Today started like any typical Thursday for me—tidying up the house, organizing things before heading into work later tonight. Usually, I’d be out running errands too, but with the first significant snowfall settling outside and no winter tires on my car yet, staying home wasn’t just a preference—it was mandatory. And honestly, who wouldn’t rather stay in cozy sweatpants anyway? I love it, and yet, I kind of hate it. Months of cleaning have led me here, standing in front of the very last two closets in our home.
To give some context, my fiancé and I have been together for five months. Less than two weeks into our relationship, the four of us—him, me, and our two kids, ages five and three—moved into his apartment. It wasn’t just any apartment; it was a space filled with memories and remnants of past relationships. I’m not a naturally jealous person, but I won’t lie—it was hard at first. Everywhere I looked, there were traces of his exes: clothes in drawers, photos on Facebook of holidays now shared in my kitchen and living room, keepsakes from a life that had existed before me. And he never throws anything away.
Whenever mail from his previous partner arrived, my chest would tighten, my body running hot and cold simultaneously. He was always transparent, never hiding anything from me, which made it harder in some ways. I still felt waves of inadequacy, unsure of where I fit or if our relationship could feel truly ours. Every place we went, every event we attended, had been touched by someone else before. The only difference now was me. His daughter often started conversations with, “When she lived here, we did—” reminding me, gently but persistently, of the past. I even saw folders of sketches his ex had made for him, photos of Christmas parties he attended with someone else. Balancing honesty about my feelings with the fear of seeming jealous or possessive was exhausting. My own past had been toxic, full of emotional and physical abuse, so understanding why he kept pieces of prior relationships didn’t come naturally. It took months to accept it—and to understand him.
But I don’t resent him for having loved before me. In fact, I’m grateful. Those relationships shaped him, gave him experiences that taught him what it means to give and receive love. He deserved to have someone there for him when he needed it, and knowing that makes my heart happy.
Now, just months into our life together, we know each other completely. We have each other’s passwords to devices and accounts, can fill out paperwork for one another, and navigate the logistics of our blended family seamlessly. His “what’s mine is yours” mentality reassures me daily. And it’s this trust that led me to the very back of that last closet today, with full permission to sift through anything I found. I had to pause for a moment. Did I really want to do this? My PTSD whispered caution—after all, past relationships and my childhood taught me that nothing good comes easy.
But as I dug through the expected envelopes, clothing, and random items, my world didn’t collapse. Instead, I found understanding. I didn’t uncover fragments of every girl who had come before me; I discovered pieces of the man he had been, and the life that shaped him. I found a college essay about a girl he had loved, where he thoughtfully reflected on the highs and lows of the relationship and recognized both healthy and unhealthy patterns. I found letters detailing his experiences with his mom, showing how he navigated responsibility and compassion. I found a letter from his daughter’s mom, revealing manipulation and heartbreak he endured. I even uncovered old acceptance letters and notes tracing his shift from math and science to computer technology—hints of why he’s so good with numbers and problem-solving.
I set aside many of these items into my own box of keepsakes, reminders that both of us are more than the people we are today. On frustrating days, I can revisit these pieces and remember the younger versions of ourselves who needed patience, love, and understanding. Every artifact revealed the depth of his experiences, the choices he’s made, and the strength he’s cultivated—qualities that now shape our life together.
Today, I didn’t just fall in love with my fiancé again—I fell in love with everything he has ever been. His courage, his resilience, the lessons of his past, and the way those experiences allow him to love fully, navigate life openly, and dream endlessly. Every memory, every challenge he faced, has led to the beautiful, steadfast man who stands beside me now, committed not only to his daughter and my son but to our blended life together. And knowing this makes me feel not only loved but profoundly understood.
