To the husband loving me despite my past trauma,
For not sneaking up and playfully putting your arms around me in the kitchen like you’d like to, because you know I don’t like being touched from behind.
For somehow always knowing when I need to hear “You look great,” because the low self-esteem is acting up again.
For understanding that sex will always be different for me.
And some days, difficult.
For letting me sit in the chair facing the window in the restaurant.
For living daily with my ever-present anxiety.
And my control issues.
For patiently bringing me out of those places in my head.
And even when you don’t know how to, for trying.
You weren’t there for it. You didn’t live it. But you do your best to support me in the aftermath.
Because it’s never going away.
It’s a part of me and of my story, as much as I may wish it weren’t.
I know it isn’t always easy.
But you love me through it.
So thank you.