If you've followed my blog for a while, you probably know how I feel about marriage. I wrote about it here. And here.
For me, accepting that Jack and I will get married one day has been a lot like the grieving process.
Stage 1, denial. "I'll never get married," I told him when we were first dating.
Stage 2, anger. A couple years in to our relationship, Jack told me that he wanted to marry me someday. Threats were made.
Stage 3, bargaining. "I can't marry you until you finish your degree." "I can't marry you until you start your career," "...until your credit card debt is paid off." "...until...until," until I ran out of excuses.
Stage 4, depression. I would say I was more doubtful than depressed. "Will things change when we're married?" "What happens if we grow apart?" "What if he changes his mind and decides he wants kids? What if I do?" "What if, what if, what if?!?"
Stage 5, acceptance. Last month, Jack told me that he intends to propose by the end of the year. I didn't freak out. I didn't make any threats or excuses. I didn't ask any questions. I just smiled and thought about what my answer will be. Yes. I will say "yes." I just hope I can say it with enthusiasm. I am terrified of my reaction when Jack finally does pop the question. What if I am not happy and excited when he asks? What if I still have lingering fears and doubts that he can read on my face when I respond? It would break his heart.