Married at 18

At the age of 17, I was verbally and sexually abused.

A man I knew who was significantly older than I was took advantage of me.

It was sick.

Worst of all, he was married.

He had a wife. A beautiful wife. She was everything that I wanted to be. Together, they had two kids and one on the way. They were seemingly the perfect family. Everyone saw them as an example of a loving family.

As you can imagine, this situation caused me to have harsh and doubtful feelings towards marriage and love. I was convinced that all men were never satisfied. I believed it was in their nature to desire more than one woman, regardless of how seemingly perfect their one woman was.

I couldn't stand the idea of marriage.

Although I knew I would be faithful to the one I chose to love forever, I couldn't trust that he would reciprocate that to me. Seeing how this man so effortlessly went behind the backs of his wife and children for an ounce of added pleasure, how was I able to trust that my hypothetical future husband wouldn't do the same?

Not only did I feel incredibly doubtful that marriage was a good thing, I felt guilty about everything that had happened. I blamed myself. Therefore, I no longer felt worthy of a wholesome relationship. I had a dark past that I thought was too dirty to be repaired.

I turned 18-years-old and left the state I called home to attend college.

Everyone knows the social pressures of college and the battle of fitting in. It was my intention to go on dates, have fun, and make memories.

Marriage was not the slightest thought in my mind.

I met a guy who I started to really develop feelings for. It wasn't long before I knew that I loved him.

Terrifying.

Although I loved him and he loved me, I still struggled with trusting that I was the only one on his mind.

It was painful but necessary for me to open up to him about my past experience with "the married man."

He knew that verbally, he couldn't reassure me of his commitment to me and to us. So, with all of his attention and effort, he showed me.

Day after day, he proved to me that he was committed.

He spent every waking moment with me to ensure that I knew there was no one else. He kissed me. He danced with me in the small kitchen of my apartment. He held me. He put my makeup on for me in the mornings. He woke me up for class. He held my hand in the bitter winter cold. He made me dinners. He picked up the slack I always left behind. He advocated for me to others. He loved me.

It had only been a month of us knowing each other before I looked him in the eyes and could say with full confidence and conviction that I wanted to marry him.

He knew it was crazy, not financially wise, unpopular, and a bit strange. So did I.

But we threw those doubts and social pressures to the wind because, "when you know, you know."

And we knew.

From that day forward, he has gently erased all of my misconceptions about men. He has healed the pain that my heart endured. He has lovingly placed bandages across the insecurities that had developed within me.

And I knew that I was no longer a slave to that abuse.

I was no longer afraid to trust and to love.

So here I am, so happy, so in love, and married at 18.