Fearing the Fairy Tale.

To be honest, I've had this "idea" in my head for weeks. I've had the title of a post or the subject surrounding it and I've struggled with how to get it out. It seems like such a complex, difficult subject to address. Maybe I feel too immature to address it. But I guess that's the point. It's tough to describe how some days I can think of myself as this mature woman ready and able to get married and be immersed in adult-life and all that. Yet some days I feel so misplaced thinking about houses and finances and job searching and budgeting and meal planning and the future. It's all a little terrifying, if I do admit.

I'm a realist and a worrier. That is easy to admit. I write the mushy stuff, but I tend to contain it and let it out within increments. It seems ironically appropriate to sandwich this post between the Love Holiday and our wedding. It's hard to say what I mean when I say, 'fearing the fairy tale.' I'm still processing that part. It's difficult to get the words out. Maybe I mean that I am so hesitant to live in the dream-like reality the world lives in. Maybe it's out of fear or solely based on my personality. Maybe I've been told the fairy tale isn't real too many times, I believe it. Maybe I'm self-sabotaging in some ways. I'm honestly not sure.

I had an unfortunate circumstance in my life where someone accused me of holding an immature, dream-like type of love. They swore it wouldn't last. Their jealousy for my happiness turned into hatred and animosity towards me and my relationship. Harboring that over the course of a few years hurts, to be frank. It hurts to think that even for a second others would consider the love I have and hold to be anything less than genuine; anything other than real and meaningful. I know how I feel. I know where we're at. I know how we've progressed and the choices we've made towards our future. I know how we've matured and grown, sacrificed and persevered. I am certain that we have a future. (So certain, that there's an important event coming up to seal that deal). And I should not have to defend any of the latter to anyone. It's unsettling to think that my love wouldn't be taken seriously, wouldn't be held to the same standards as others. Even at some point long ago.

Being in a serious relationship young gives you tougher skin. The world usually disagrees to it, in fact. Listening to the skeptics and critics and doubters and strangers with opinions is frustrating. I know those daunting stereotypes. I've seen the eye rolls. I've felt talked-down-to by those older than me. But hearing those close to you with different views is a world of a different category. It hurts and hits closer to home. I didn't make this choice on a whim. And I most certainly did not decide it alone. I'm not professing to know everything about marriage or life or love. I'm not brimming with confidence over the fact that I know what it's even going to be like, or that we 'have it all together.' But I'm ready for an adventure. Maybe a little bit too tentatively. And that's my fear. Finding balance in those aspects.

I fear growing thicker skin, having confidence in my relationship and in the love that the world views as 'young' may have given me too many layers of skin. I fear it's allowed my skin to become too thick, hesitant to let the good and sweet dreamy stuff in still. There is a constant fear of 'what if I let it in too much?' What if I'm not taken seriously?

In moderation, 
I say.
Within the little cracks of my thickening skin, 
I can leave room to let it in.

I would think I should let it in. Let it slip in, soften the brisk edges and course corners. I should allow myself to let go of seriousness and planning and future fears even for a second; to relish in this phase of living we're doing. All the in-betweens. I want to live in the appropriate level of fairy tale while I still can, while I'm still young. Does that sound silly? I'm still working on my love, for myself as well as others and most certainly for Him, as well as for him. I am a work in progress, as is my love and our life that is slowly coming together.

As it should be.
I am in progress; a process.
Hammered down by the world and it's coarseness,
sprinkled with slivers of light and dreams seeping in through the cracks,
by stereotypes and every stranger who has said,
"well you look young," 
upon seeing that ring on my left hand and telling me,
"you've got plenty of time."

I have read article after article, listened to various opinions and views on marrying young. I have heard both sides. While I currently and obviously reside on the side of getting married young, I am not naive to the facts; that it will be hard. That the world will cause my skin to grow thicker and thicker. I am not oblivious to the stereotypes, the harsh realities, or the not-so-dream-like daily grind of life. I know that. I am not turning a blind eye. But maybe I'm focusing on it too deeply.

Maybe this post is simply for me and no one else. 

Maybe it's for the too-thick-skinned, twenty-something newlyweds. 

Maybe it's for the naive lovers, maybe it's not. 

But maybe I'm simply asking my own self, to lean on the side of the fairy tale a little bit more often. To not close it all off just yet. To believe in it for a little bit longer while stepping into whatever the world has to throw at me and my skin. I'm begging my heart to not close off to the sweet naivety of it all yet. To visit that side of town a few times a week. That I don't have to grow up all at once and shut it all down just yet. That there doesn't have to be two extremes; bitter, routine and tired love or spontaneous, sappy naive love.

That I can fall somewhere in the middle,
and that that's okay.

And that maybe I can stay there for a bit.
Maybe I don't have to pick a side just yet, or ever.