everything I’ve been so afraid would hurt me was actually meant to heal me.

The only hard thing was driving home.

Knowing I’d have to share it with my husband.

Knowing it would hurt both of us to have that conversation.

Yet when I came in to tell him I was back, tears of joy welled in my eyes.

All I could think was how grateful I was to come back to him.

How lucky I am that he was there waiting for me.

How the only reason this part of me has felt safe enough to emerge, to become alive in me.

Is because of the safety of his love.

The way he has held my heart with reverence all these years, and healed the wounds I thought I’d carry forever.

I fell into his arms, and told him these things.

As he wiped my tears and shed his own, I knew I was home.

With him.

With myself.