Married After 10 Years of Dating — Lessons Learned on the Journey to the Altar

H​e was tall, lean, and his crown of beautiful black dreadlocks hung to the middle of his back. His skin was silky smooth resembling dark chocolate in both texture and tone. He was beautiful, and I was going to marry him. He was my kindergarten Sunday school teacher, Tyrone.

I​’ve always been in love with the idea of getting married. I was the little girl that wore her favorite blanket as a wedding gown and convinced her friends to play wedding with her. And the depressed girl who’s concerned mother thought she had been harmed at school, only to discover that this overly dramatic child was distraught over Gregory’s refusal to marry her. That was me, age 5.

Where had my infatuation with marriage come from? Perhaps I was sucked into the Disney Princess vortex like millions of other girls? Whatever had me so enamored with the idea of being a wife, made me want to be the best wife possible. This might sound sweet, but I was way too intense as a kid and I don’t know how my parents dealt with me. My wish to be a good wife led me down a hellish road of heartbreak and headaches during my teenage years through young adulthood. It wasn’t until years later that I would learn that no matter how great I tried to be, my partners would never appreciate my efforts because they were waist deep in their…