NOVEMBER 11, 2019

I cannot celebrate Jon Farmer enough. He is my favorite person in the entire world. He is funny and amazing and most importantly, he is kind as fuck. I grew up hiding in a house with violence, screaming, and hate. My mom was amazing but my parents were volatile to say the least. They were young immigrants tied together despite having no money and no love by 2 children, religion, and poverty. I swore I would never become so dependent on another human being I couldn’t leave, despite everything being shit. I didn’t believe in love or marriage. I also didn’t want anyone to get close enough to see how deformed and angry my insides were, how not normal I was. And then I became friends with Jon Farmer. I couldn’t believe how authentically kind and goofy and tender-hearted he was.

I’m not saying he’s perfect. He is pig-headed and gets caught up in details and way too practical. And he didn’t save me or complete me. I was busy working on myself and was not looking for a partner. I understood I was messed up, but still valuable, confident and happy alone. People are complicated. But the friendship turned into never wanting to hang up or go home. We would talk for hours in the car so neither of us would have to leave. And we laughed and shared music and went on adventures until the sun came up. All the while, I was waiting for things to turn sour. From when we dated and into our marriage, I was always looking for a reason to leave. I don’t believe in staying together just to stay together. I’ve seen too many unhappy relationships to put “doing what’s right” over what I need. And I don’t even believe staying together qualifies as doing what’s right. If divorce is right for you, then go for it. But I have to say, almost a decade in, it’s never been that hard. There have been angry moments, stretches of brittle silence, snapped insults. But fundamental to the tension was Jon’s desire for reconciliation, humility, and eagerness for closeness. He showed me what having character in a fight looks like. And I’m ashamed to admit, I wasn’t healthy enough to reciprocate at first. I would say, “Fine! I don’t give a shit.” And he would say, “Please come here. Please don’t say things just to hurt me.” When things started to get hard, Jon would go soft and mold around my hard edges and hold me. So it never got to a point where it was irredeemably hard. And now I can say, I’m softer too because of him. I hold my tongue when my feelings trigger an angry vomit of hate over something that can be rationally discussed in an hour. I rush to apologize first. I try to make sure I’m not reacting because I’m h-angry. Snacks really help! And I criticise his actions and not his character.

I think the first few years of marriage were definitely harder for him as he continued to compensate for my temper, for my eagerness to run, for my anger. And I’m so thankful he stuck around and loved me tirelessly. I was content to be a lone little cactus, but he planted a garden of wildflowers all around me.