Childhood sweethearts

There is a version of our story that sounds like a fairytale.

Childhood sweethearts.
A proposal in a pine tree when we were still kids playing pretend.

Years apart, then finding our way back to each other.
Building a family. Building a business. Building a life.

But fairytales leave out the parts that matter most.

They leave out the nights we sat across from each other with nothing.
No money or home. No safety net or plan. Just four small children and a terrifying hope that we had made the right choice.

They leave out the seasons when survival took over and softness disappeared. When the weight of responsibility left little room for tenderness. When exhaustion made us sharp and we reverted to destructive patterns to try and ease the pain. When deep hurt closed the distance between us. 

They leave out the agonizing repairs.
The apologies whispered through tears in the dark.
Choosing to stay when walking away would have been justified.

Marriage through hardship is not romantic.
It is a decision made again and again.

It is two people choosing to show up, even when showing up feels heavier than anything they have ever carried.

Jed and I did not build this life because we had it figured out.
We built it because we refused to stop choosing each other.

Not perfectly. Not without wounds. But consistently.

There were moments I did not know if we would make it. Moments when starting over, building a company, and raising children while healing ourselves felt like it might break us both for good.

But here is what I have learned.

Love is not a feeling you fall into. It is a fire you tend.

It requires attention. Forgiveness. Humility.
It requires the willingness to grow together instead of apart.

We are not the same people who climbed that pine tree all those years ago.
We are not even the same people who drove away that night with nothing but each other and a borrowed truck.

We have been broken and rebuilt more than once — individually and together.

That breaking didn’t make us stronger because hardship was noble or beautiful. It wasn’t.

Because what you choose to protect in the fire reveals what matters most.

I know this is not everyone’s story, but I hope you find yourself somewhere in it.

Some relationships do not survive change. Some people grow in different directions. Some seasons ask for separation instead of repair. That does not mean anyone failed. It means a choice was made in response to what was true.

What matters is not whether you stay or go. What matters is whether you are honest about what you are choosing and why. Whether you are growing with intention or just drifting. Whether you are protecting what matters most to you or avoiding the cost of deciding.

For us, choosing each other is how this life was built. And we came to realize that choosing each other only works when both are willing to grow. So, we made that choice.
Not perfectly.
Not without painful scars.
But with raw honesty and commitment.

And I share this knowing how deeply personal it is, how much of my heart lives inside these words. This is not a polished story or a lesson learned from a distance. It is something we are still living, still choosing, still tending.

This is the real story. Not the fairytale.

The story shaped by choice.
The one we continue to choose, again and again.

Love,

Jasmine