Technically this falls under the category of wedding undergraduate, because Leona is not married yet. But, that's not really the right category. This is written by someone who's been to hell and back, and even at the young age of 22 could teach most of us a thing or two about marriage. As you might remember from our wedding (cake), I'm the daughter of two military brats. Both my grandfathers were career officers, and veterans of multiple wars. Both my grandmothers were military wives. So this is for all of the military wives out there, those of you carrying a burden that the rest of us can't even dream of. And  it's for all of us battling with mental illness, big and small, in our marriages, and winning (whatever that looks like).

I’m a twenty-two year-old and I’m getting married next month. As someone who is pretty young, when I announce this fact, however casually, about eight out of ten times I get two questions: “Why?” and “How do you know it’s right?” As every couple’s story is unique, the answer for these questions simply has to vary…but, whatever it’s worth, this is mine.

My fiancé and I took a leap and got engaged when I was 19 and he was 22. In retrospect, at that point, we really couldn’t have known that it was “meant to be.” We were in love, but we would later find the depth of our commitment in a difficult way. In the middle of my junior year as an undergrad, we got the news that my fiancé was going to deploy to Iraq for seven months. As the daughter of a man who deployed twice during Desert Storm, I wasn’t worried because my experience never gave me reason to suspect anything bad would happen.

Those seven months turned out to be the most miserable months of my life. The changes I saw (well, heard, more appropriately) in my partner ripped me apart. Without making any statements about the war and the nature of what my fiancé had to do, it was very apparent to me that he was manic depressive and completely helpless in his situation. I watched in total agony as he changed from the happy, optimistic, refuge of my life that I knew and loved, to a person I feared would hurt himself or others. When I tried to get him to talk about it, the only response I could get was, “you just wouldn’t understand,” and I hated him for it. I felt like he subjected me to his feelings instead of letting me share in them. At my worst, I ignored his calls, wished that he would be wounded and sent home, or even worse, I wished a couple of times that he would die (not because I meant it, but I desperately wanted to be happy again). He pushed me away and instead of being the sensitive, wise version of myself, I pushed right back.

I could keep telling you about how dark those days were for us, but instead, I’ll just say that despite all of that, we came through. Amazingly, somehow I always knew we would—somehow I had the constant conviction that it would pass and that after this, we would know, just know, that we could rely on each other. We would know that one of us was bound to break and that when it happened, things wouldn’t stop. We would go on, spiraling forever toward some uncertain future like a marvelous double helix with two sides always turning and the two compensating for each other. I believe very much that if you stay in a relationship long enough, you will have ample opportunities to pay each other back.

If/when you find yourself in a situation like mine, I truly hope these things will help you: Continue reading Reclaiming Wife: When the Road Ahead is Dimly Lit