Equity.

Conceptually, equity is the satisfaction of getting back from a relationship what you’ve invested in it. It’s an energetic and abstract sort of exchange in theory. But in relationships, out here in the real world, especially in marriages where there are kids and other responsibilities, equity is the tangible and perceived give and take, the allowances and sharing of time, activities, duties and chores – If husband is golfing twice a week and wife stays home with the kids, then wife might negotiate doing her own thing a couple of times a week, too. If husband takes out the trash and mows the lawn, wife does the dishes and picks up the toys form the living room. Or vice versa depending on the familial roles.

Equity.

It extends to sexual, intimate and emotional satisfaction. So if wife is getting regular oral sex from Hubby but Hubby isn’t getting blow jobs from her (although he would really like a blow job every once in a while) then the relationship’s equity is off balance.

But it can’t be all equitable all the time. The main goal, I believe anyway, is to strive for a semblance of balance. Where the payouts and rewards occur over a period of time.

In my own relationship with Scott, we have things pretty balanced in our day-to-day activities. He does the dishes and I take out the trash. And I sort and wash the laundry and he folds it. It’s pretty balanced with regards to our outside activities,too. For instance, he’s taking a trip this weekend to the San Francisco Bay Area without me, and I am taking one at the end of the month without him (Burning Man, baby!) Although I’ll be gone a lot longer than he will be (ten days compared to his four) the balance is offset by the many overnights and handful of weekends he has spent away from me in the last year.

Time he spent with Sirena.

In fact, if you added all of his previous nights away to the accrued nights of his upcoming trip, the balance would still tip strongly in his favor. But, it will all get leveled out eventually as I begin traveling more with upcoming BedPost Confessions road shows. And then in between my travels he will continue to rack up more overnights with Sirena.

Equity. It will all balance out eventually.

But when the balance is off, like really off, and there appears to be no leveling in sight, then things get a little squicky. Feelings get hurt. And when feelings get hurt, distress ensues. And when under emotional distress, what do people sometimes do? They retaliate.

For the last year, Scott and Sirena have been deeply mired inside the lustful force of New Relationship Energy. NRE is a wonderful by-product of those stupendous, connective, burgeoning relationships. NRE is what furthers the experience, keeps its couples coming back for more, by flooding our brains with feel-good chemicals that are nothing if not motherfucking addictive.

I wrote about NRE the last time I was in it, here. It was over a year ago. A year and three months to be exact.

But I have not had a New Relationship Energy experience to parallel Scott and Sirena’s since I was involved with Andrew.

And Andrew? He was a long time ago.

This last year I have been extremely busy getting my book finished and published, working towards my degree, parenting, and helping to propel BedPost Confessions towards its goal as a sex-positive, education and entertainment enterprise. I haven’t had time for a relationship, nor have I really wanted one. I have, in fact, in many ways been grateful that Scott has had Sirena, because their relationship took some of the burden off of me. I didn’t have to be Scott’s sex-goddess. I could be simply, his wife. And that was a real relief.

But in the process, inequity  had become a prevailing theme. On his nights (and days) with her, where he could leave his life behind for a while and have sex, lots and lots of awesome sex with someone he loves deeply, I would be home, invariably working. Or being mom to our daughter who is on summer break. Or doing homework.

And so now that my degree procurement is on the horizon (March!), my book is published, our daughter is about to begin middle school, and BedPost Confessions is beginning to host shows in other cities, I am realizing that this type of inequity just doesn’t work for me any longer.

I want what Scott has.

And so I am in the process of finding it. In fact, I tiptoed pretty fucking enthusiastically through what might very well be the field of NRE last night during my date with a cute boy who wants something similar to what I want. And I came home high as a kite on that energy and woke up bright and early to it this morning, even. But the fucked up thing? I found myself wanting to throw my excitement in Scott’s face. Because I had gone for so long without such intimacy. And there is no intimacy quite like those first discoveries of how your hands fit and your lips feel against each others’, as you move together in lustful, rhythmic sync.

The inequity had distressed me.

Terribly.

And until this morning, I hadn’t even realized the extent that it had.

But I refrained from hurling intentionally hurtful anecdotes about my evening to Scott. Instead I spoke the truth. Instead I told Scott that I was battling this desire to make up for all the inequity by  being childishly competitive – Look what a good evening I had while you were stuck at home watching bad television.

And he listened intently and heard every word.

And he understood.

Can you guess what his understanding did?

It made things equitable once again.

Success.

Today I am taking a question from a reader who contacted me for advice. I figured I’d answer him and then let y’all chime in, too~

First and foremost, your writing is wonderful and I thoroughly enjoy the perspective you capture in your blog entries. It takes courage to constantly assess your marriage and I admire the trust you and your husband share as you fearlessly explore the depths of your open marriage. That said, I have a question regarding my relationship with my fiance. We are in somewhat of a sexual rut. I am trying to explore new ideas, toys, fantasies, etc.. that I hope may rekindle our romantic flame. I’m sure you know what I mean by a rut. No matter how great the sex was or still is it seems we both always fall into the “routine” which I believe we are both getting rather tired of. It starts with missionary ends with doggie style and the act is starting to become rather dull and expected. I wanted to know if you have any suggestions for toys or ideas that may renew the passion? Thanks for your time!

~Dave

First let me start by saying thank you to Dave. I appreciate you taking the time to butter me up before you ask me for help. That’s super sweet. Not everyone does that, which is why I figured I’d answer this in my public forum, so that you can get my input as well as that of others. So, readers, please help Dave (and me) out with this advice giving thing.

Next I’d like to address the fact that you are talking about your fiance. You haven’t married her yet so I assume you’ve been together fewer than a couple of years. And you are already in a sexual rut? I have to say that sets off some warning bells in my pervy little, sexually-overactive mind. I wonder if it has yours, too? And why have you fallen into this “routine”? Are neither one of you taking the initiative to switch it up? It doesn’t take but a second to suggest a position or move to another part of the bed (or floor, or table, or couch, or chair – these are all suggestions on other places where you could fuck, by the way) but someone has to make the first move. My guess is it’s going to be you, since you are the one writing me. Are you certain she’s tired of the same old stuff? She may be quite happy with it.

But, here’s the thing… you won’t know unless you talk to her about it.

I know it might seem sort of silly to say, but lots of us don’t actually talk to our partners (even the one’s we are going to marry!!) about what they might like to try, do, watch, feel and fantasize about. Even though we ourselves have thoughts, feelings, fetishes, fantasies and desires about what it is we’d quite like to take a stab at. I mean, I could tell you, Dave to hop on over to your local sex shop and pick up a ceramic dildo (for her) and a butt plug (for you) and take turns inserting these beautiful, penetrative objects into each others’ orifices until you are both screaming in delight. I could tell you to make sure you play with her clit while you are fucking her with the dildo and I could instruct you to instruct her to jerk you off while you’ve got the butt plug in, but what good would that do if it’s something you’ve not discussed? That’s your first step. Talk to her about such ideas. Surely you’ve got some!

And watch porn together. In fact, watch her watching porn. Turn her on to gay porn – women on women porn and men on men porn. Even if it doesn’t get you off, chances are it will get her off, and that will get you off, won’t it? If it doesn’t, you can talk about what didn’t work, what might have worked and what perhaps worked a little bit – positions, body parts, sentiments uttered, etc. Then you’ll have an idea of what she’s into!

And then go from there. Once you’ve opened up the dialogue to include the possibility of porn and the possibility of toys, then perhaps you can open up the dialogue to the possibility of others – other sex partners. Either as strictly fantasy play or for real. Because if you are in a rut this early on in your relationship, my guess is your sexual compatibility may be off. And if that’s the case, you’ll want to discuss now the possibility of having an open relationship later (perhaps even much later) down the line. Because, remember? You are marrying this girl. This is, presumably, the rest of your lives together, including your sexual lives. It shouldn’t hurt to begin to communicate the possibility that one day you might grow a little bored of each being the other’s sole sexual outlet.

Because, really? Everyone does. They just don’t always admit it.

I hope this helps, Dave.

Readers, it’s your turn.

There hasn’t been a time that I didn’t need or want someone. I always want someone … or a few someones. We all do, yes?

One of the things about having an open marriage is that it enables its participants to extract from others those bits of love and energy that we don’t get from our spouse – it lets us fill those inevitable holes that can’t be filled by one person.

I am realizing, resolutely in fact, that have a few holes that need filling.

No, not those holes.

Okay, maybe some of those holes.

Sex and intimacy ebb and flow inside a marriage and Scott and are definitely ebbing at the moment. Perhaps this decline is as a result of some natural course or due to the fact that our energies are focused elsewhere, or it’s because working on our marriage has proved to be emotionally draining. But whatever the reason, I am realizing how much I am missing that certain Intimacy. The touch of someone new. Kind and gracious words delivered unexpectedly. The sweet breath on the back of my neck. The breath of someone who is realizing I am kind of awesome.

I need to start dating again.

And by dating, I mean dating. Not fucking around. Again.

My mother asked me why I wasn’t dating right now and I told her each time I make a motion to get out there and start doing just that I question whether my motives are pure. Would I be dating people to chase and procure a feeling? Fill an emotional void? Build equity in my open marriage? Create a distraction from all the stuff I’ve got going on?

Well. Upon introspection (and a hand smack to the head – *doh*) it turns out the answer to all of those questions is, to some degree, yes.

But fuck it. It’s time.

Now for the hard part. Because I think I may have forgotten how…

The second most common question I get when I tell someone that I have an open marriage, after, How the hell does that work?  is, What about your daughter?

To which I reply, Well, She’s a very cool, smart and well-adjusted little girl, do you have a more specific question?

And this launches into a discussion about how my daughter now understands that Scott and I have an open marriage and is really okay with it. And that’s because we’ve educated her to the concept of alternative relationship styles and the possibility of people designing relationships that work for them, the ones involved in them, as opposed to creating relationships that look like other people’s relationships. She gets that we don’t always have to do things the way everyone else does.

She is, at her core, a little eleven year-old vanguard.

This is a movement, I think.

If it isn’t yet it will be, Designing Your Own Relationship(s) is the culture of our future. It is the way things will be done and accepted as being done before I die (assuming I live to be an old lady). It has to be. Why? Because, quite simply, things aren’t working the way they are now. Relationships are too often built under false pretenses and by closeted people and under the veil of a false commitment and with promises that can never be delivered because the people involved aren’t authentic about who they are at their very core – vanguards and traditionalists alike.

This is not to say that these concepts can’t play out in “alternative” relationships too. But I believe that if people had choice, a real, true choice, about who they decide to partner with – instead of succumbing to the status quo of who they should partner with (and for how long- because forever? That’s a long fucking time, people) – then a lot of the problems that lead to nasty divorces, breakups, and hurt people will diminish.

Not completely, likely not completely. But some. When we have a choice, and our choices are accepted instead of judged, we have power in the confidence of that choice.

So I am writing another book. A book about parenting within non-traditional relationships. So if you are interested in being involved in it, either credited or anonymously, send me an email. I will be spending the next few weeks interviewing parents in non-traditional relationships -married and living and parenting separately, unmarried and living next door to each other, polyamorous parenting, commune dwellers, swinging parents, queer parents, transgendered parents, kinky moms and dads, etc.

I’d also love to hear from children of parents in alternative relationships!

Let’s create this movement and report on how well it can work together, shall we? For ourselves, for each other, and for our children.

Oh the power we will have together…

I don’t consider myself an advocate for Open Relationships.

I had the pleasure of co-hosting Jenny Block, author of Open: Love, Sex and Life in an Open Marriage at our BedPost Confessions Does Dallas show last Thursday at the Kessler Theater. It was a great show, which she headlined (her review of the show can be seen here) by reading some fun passages from her book.

I have heard Jenny say that she, too does not advocate for Open Relationships themselves, but advocates instead for openness and honesty.

And I wholeheartedly align with that sentiment.

I have been thinking a lot about what it is I stand for, because that’s really all we’ve got, isn’t it? What we stand for is how we make ourselves available to others, how we make a difference in their lives, how we push the boundaries and raise awareness of other ideas and notions and arrangements and possibilities. Because without standing for what’s important, what we consider important at least (and that is defined individually,) we don’t get much done. Not much action occurs outside of commitment to what it is we stand for.

I believe that I stand, like Jenny Block does, for honesty and openness, without question. Because while I am certain that relationships the world over survive for years and can be defined as successful without full disclosure and despite deceptive circumstances, I believe that this is because the current culture (specifically ours) has allowed deception and betrayal to be prevailing themes. So transforming tolerance of duplicity means shifting cultural attitudes. To do that we must make people aware that there are relationship paradigms that exist outside of the traditional standard of one man, one woman. And more importantly, they need that aforementioned honesty and openness in order to function properly.

So I stand for designing the relationships of our choosing, in the framework of those two tenets, however it is that they work for us, in a way that is beneficial for and has been decided on by all of the people involved.

And if that means a “traditional” relationship or a “non-traditional” relationship, then that’s what it means. If there is informed consent and agreement, then the arrangement has the capacity to be a beautiful relationship. And while there is more to it than that…

It’s a good place to start.

And it’s a great place to stand.

It hasn’t been all dour, draining, exhaustive relationship efforts around here. Sure, Scott and I have been spending multiple hours each day working on our issues, really paying attention to the triggers that send off the signals to return to old communication habits, being acutely aware of how we are interacting each other. Asking ourselves why we feel the way we feel, how we may have arrived at the feelings, what we can do to neutralize intensity of them; staving off, hopefully, a barrage of future ones.

Blah blah, relationships, blah blah blah….

Let’s talk about something sexy.

I’ve actually had a little fun in the last couple of months. I had an encounter in the park that inspired this tweet, and Dominic and I have resumed the strictly sexual part of our “friendship,” after I finally decided to answer the perpetually nagging question Why the fuck not?

Because, really? Why the fuck not?

But a notable experience was with a boy called Dean. And I call him a boy because he sort of is a boy (compared to me, anyway, who is fourteen years older than he is) but also because I like the sound of it. Okay, maybe more because I like the sound of it. I enjoy the way “boy” rolls around inside my mind, a slick marble on freshly finished bamboo floors, as I contemplate all the wonderful things I did with (and to) this boy one Wednesday night a few weeks back.

I’d given a friend (a co-worker of Dean’s) my card to give to this adorable boy after I’d watched him pour drinks from where I sat behind the dark mahogany bar, my feet propped up on brass stirrups, my cunt’s compass forcing my eyes in his direction. I was captivated, it seemed, by a somewhat shy but still confident allure. A characteristic I am certain serves him well.

She wants to fuck the shit out of you, is what my friend later said to Dean as he handed the boy my card, after I’d paid my bill, hugged my friend goodbye and left. I hadn’t instructed my friend to say that to him. But it was certainly true. No doubt it was true.

When Dean and I met for drinks and a chat several weeks later he was nervous. I’ve never done this before, he said. And I was surprised. I suppose, though, I hadn’t either. Many men I had met for drinks under the presupposition we were vetting each other for sex. Men I had met online but with whom I’d at least had an IM conversation with in an attempt to determine our compatibility. Men I’d met in bars several years back when I was drinking, but only after there had been an exchange of names and a vibe reading, as well as some general banter and a mutual agreement that we each found the other fuckable, before I’d follow him back to his home. But this was indeed the first time I’d been so bold as to announce my desire -and let me tell you it was a very strong desire- to fuck a boy I had just laid my eyes on. Whose name I did not know. Who I had not even spoken to. Whom I was not certain, save a lingering glance or two in my direction that night, might have any interest in fucking me.

But as we sat and spoke, it became clear that there was indeed interest. He was there, after all. He had an idea about what he might be stepping into. But in those first moments I had become unclear about whether or not I was still willing. He was cute, yes. Fuck was he cute. But he had also been thirty minutes late. It was a little while before I was able to let that particular grievance go, but once I did it was a distant concern.

After about an hour of chatting I looked at him, Shall we go back to your place? He nodded. We were out the door thirty seconds later.

His place was cute, a little bungalow that, I was shocked to learn, was situated right around the corner from my own house. It felt strange to be so proximal to my little family who were by then curled up on the couch watching TV, but the feeling melted away as Dean and I stood on his deck, kissing. I felt his mouth with my own, and learned with my hands the contours of the small of his back, the landscape of his chest, the sinewy, furry nape of his neck. We retreated inside and into his room where we undressed and landed together on the bed.

It is always slightly awkward having sex with someone the first time, particularly when that person is someone you hardly know. I had spent only an hour with Dean before we were naked together. In that hour we had discussed hobbies, family, jobs, and our views on sex and relationships, but I didn’t really know him, nor he me. But sometimes? Sometimes bodies know. Sometimes bodies more than personalities or minds create a kismet that might have never been realized had clothes not been removed. Bodies not allowed the freedom to discover the fantastic things that they can do together unless given the chance. This was an opportunity of such regard. Our bodies, it seemed, were  like old friends, coordinating with each other a camaraderie that only such status would acknowledge. His body, my body, together we moved, rhythmically, lyrically, as we jockeyed position – he on top, me on top, his cock in my mouth, my cunt on his mouth, and my favorite of the evening- me at the corner edge of the bed on my knees, he splayed out across it in front of me willingly, receptively, eagerly, my fingers shoved as deeply into his ass as was structurally possible.

Loving. Every. Minute of it.

Both of us.

Yes. It was a lovely evening, this was certainly true.

No doubt it is true.

Will there be an encore? I do not know. Nor does it matter.

Because it is a memory, a memory in my body, in fact. And one that I will enjoy, regardless.

There has been quite a bit of drama ’round here, hasn’t there? Many people have asked me many questions about my marriage, about its openness, about where I see it going. Will it continue? Yes, it will. Will you continue openly? The answer is yes.

The fact that our marriage is an Open Marriage is not the reason Scott and I are having issues. No, our marriage’s openness is not the inspiration for our intense, late-into-the-night discussions, nor has it precipitated the need for this major transition we are in.

It was simply time.

Scott and I have known each other for 27 years. That’s a long fucking time. No way are we throwing away the history we’ve acquired just because it’s gotten difficult. How could it not? Relationships that stagnate are destined to die. Periods of adversity force us to really examine the issues we’ve either brought with us to the relationship or have cultivated together so that we can transition into a better, more functional way of operating. Transitions are necessary for relationship growth and for renewing individual and collective strength. Without these little storms to weather, how could we appreciate the calmer climes? More importantly, how could we learn the valuable lessons that each provocation brings if we refused to meet them?

In fact, I think that being Open has, despite its inherent challenges, kept us together. And I truly believe, and this may sound melodramatic, that being Open has saved me.

I am reminded of this passage from my book, Open All the Way, which chronicles the first two years of our open marriage -including the beginnings of my relationship with Scott when we were teenagers, about my first orgasm at a very young age, the history of my sexual education, and a whole bunch of other stories I have not shared here (this blog picks up where the book leaves off)- and which is now available in paperback ~

I am certain, in fact I am beyond certain (if there exists the phenomenon of beyond certainty) that contentment might never have found me if Scott and I had not embarked upon this quest. And this was probably the most unexpected thing about the whole journey: how my being open, open to the notion of challenging the status quo and open to allowing other people inside the boundaries of my marriage, transformed me. In opening up my marriage, I was forced to get honest about more than just how the construct of monogamy didn’t suit me. Being open not only compelled me to examine my relationships with Scott and my daughter and appraise my relationship with alcohol, but it also forced me to investigate and ultimately improve the most important and fundamental relationship of all—the one with myself.

And for this I will be forever grateful.

So, I will continue to analyze, examine, investigate. As will Scott. Transitions inspire such scrutiny, don’t they?

This, I believe, can only be a good thing.

Click here to read more about Open All the Way.

Changing our tried and true relationship dynamic, one that functioned well for many many years, is, I’m finding out, a bit like excavating a dying tree. The blighted tree might have served as a habitat or even a food source for birds, insects and other creatures (just as our dying relationship accommodated and fed our mutual enmeshment and enabling,) but the dead tree eventually decomposes, becoming part of the soil.

Scott and I were on our way to becoming part of the soil. Dirt. Ashes. Rot.

So here we are, trying desperately to pull the tree out from its roots so that we can plant a new one. A new tree with the capacity to flourish, given our equal attention, without the blighted contamination, and with the tender care that comes from respect and nurturing. Respect and nurturing of ourselves as well as each other.

Scott realized I had been stifling him, controlling his capacity for growth. It made him feel small. Let me go, he asked, let me be free to find out who I am and I will offer you the same. I obliged, although this didn’t initially sit well with me. He was asking for the space to live his life in a way he never had before, and he, in turn, would give me mine. But I have my freedom, you see? I am a tree that has been allowed to grow, and will continue to. My freedom was granted me the moment I pried my lips away from silver, glistening intoxicants, the ones that represented cheerful celebration, and as I bid goodbye to pungent burgundy elixir and dry, white contentment that had allowed me sweet repose.

I needed something different from Scott’s freedom. But I hadn’t identified it until just today. When, as it had for Scott, clarity descended upon me.

The conundrum of clarity is that, while it is eventually beneficial, if utilized properly, it is followed by the need to proceed in a different direction. Which means that there is then more work to do than what was required to arrive at the clarity in the first place.

This is us trying to see clearer.

What is important to me is respect and consideration -two things I am very often denied and which plays itself out in the area of our open relationship- as is a boundary, one that will give me security that his relationship with his other partner and my relationship with him are two separate entities. For example – text messages with her when he and I are out on a date, or holding arguments with her while he and I are meant to be taking part in a family holiday is, to me, grievously disrespectful of that boundary. It’s inconsiderate. I am happy to give him his freedom if I am afforded what is important to me – respect and consideration of how I feel, and respect and consideration of this very simple boundary.

We will see how it all unfolds. Like the tree that has died and is beginning to mold, to decay, creating fungus and bacteria, so too was our marriage. These agreements are hopefully, simple methods of replanting. This is our way of pulling the fucking tree out from its roots.

But like dynamics, root systems are deeply planted.

Which means we are going to have to work very hard to make sure we get our dying tree all cleaned, and cleared, up.

It was simple, really. We had become one person.

I suppose it happens in some marriages. Merging a life with someone else’s might mean we are destined to become them, and they us. For us it was certainly that, and it was also the dynamic that was created as a result of our joining; two desperate souls searching for the opportunity to entwine. I was, ultimately, the one who needed looking after. And Scott? He stood steadfastly by, waiting (needing?) to provide assistance. It worked beautifully.

Until it didn’t any longer.

That’s the problem with relationship dynamics, once one person’s shifted out of that ring of functional dysfunctionality, it all fucking falls apart. That’s what happened to us. I tried to stop but he kept going. And as he did he dragged me back into the original operation – further in, towards the dynamic that had me exacting restrictions upon him that I had no business forcing. The dynamic that made me attempt to control certain aspects of his other relationships and even parts of his work. The dynamic that allowed him to encourage this control by appeasing me with empty promises and by lying to me about things that were meaningless, trivial, stupid.

It was utterly fucking exhausting.

Scott napped quietly one afternoon last week. He had come home from work early because he felt ill. His body did what mine usually does under severe emotional stress (but had somehow managed to avoid succumbing to) – it shut down. I hadn’t seen him quite so subdued in a very long time. I had told him I wanted a divorce. No more, I said. I was done. The dynamic was choking the life out of our marriage. And I, too, was suffocating. He collapsed onto the bed. Slept soundly.

I was working at my computer when I heard a sudden, disconsolate sobbing issuing from his station across the room. I ran to him, leaned into him, loved him -felt it fiercely and resolutely even- and waited for him to collect himself. Once he had gained composure, Scott began to speak.

With heaving chest and unconditional intention he illustrated to me how he had just, in a freeing flash of consummate clarity, discovered the fastest route towards leaving the circular, defective mode we’d been cycling in for so many years. The cycle I’d been attempting to circumnavigate since I stopped drinking. And as he spoke I listened. And nodded. And when he was through we talked. And talked. And talked.

We talked for hours and have logged countless more ever since. We have talked without pain. Without judgment. And without the need to win a battle we didn’t even realize we’d been fighting.

The key?

Independence. For ourselves. From each other. So that we can both be ourselves. But with each other.

And with that revelation, as affirmation, we begin anew.

‘Tis been an interesting seven days, I must say.

With renewed hope -while breathing deeply, intentionally, trustingly-  Scott and I have begun to look at our marriage in an entirely different way. Through two pairs of eyes whose lenses have been scraped clean, free now of the mangled debris of the past.

It’s wild how transformations occur, these shifts of consciousness that happen right before our very eyes. The eyes that we believe are now clear. The eyes that once sent distress signals to our psyches to hold on tighter. The ones that sought to justify, to deny, to appease, to control. The eyes that now understand that it’s time to let go.

Of all of that.

To let it go. So that we can stay.

And so we will, and I have much to say about how we plan to continue in our marriage, and how it was that we arrived here. Happily. Although just now I don’t have the words. Just now, my thoughts are simply shattered glass on warm pavement.

But I will find words. Construct sentences. Tell the stories. Pick up the pieces. Just as Scott and I are doing in our marriage.

All the while… breathing.

Hoping

And trusting.