Lately, I’ve found myself reflecting on who I used to be. I remember a time when I was a hopeless romantic, navigating the ups and downs of love with the help of books that carried me through the darkest moments. Today, my thoughts turn to the journey that ultimately led me to my husband, and how those twists and turns shaped the person I am now.

I often think about the time before my ex—when I was lost in the hope of love, seeking affection from someone who never seemed to return it. That chapter was filled with uncertainty and longing, but I can’t quite compare it to the story with my ex; that one was too easy in hindsight, for reasons that are now crystal clear. What really stands out are the crushes I had before then. One in particular, a man I once pursued, comes to mind.

He was an old friend from high school, someone I hadn’t spoken to in years. One day, out of the blue, he messaged me about my truck, and before I knew it, we were talking constantly. We lived just down the road from each other, so it wasn’t long before we started hanging out. But all the while, I knew he was about to leave for the service. He promised he’d contact me when he was back in town—but when he did return, he didn’t reach out until it was almost time for him to leave again.

At that moment, I knew deep down that he didn’t feel the same way, but I couldn’t help myself. I wrote letters I would never send, trying to make sense of the situation. So, I moved on and looked for love elsewhere. It wasn’t long before something unexpected happened. One day, out of nowhere, he called me, saying he was outside my house. I let him in, and we talked about life—about me, about him—and eventually, he confessed he did have feelings for me. But he couldn’t say it outright. Instead, he spoke of me like I was someone else, and I felt a mixture of sympathy and frustration.

I helped him set up a dating app, and before long, he moved away and found someone. But even in those moments, I remember that feeling—the uncertainty, the vulnerability, the butterflies that swarmed in my stomach.

That feeling, though, was nothing like what I experienced when I met my husband. With him, there were no butterflies. There was no doubt. Instead, my heart pounded in my throat, and I felt an undeniable pull to be around him, to get to know him more. Our connection didn’t need words at first. It was a quiet dance we did around each other—showing up every day after work without ever really agreeing to make it happen. I felt calm, comfortable, and grounded whenever he was near.

With him, everything felt easy. He made it effortless to love him, and with every passing day, I found myself more sure of who I was with him. The love I had once searched for, the one I thought I needed to fight for, came to me naturally, without struggle. I often think about how misguided I was in my pursuit of love back then, how I was willing to settle for far less than what I truly deserved. But, in the end, none of that matters. Because I found exactly what I needed.

I am so incredibly thankful for him.