Skip to main content

Maybe Its Not About Being Unbreakable

My husband and I have been married for 7 amazing, trying, blessed, and chaotic years.

We met at a stoplight when we were teenagers, and after falling in love with someone I met in such a fate-type of way, I started to believe we were unbreakable. We were so destined to be together that God timed our lives down to the exact second that a light would turn red and gave both of us the courage to talk to the stranger in the car next to us.
I've truly believed that we could face ANYTHING because I had the partner I was meant to have.

Maybe it's the 7-year itch; Maybe its postpartum hormones; Maybe it's watching some close friends go through a divorce; But this year, I started to falter in that confidence. I started to wonder if there was such a thing as fate or destiny. Maybe every couple had their breaking point.

That fear effectively turned me into a crazy person. I was hell-bent on "fixing us." I listened to podcasts, I read, I took quizzes, and I asked for advice.

The only thing I was really able to put together, is that people in long-term relationships give obscure advice.

A couple married for 20 years will say "put each other first."
A couple married for 30 years will say "Always be sure you give your partner the good bite of your food."
At 40 years there is apparently importance in separate bathroom sinks and closets.
At 50 years the magic is attributed to laughing together.

How was any of that supposed to help me now? I had no desire to laugh with my husband when it felt like the world was caving in on me. And I count macros people! Nobody gets a bite of my food. And, how was I supposed to put him first when there is literally always a tiny human vying for our attention?
At least we had separate sinks going for us.

One night as I was proposing a new fix to our marriage, my husband asked "Am I missing something? Are we broken?"

I was speechless.
Of course, we were broken.
How could he not see this???
Marriage is fragile, and we were going to break it if we didn't change things up.

After that conversation, I took a step back and spent the next several weeks just watching us. There were a few hard conversations where I thought, "This is the beginning of the end."
But, where I felt weak and tired, my husband remained strong and consistent.
Even when I felt utterly broken, he gave me space to heal but reminded me I was loved.

One day, while watching him make coffee, I realized I really did love this man and what we have. We were only destined for failure if I allowed it to be an option. I started reflecting on what all that obscure advice really meant.

Putting each other first didn't require weekly date nights, bi-annual getaways, or monthly check-ins.
   It meant having conversations where we talked about something other than work or kids. It meant spending intentional time together sipping coffee in the morning or crying to This Is Us after the kids go to bed.

"Always give your partner the best bite," wasn't really about food. It was about making sure your partner gets the best of you, not just what's left after you've given your best to everyone and everything else.

Separate spaces in the house are equally important as separate spaces in life, whether that means separate hobbies, separate social groups, or just alone time.

And laughing together? Well, it's really just choosing not to let the hard times drag you down. To face each challenge together, hand in hand, and with a smile. It's about remembering even when you're frustrated with each other that it's you two against the problem, not against each other.

Maybe marriage isn't about being unbreakable. Maybe it's just about choosing not to stay broken.

📷 Kelsey Hoisington Photography

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Part I Havent Figured Out

This is the part I haven't figured out yet. Friends, I can spin beautiful words on a page about all the amazing things that autism has brought to our lives. I can give you a glimpse into how we have overcome the day to day issues. But I don't know how to do this. I don't know what to do as I watch my child sink it sickness, utterly clueless about what's wrong. I see the way he holds his eyes differently. I watch as his words quickly slip from vaguely being able to tell me something is wrong with his stomach, to no words at all and just groans of severe discomfort. He swaddles himself in a blanket and stares blankly at the wall. He is spending all his energy on whatever is going on inside him, and there is nothing left to even ask for one of his favorite toys. My mom-gut sounds an alarm that this is a different kind of not communicating. This is a different kind of tired. There is something really wrong. And with that comes anxiety that I think only special needs
Post a Comment
Read more

The Gun Talk

As a hunting, pro-gun family I have one very important thing in common with my anti-gun friends, and that is that we BOTH want to keep guns out of the hands of our kids. I remember the first time I awkwardly had "the talk" with a fellow mom. My husband had been in the garage reloading ammo and the neighbor boy was intently watching and asking questions and then said: "I'm going to tell my dad he needs to learn to do this." My heart sunk as I realized if this kid just ran home and told his parents that the neighbor was playing with bullets in his garage, it could definitely be blown-up and misunderstood. So I text his mom, and in true Brandy-style, I word vomited more than needed to be said. "Hey. We definitely weren't playing with guns around your kid. My husband is just reloading ammo. All our guns are under lock and key, but because guns were being talked about, we also told your son that he is never allowed to touch any in our house if for some
Post a Comment
Read more

When Insecuritues Control You

Have you ever thought about the power you give to your insecurities? I remember one day a while back, I was getting dressed for the gym and I realized all of my leggings were still in the washing machine. My only option for the leg-day ahead was compression shorts. I died a little inside thinking about how people might judge the cellulite on my legs or think i was too big to be wearing shorts at all. Why couldn't I have been born during a time period where curves and rolls were attractive? But, then again, booty shorts wouldn't even be a thing in that day and age, and I surely would already be dead from small pox or stoned to death for one sin or another by now. I digress. I closed the drawer and decided I could just skip the gym that day. And then it hit me. I was so insecure about other peoples opinions of MY body, that I would rather stay home than risk someone thinking something negative about me. What kind of life is that? What kind of example was that setting for
Post a Comment
Read more