I Love My Wife But I Don't Believe Her When She Says I'm Handsome

Photo: Courtesy of the author
i love my wife more than myself
Love, Self

But I WANT to believe her. More than anything ...

My wife thinks I’m handsome. Pretty, even.

She tells me this of her own volition, and quite often. It’s never contrived. Her eyes and her actions confirm her words.

I feel much the same about her. She’s stunningly beautiful. Her smile and laugh are perfection to my senses. The variety of conversations we have draws me into her depths, drowning me in their poetic rhythms. When her skin touches mine, fires race along every nerve, my body on the precipice of uncontrollable desire. I do not withhold how I think and feel with her, either. She’s as aware of my longing and adoration as much as I am of hers.

The incredible part of this love story we live is that I do not believe her.

Oh, I do believe she well and truly means these words. That our loving and lustful times are transcendent and real. There is no lie in her enraptured gaze, nor in the thoughtful ways she cares for me. I have never felt so well met as I do with her.

Yet I don’t believe her.

This is not an indictment of her intentions or her honesty. It is my inherent doubts that trump her earnestness.

I don’t believe that I am handsome or pretty or sexy because I do not believe that I am worthy of such affirmations.

I WANT to believe her. More than anything I want to accept that I am as she sees me. But those niggling insecurities creep in and wage their silent wars on my marriage.

On the surface, it seems simplistic. If I can see her in such a radiant fashion, why can’t I accept that her view of me is just as brilliant?

For nearly seven years, I’ve held her on a pedestal, above all others. She belongs in the clouds, a visage of beauty that I have somehow finagled into loving me. She’s held me on the same pedestal. Yet I try, repeatedly, to descend from that pedestal, knowing that she alone is worthy of lofty space.

But that’s not really true, is it?

We belong together, at whatever height we ascend to.

Those bastard doubts are chains, forged within to hold me down. She has worked ceaselessly to smash those links and so that I may climb up and claim my space with her, as we have claimed each others’ hearts. Our journey lies together.

I want to believe her.

I WILL believe her.

And I will love her as we traverse this life, and any others that follow.



This article was originally published at Scotchfully Yours. Reprinted with permission from the author.


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