Marriage 1: Alright, I Swear Good Times Are Coming Soon! Meet the In-Laws, Rescuing People, Palm Trees, Cocaine, and Babies?

I ended Marriage 1 Bonus Chapter: Wulf Still Has My Respect, Homeboi, Self Love and Tomorrow We Honor Our Good Times with us moving in with his brother. In my head, the memories split cleanly: happy and sad, hopes and dreams. This one leans sad, but it’s necessary for the landscape.

Wulf, like many of us, had a dark past.

From the start, a few things were off. On the East Coast he didn’t have a phone. For a man who projected polish and confidence and picked up every check without blinking, it didn’t track. I can’t recall the reason he gave me, but I can tell you it wasn’t true. What I picked up was shame, sadness, and a thin ribbon of embarrassment. I recognized it. I related to it. Whatever the real reason was, I wasn’t very curious about it, to be honest with you.

I decided I didn’t need the why. I saw someone I cared about struggling and thought, I should fix it.

So I worked overtime, kicked ass at that Board Game Start Up I’d referenced in Psychedelics, Ulysses (Mr. Psychedelic), and Which Pen, Exactly?, saved a few paychecks, and bought him a phone. He cried. That was my first real glimpse of Wulf’s inner child. Reader, you’ll learn that while I couldn’t yet comfort my own inner child, I have a spooky talent for spotting everyone else’s. Combine that with a deep rescue streak and here comes the plot twist: who is saving whom?

(Here’s a photo of Wulf and I during our courtship in NYC. I love this one, because this is where you can see the goofiest Wulf; the inner child Wulf. And me, with all the hopes and dreams and heart eyes, at a bar I shouldn’t have been allowed in. Wulf is going to kill me if he ever sees this. He would never be caught dead without his insane beard, that I am not a fan of.)

Gift-giving is still my favorite love language. I promised I’d surrender the truth to you, though. I’ve learned that big gifts I can’t afford were my survival strategy and a form of self-abandonment. I regulated my anxiety by helping. I’d been programmed—most notably by my grandmother, since I wasn’t speaking to my dad then—to feel guilty for existing at all. Her “sacrifice” for the abandoned granddaughter became my cue to buy her things. That didn’t stop until this year when I went full excommunicado in April. That’s right. My whole life, I felt like I was paying a debt to anyone who housed me. Whether through gifts, money, solving problems or emotional labor, there was always an expensive tax involved.

Wulf had an older brother—let’s call him Grizzly. Grizzly was a doctor, soon to be important, thank you very much. He believed he looked like George Clooney. Personally, I saw Jimmy Kimmel on a goofy day, but sure. The whole family was good looking, I won’t deny that. But one’s heart shines through. He was the family prize in their father’s eyes. Wulf and their sister, Dove, were their mother’s favorites. Mama Wulf, sentimental and neurotic. Papa Wulf, practical and gentle.

Wulf despised Grizzly. Family Wulf had done well back in Iran. Papa Wulf was brilliant and lucky—won the immigration lottery while studying at a prestigious university here in the states, then built a construction business, government contracts and all. Money came in, wife seventeen years his junior, three kids, life set. When I’d seen photos of their house in Iran, I was amazed: everything was gold. And the stories! Of bribing police, political tales and open-mindedness of the Persians, robbed by the new regime… I could hear Wulf and his family go on for days. Rumi was already my favorite poet.

Wulf, the youngest, was the trouble-maker. He developed a cocaine habit, racked up debt, and partied like a rock star. Whatever mischief Lovergirl Suki was up to did not touch the rainbow-line, women, and penthouse nonsense I heard about from Wulf. If I were as I am, healing and all today, I would have walked. But I was still a teenager in both body and mind, and I thought it was kind of cool.

After enough mayhem and debt, Papa Wulf cut him off except through a guardian arrangement. Grizzly became the cash gatekeeper. Wulf hated it. I listened, nodded, and got mad with him and for him. I never liked bears, anyways!

I met his parents in New York before we moved. One of my mall jobs was shipping and handling with Homeboi at an international upscale clothing brand. I’d been hired front-of-house as a “stylist” and model, then the panic attacks rolled in. If I could time-travel, I’d hug teenage me. It wasn’t just exhaustion from masking; it was cPTSD flares I couldn’t name yet. Plus, I was simply overwhelmed. A preview of the chaos to come on my mental-health quest.

Wulf’s mom thought I was beautiful and was already picking out baby names in her head. His dad pulled me aside. “You are too good for my son. You married the wrong son. You’re smart and you work hard. I’m sorry.” I kept that to myself for a long time, but it never left me.

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Los Angeles. I don’t think I’d ever seen palm trees up close. I sprinted to one and hugged it. Wulf thought it was adorable.

Sometimes I feel like Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. I’m a bubbly cartoon most days. There’s rage and flashbacks, sure, but the world is still shiny and interesting to me. I can find joy in a parking meter if you let me.

I believe in inner children and I love children in general. Next chapter I’ll tell you more happiness, I swear, but it kind of hurts to linger here, and I want to feel that fully. Wulf wanted kids. He daydreamed constantly. I kept backing out. Eventually I told him I couldn’t. He gave up that dream for me. He still doesn’t have kids.

Then came Marriage 2. We agreed on children eventually, at least fostering, and later he said he’d only agreed because he thought it’s what I wanted. The boomerang has a sense of humor.

(Here’s a doodle I made around that time, in Los Angeles).

I know I promised good times are coming, and they are. For now, let’s sit with this part—the very human piece where love meets history, and intentions meet programming, and a palm tree gets a hug because sometimes that’s all a girl can do.