. On Brave Boys .

[I posted this almost two years ago and then promptly took it down. It was misunderstood by a few people, and that's just never fun. So let me just preface this by saying: Women don't need to be fixed. You don't need to be fixed. I don't need to be fixed. No one here needs fixing. However, all of us - you, me, and the person standing next to you - need to be loved. And sometimes that love heals hurts you never even knew were there.]

[Also: I'm taking The General to a theme park this week by myself. If we could all just say a prayer that I don't lose my damn mind, that'd be great. Kthanks.]

Hey. You wanna love a girl with a broken heart? You wanna be a "mender"? A "fixer"? You wanna be a "cleaner-upper" or a "put-her-back-together-er"? This is what I would tell you if you asked me for advice. 

Dear Brave Boy - 

You're going to need to be brave. Courage will be the number one thing that you'll need to bring with you to the fight. Because, Brave Boy, it'll be a fight. Between you and her. Or you and her past. Or you'll sit on the sidelines and watch her fight herself. A struggle. A tug-of-war for power. So you wear that courage - that bravery - like a second skin. And Jesus. Just ... fight for her. Okay? Always be fighting for her. 

Things will rise up from within her. Bubbles of the Before gurgling to the surface - like they're entitled. They demand to be heard. These are the things you'll need to listen to. Love her extra hard on those days. Understand that those are not your memories that she's drowning in. Those Bubbles of the Before easily - so, so easily - could suffocate even the surest of girls. Help her. Even when she resists. 

There will be nights that tears come. Quietly, and like a soft, damp fall morning, her cheeks will glisten. Don't be the guy that ignores them. Don't be the guy that falls asleep. Don't be the guy that rolls away. Be the holder. Be the beacon. Let her get lost in the litany that you speak. The litany of things that you love about her. Stroke her hair, her face, her heart. But don't you dare ever be the guy that turns away.

There will be days that she will lash out so hard at you. Her hurt will crash like banging hands on a piano. Her jaw firm. Her eyes hard. She will throw it all at you so hard, and you - Brave Boy - you will have to be the one to catch it. And, sure enough, that even includes the Days That She Doubts You. 

For a myriad of reasons - 

She will doubt you.

• It'll feel dull - kind of like how you feel in mid-January - when you just aren't quite sure Spring is ever going to come. It'll feel gray, like an unremarkable day in December.
• It'll feel wrong - kind of like a shirt that's too small in the shoulders, or writing her name with your left hand.
• It'll feel cold - kind of like late October, when you've forgotten your jacket. Or how the wood floor feels on your feet in February. 

Here's what you should do with that doubt - it's a special kind of secret that only the Broken Girls know - 

Absorb it. Absorb the grey, cold, wrong - and just ... hold it for her. Because it's too big of a burden to carry by herself. 

Absorb it. 

And then let it go. 

She will wonder the most on the Days That She Doubts You. She'll have 1,000 questions for you. 

• Is she loving you hard enough?
• Is she filling your bucket up enough?
• Is she pretty enough? Funny enough? Smart enough? 
• Enough? 

It's your  job - your Mender Duty - to answer ... freely, honestly, candidly ... all of her questions. Tell her the damn truth. Even if your voice shakes, and even if it hurts (you OR her). Just always tell the damn truth. 

You'll have to be the guy that feeds her brutal, teeth clenching honesty. The guy that has read the prologue and all of her chapters (even the secret, quiet ones that everyone else overlooks), and knows them up and down, back to front. The guy that shines a light for her in the dark. 

Because she'll lose her way.
Lost.
Bereft. 

And as a "fixer", your job is to take the scary, the ugly, the terrified - and reassure. Pour your reassurance out to her. Let it rain the hell down. 

Be slow. 

Slowly push the hair out of her face. Walk slowly together. Slowly stroke her thumb when she is literally clinging to your hand. Slowly. 

And listen - 

If you can't do all of that? If that's just too much? Too much work? If you can't handle it? Then you need to walk away. 

You are not a mender.
You are not a fixer.
You are not a "put-her-back-together-er". 

You are one of the Broken. 

Walk away.

xoxo, B.