“I’m going to drive this until the wheels fall off. Then, I’m going to get new wheels, put ‘em on, and drive it till it just falls apart.”
That was the plan anyway.
I’d wanted a truck for a long time. The first time I’d ever had the opportunity to do something about that desire was during my previous marriage. My ex-husband’s Blazer shit the bed so it was time to do some looking. The plan was to use the money in my CD to buy our new vehicle. I would drive it while my ex drove my Honda. Immediately I said, “I want a truck.”
I was shot down.
That situation was a perfect illustration of how things were in that relationship. My needs and wants never really seemed important. In fact, they were relegated to the back burner most of the time. Not only did I not get my truck, but we ended up with the car that he chose. Worse yet, it became his car.
That relationship lasted for eight years. Little by little I lost who I was. It was so subtle that I didn’t even realize that it was happening. As it happens, everyone else around me was able to see it. Friends, family…but I couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.
Ironically, I started to find myself through a friendship with a man who would become my husband. Things about my true personality that I had long-since buried, surfaced through this friendship. If that wasn’t hard enough, the difficult questions soon followed.
“Why do I feel more myself with Terry than I do my own husband?”
Since childhood I’ve had a strong personality. How could I have lost that, lost myself, and worse yet, never even saw it happening? What a humbling realization. I had changed who I was for a man. For a relationship. For a husband who didn’t treat me the way I deserved to be treated. For someone who thought herself so strong, how did I ever learn to believe that I didn’t deserve better?
During the summer of 2005, I started my life over. I had a new career, a new home, and a new relationship. I was re-learning who I was. This was also one of the most difficult times of my life. Because I had left everything I knew behind, I felt a little lost. I felt like I had no roots.
Terry was working through his own turmoil at the time. Trying to regain some of what was stolen from him in his first marriage. One of which was the truck he lost when his ex stole the money he gave her to pay his truck payment.
We worked to combine our separate lives, making them one. Buying our trucks together was the first thing that we did together. The first thing that was ours together. Buying our trucks was planting our first roots together.
When Terry asked me what I was looking for, there was no hesitation. I wanted a truck and I wanted it to be a Ranger. I wanted a stick shift. The rest was negotiable. Terry spotted it and I fell in love. Coincidently, Terry’s F-150 came from the same place. I named my truck Duke, after a truck in one of our favorite movies. The pride I felt from being able to choose and buy my own truck, with no one telling me I couldn’t, was indescribable. Signing my name to the title, making my payments, feeling the satisfaction of it being mine.
It was the first major decision I made for myself, because I wanted it, in a very long time. It was part of my liberation.
Letting go of Duke was harder than I imagined it would be. The only thing that has made it bearable for me is knowing that even if it was part of the first root, there have been many more roots since then. Not the least of which is the deepest root: our marriage.
That was the plan anyway.
I’d wanted a truck for a long time. The first time I’d ever had the opportunity to do something about that desire was during my previous marriage. My ex-husband’s Blazer shit the bed so it was time to do some looking. The plan was to use the money in my CD to buy our new vehicle. I would drive it while my ex drove my Honda. Immediately I said, “I want a truck.”
I was shot down.
That situation was a perfect illustration of how things were in that relationship. My needs and wants never really seemed important. In fact, they were relegated to the back burner most of the time. Not only did I not get my truck, but we ended up with the car that he chose. Worse yet, it became his car.
That relationship lasted for eight years. Little by little I lost who I was. It was so subtle that I didn’t even realize that it was happening. As it happens, everyone else around me was able to see it. Friends, family…but I couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.
Ironically, I started to find myself through a friendship with a man who would become my husband. Things about my true personality that I had long-since buried, surfaced through this friendship. If that wasn’t hard enough, the difficult questions soon followed.
“Why do I feel more myself with Terry than I do my own husband?”
Since childhood I’ve had a strong personality. How could I have lost that, lost myself, and worse yet, never even saw it happening? What a humbling realization. I had changed who I was for a man. For a relationship. For a husband who didn’t treat me the way I deserved to be treated. For someone who thought herself so strong, how did I ever learn to believe that I didn’t deserve better?
During the summer of 2005, I started my life over. I had a new career, a new home, and a new relationship. I was re-learning who I was. This was also one of the most difficult times of my life. Because I had left everything I knew behind, I felt a little lost. I felt like I had no roots.
Terry was working through his own turmoil at the time. Trying to regain some of what was stolen from him in his first marriage. One of which was the truck he lost when his ex stole the money he gave her to pay his truck payment.
We worked to combine our separate lives, making them one. Buying our trucks together was the first thing that we did together. The first thing that was ours together. Buying our trucks was planting our first roots together.
When Terry asked me what I was looking for, there was no hesitation. I wanted a truck and I wanted it to be a Ranger. I wanted a stick shift. The rest was negotiable. Terry spotted it and I fell in love. Coincidently, Terry’s F-150 came from the same place. I named my truck Duke, after a truck in one of our favorite movies. The pride I felt from being able to choose and buy my own truck, with no one telling me I couldn’t, was indescribable. Signing my name to the title, making my payments, feeling the satisfaction of it being mine.
It was the first major decision I made for myself, because I wanted it, in a very long time. It was part of my liberation.
Letting go of Duke was harder than I imagined it would be. The only thing that has made it bearable for me is knowing that even if it was part of the first root, there have been many more roots since then. Not the least of which is the deepest root: our marriage.
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