So this is love....

I think one of the hardest things about finally being loved properly is realizing all the ways you weren’t loved before.

Not loved for you, anyway.

Looking back now, I can see how many relationships in my life revolved around what I could give. What could I buy? What could I do? How could I make their life easier? How much of myself could I pour into them to prove that I was worthy of being loved?

And I did it. Over and over again.

I gave. I bought. I helped. I fixed. I showed up. I tried harder.

But I don’t remember feeling beautiful.

I don’t remember feeling sexy in my own skin.

I don’t remember feeling like someone looked at me and thought, God, I love this woman exactly as she is.

Then came Jet.

And somewhere along the way, without even realizing it was happening, I learned the difference between someone loving what you do for them and someone simply loving you.

For our one-year anniversary, we actually put a spending limit on our gifts. Because this relationship has never been about who can spend the most money or buy the biggest thing.

It’s about knowing each other.

I asked for mums.

Yes. Mums. Flowers that are eventually going to die because apparently I enjoy emotional risk in all forms.

But Jet knows how much I love our home. He knows how ridiculously happy I get decorating it for every season and watching our little corner of the world transform into whatever seasonal magical wonderland I have decided it needs to become.

And he loves that about me.

Not because it benefits him.

Because it makes me happy.

That distinction means more to me than I can explain.

Jet chose a ladder stand for hunting, and that gift has a much deeper meaning for me than just buying him some hunting equipment.

Last hunting season wasn't exactly his finest.

Partly because we had just started dating and all we wanted to do was spend time together, so this man sacrificed a whole lot of his time doing something he loves just to be with me.

And partly because, a few weeks into dating him, I completely lost my damn mind and decided I should end our relationship.

Because apparently when happiness feels suspiciously good, my brain's first response is:

DESTROY IT BEFORE IT DESTROYS US.

Healthy.

I sent him the text.

This man was miles into the woods hunting.

A dedicated hunter.

And my bullshit pulled him out of those woods, into his truck, and 40 minutes down the road to my house in Waterbury because he was not about to let me blow up something good through a text message.

He showed up.

And there I was, stubborn as hell, holding my ground and convincing myself that ending things was the "right" thing to do.

Then he walked out my door in tears.

I will never forget that.

I hate that I hurt such a beautiful soul because I was scared of something that felt too good to trust.

Thankfully, Jet is apparently part saint and part professional Kelly Bullshit Detector, because he didn't let me get away with it forever.

We found our way through it.

And here we are.

So yes, I bought the man a ladder stand.

Because hunting has been part of Jet's life since he was a kid. It's something he genuinely loves, and I want him to have those pieces of himself. I don't want him giving up the things that make him him just because he's with me.

And if someday he gets a deer right here on our property while sitting in the ladder stand I gave him for our first anniversary?

Well...That's going to mean something.

He's an ethical hunter, and I love being able to support something that matters so much to him.

Then there were the cards.

Of course I bought Jet an anniversary card.

And obviously Sugar Bear bought her dad one too because this is a family and the dog has correspondence.

Her card was ridiculous. He loved it. Mission accomplished.

Jet felt terrible because he hadn't bought me a card.

Instead, he wrote me a letter.

And holy shit.

That letter.

It may be one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever given me.

He wrote about the reasons he loves me.

Not the things I buy him.

Not the things I do for him.

Me.

He loves that we dance in the kitchen.

He loves how excited I get about our adventures.

He loves these tiny pieces of me that I didn't even realize someone was noticing.

The list went on and on.

And I cried.

Because there is something incredibly powerful about seeing yourself through the eyes of someone who genuinely loves you.

Especially when you've spent so much of your life believing love was something you had to earn.

He gave me that letter inside a beautiful handmade wooden box that he made for me so I could keep all of my love letters in it.

Because he's been writing them since the beginning.

And now that box holds this little timeline of us.

The early letters are filled with that new, exciting, holy-shit-I-really-like-you kind of love.

And slowly they've changed.

They've become deeper.

More certain.

They're filled with the kind of love that comes from building a life together. Trust. Respect. Friendship. Attraction. Admiration. Safety. Choosing each other even when one of us is being an asshole.

Usually me.

Sometimes him.

We're keeping score.

And maybe that's what being truly loved actually is.

It's not the expensive gift.

It's not what you can provide.

It's not how useful you can make yourself to another person.

It's someone paying attention.

Someone knowing the little things that make your eyes light up.

Someone wanting you to have the things that make you feel like you.

Someone writing down all the tiny reasons they love you because they notice things about you that you didn't even realize were lovable.

It's dancing in the kitchen.

It's mums on the porch.

It's a ladder stand in the woods.

It's stupid cards from Shuggs (Cadence).

It's handwritten letters tucked inside a box made by the hands of the man who loves you.

It's being able to exist without constantly wondering what you need to do next to deserve your place in someone's life.

That one has taken me a long time to understand.

I don't have to buy Jet's love.

I don't have to earn it.

I don't have to perform for it.

I don't have to make myself smaller, prettier, easier, quieter, more useful or more convenient to keep it.

He loves me.

The loud me.

The emotional me.

The stubborn me.

The woman dancing like an idiot in the kitchen.

The woman decorating the house like Hobby Lobby threw up on it because IT'S FALL, DAMMIT.

The woman who sometimes gets scared when life feels too good and tries to protect her heart before anything can hurt it.

He sees all of her.

And somehow, he still looks at me like I'm beautiful.

He makes me feel sexy.

He makes me feel wanted.

He makes me feel safe in my own skin.

And after experiencing that, I can finally look backward and understand something I couldn't see while I was living it:

There is a huge difference between being needed and being loved.

I spent a lot of years being needed.

I don't think I knew what it felt like to simply be loved.

Now I do.

Is our relationship some perfect fairytale?

Absolutely not.

The man farts.

A lot.

No Disney prince has ever rolled over in bed and committed the kind of crimes against humanity this man has.

But maybe I don't want the fairytale anyway.

I'll take this.

I'll take the kitchen dancing and hunting stories and handwritten letters. I'll take our adventures and our home and Sugar Bear's ridiculous cards. I'll take the disagreements and the laughter and the moments where one of us calls the other on their bullshit.

I'll take the man who drove 40 minutes out of the woods because he wasn't willing to let me throw us away.

I'll take the man who notices me.

I'll take the man who loves my heart instead of what my heart can give him.

Because after one year of being loved like this, I find myself wondering how the hell I ever did life without him.

And more importantly...

How did I ever mistake anything less for love?