I come from the southern side of Africa, and I count myself among the blessed. Not just because I married an amazing man, but because of where I come from and what I’ve survived.

I’m the seventh child in a family of eight. Both my parents were unemployed, and the economy around us offered little hope. Life was hard. Almost everyone around me grew up mocked and belittled, and that deeply affected my self-esteem. On top of that, I battled health issues from a young age. Doctors had no answers, and even herbal healers didn’t know what was wrong. As I grew, the sickness worsened. I lost both my parents within a year, and two years later, I suffered a heartbreak that nearly drove me mad.

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My illness grew worse. Whenever I suffered an attack, it would cripple me for months. At one point, I truly believed I was going to die. The pain was unbearable, and nothing made it better.

And that was when he came into my life.

We met on public transport and became friends. I didn’t think much of it at first, but he kept showing up. He visited me during my worst moments. When he proposed love, he had just come out of a relationship barely a month prior. I was happy, scared, cautious – everything mixed together.

I thought I was just a distraction, something to help him forget his own heartbreak.

Despite his own financial struggles, he registered medical aid for me and paid for it monthly. On days I was too sick to go out, he would come to my place and spend time with me. We were never intimate before marriage because our faith forbids it. Two years later, we got married. I was too weak to stand for most of the ceremony, but it was still the happiest day of my life.

Months after the wedding, I had another serious episode. My family wanted to take me back and nurse me, but he refused. He said he meant every word of his vows to stand by me in sickness and in health. And for the umpteenth time, I fell in love with that man. For three months, he did everything. He cooked, cleaned, made sure I ate, and checked on me during work breaks. The sickness would come and go, and every year I’d spend two or three months completely down. Doctors couldn’t find the root cause. We placed our faith in God, the giver of life, the one who is capable of doing all things.

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When we decided to start a family, he was scared. He thought pregnancy might kill me. But I wanted children, and I was willing to take the risk. That marked a new chapter, one of infertility. We battled it for seven painful years, praying and trying everything we could. Some say men change when you can’t give them children, but I don’t know if mine is just human or an angel in disguise. Through prayer and medical help, we finally conceived. And strangely, pregnancy cured my illness. We don’t understand how, but God did it.

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Now, nearly ten years into marriage and blessed with two children, we’re still going strong. I’m not fully healed, but I’ve never felt better. He makes sure I don’t strain myself. He ensures I have help and is hands-on with the kids. We rarely fight, and when we do, it’s over minor things. He has never given me a reason to doubt his loyalty.

He has been my greatest gift and proof that true love exists. Somewhere in the world, there is love. Not the kind that stays when everything is perfect, but the kind that stays when everything is falling apart. You just have to wait and find that love
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—Theresa

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