Will the Real Me Please Stand Up? How Marriage Introduced Me to Myself

This is a personal reflection on identity, growth, and the quiet ways life experiences shape how we show up in our relationships and the world. It is shared as part of my broader media and storytelling work, offering perspective on self-awareness, vulnerability, and the long process of becoming.

This writing is personal in nature and is shared independently, separate from HR consulting and professional services.

The Question No One Asks Before Marriage

When people get married, they always ask, “Do you take this man… do you take this woman…” but they should also ask, “Do you take the version of yourself you haven’t met yet?” No one told me that marriage would introduce me to parts of myself I didn’t even know existed. I thought I was ready. I thought I knew exactly who I was. But one early conversation in my marriage cracked me open and forced me to grow into the woman I was meant to become.

The Conversation That Changed Everything

I still remember the evening it happened. We were sitting on the edge of our bed, the light low, the air conditioner humming softly through the room. Brandon—my direct, steady husband—looked at me with an expression I had never seen before. It was steady, gentle, and heavy with something he needed to say.

“Ki,” he said, “I need to talk to you about something.”

When anyone starts a sentence like that, my mind immediately wonders, What did I do? and my whole body stiffens. But the tone in his voice wasn’t anger; it was hurt. He took a slow breath before continuing.

“It hurts me that you don’t know how to hold hands. Or just… be intimate. Not sex—just intimate.”

I froze.

The Wall I Didn’t Know I Built

My chest tightened the same way it used to when the pastor at church would say, “Turn to your neighbor and give them a hug.” Back then, I would sneak off to the bathroom until that part of the service was over. I didn’t like hugs, and I didn’t like people in my space. Without realizing it, I had carried that same wall into my marriage.

Later that night, after he fell asleep, I lay awake replaying his words. Why did holding someone’s hand feel like too much? Why did letting someone in feel unsafe?

And then the memories came. My biological father wasn’t consistent. He made promises he didn’t keep. Somewhere along the way, I learned not to expect closeness. Not to trust affection. Not to depend on anyone’s presence. Today, our relationship has healed in many ways, but the lessons my younger self learned still followed me into marriage.

I built a wall—brick by brick—without noticing it was still standing.

The Moment Healing Began

The turning point came on a Sunday morning in April 2000. My mother-in-law, Sylvia—petite, classy, and always composed—asked if we wanted to go to the park after church. As we talked, tears suddenly rolled down my face.

When she asked what was wrong, I told her about my conversation with Brandon.

“It hurts me,” I admitted, “that I don’t know how to hug, or hold hands, or be intimate with your son.”

She looked at me with compassion and asked, “Have you ever asked God to heal you?”

I blinked. “Well snap! I’ve walked with God all my life, and I’ve never asked Him to heal this.” She asked if it was okay for us to pray, and I agreed. So we prayed right there in the park, honestly and vulnerably—the kind of prayer you pray when you don’t have a Plan B. “God, heal this part of me,” I whispered. That was the beginning of the process. I cried for days. But here is what I learned: God will absolutely heal you, but He won’t heal the parts you refuse to touch. So I had to take action.

Choosing to Stay Present

The next Sunday at church, when the pastor said, “Turn and greet your neighbor,” my instinct was to sprint to the bathroom. But this time, my feet stayed planted. My palms were sweating, my heart was thumping, and I hugged someone. It was awkward and uncomfortable, and a few people even jumped back like, “Wait—Ki hugs now?” They were reacting to the old me, and honestly, I had to give them time to catch up to the version of me I was becoming.

At home, I practiced too. I reached for Brandon’s hand even when it felt unnatural, even when every instinct told me to pull back. Each time, a piece of that wall broke off.

Becoming Someone New

One night, as we were walking to the car, I reached for his hand without even thinking. He looked at me and said, “You’re changing.”

And he was right.

Marriage didn’t just teach me how to hold hands. It taught me how to hold space—for myself, for my husband, and for love. It taught me that healing isn’t just about fixing what is broken; it is about discovering what you have been protecting for too long.

Looking Back With Gratitude

Now, almost thirty years into marriage, I look back with gratitude. If Brandon hadn’t spoken up, I might still be hiding in the church bathroom during “greet your neighbor.”

Instead, I became a woman who can give love, receive love, and build a marriage rooted in truth.

Marriage didn’t just change my life—it revealed my life. And that one conversation was the doorway to the woman I am today. The real me has stood up.