Year 5, Week 52: Selfish wife, unhappy life

There. I’ve said it.

This year of marriage has been the most difficult for me.

Did you see any WifeReflections?

Right.

See, I thought that “making it” to Year Five meant that we’d figured everything out and didn’t need to “protect the house” as much. I kept hearing about year 2 or 3 being so rough, but we enjoyed those so much (and I made sure we’d never be “those” couples, so… Our preventative maintenance wasn’t as strong as it used to be. We started to take each other for granted. I’d come home from work, find him in his office, so I’d go to mine, work on my novel, live in my own world, and then we’d maybe watch an episode of a show during dinner. He’d keep working, I’d go to bed, and in the morning, we’d do it all over again. We’re super independent people, so this set-up was preferable for achieving our goals. Totally not helpful when you’re in a relationship. Especially not helpful when you’re married. SUPER bad when you start feeling like your spouse is more of a decent roommate than your best friend.

It happened slowly. It happened when we had our guards down. When we started taking each other for granted.

And then we were in crisis mode. But we are, thank God, committed to working on it. To handling it. To prioritizing our partnership above all else. To pursue marriage counseling. To essentially unlearn all the bad habits we had picked up along the way, stripped down to the basics, and build again – relearning communication styles and what it means to be an empathetic listener and how to be able to be separate people while also allowing the space between us to be safe, sacred, and ours.

And that’s the key, I do believe, of what I’ve learned this last year of marriage.

Look at your partner like it’s the first day you’ve ever known them. They’ve never seen this day before – and neither have you. Give them the benefit of the doubt, over and over and over again. Put aside what you think you want and focus on what THEY might need to have their day a little smoother. Add currency into the emotional bank account. Learn your partner’s bids for connection. Practice empathetic listening. Most of all, never take for granted that your relationship will always be as “great” or “terrible” as it is now: if it’s not in a good spot, it CAN get better. If it’s in the best shape its in, keep working at it. It’s when one person stops pedaling, or the other gets distracted, that the bike can get off track.

And so today, on our sixth wedding anniversary, it feels important to thank Cody for being willing to work on this marriage with me, for his mercy when I fail to be the wife he deserves, and for making me laugh like no one ever has, day after day after day.

When Cody asked what I wanted for this anniversary, the answer was easy: You, Cody. I want you. Having you in my life is already more than enough. But also if you wouldn’t mind one day letting the cat on the bed so she can cuddle with me, that would also be fine.

Just kidding.

Kind of.

Okay, bye, love you!

Year 2, Week 11: The dreaded Second Year returns

It’s official: The second year of a relationship is always the hardest.

I remember watching my friends fall hard and fast for a guy, be on cloud nine for a year, and then call asking for advice when things all-of-a-sudden started getting rocky.

I told them that this is normal (they breathed a sigh of relief), but then share my theory that whether they can make it through the second year will determine whether they make it in the long run (even if it was only 3-5 years, that’s successful according to today’s standards).

The second year is when things start to get serious and questions are asked – the honeymoon period is ending and reality becomes a – well – reality.

You start wondering if this is the One. And when things start to become difficult (as they do, in “reality”), we automatically jump to our conclusion: “Well, if he/she was really meant for me, then I wouldn’t feel like this, would I?”

This is toxic thinking and it ends relationships, over and over again. Love is not a feeling; it is a choice. And sometimes the choice is sacrifice, and that’s why love hurts. But I’m getting off topic and that’s just my opinion.

So I guess it shouldn’t have come as that big of a surprise that, when I had the theme of this week’s reflection come to mind, it threw me for a loop.

Who knew we’d have to go through another “second year” in marriage?

The excitement of the engagement, the emotional and logistical preparations for our marriage, the gorgeous memories from our wedding day, the honeymoon, and the exciting transition into building a home and routine together have become cursive words in a diary and photos hanging in our home.

The second year has brought up all the stuff we thought we knew, but have kind of let sit beneath the surface all this time, which is a surprise because I thought we had gone through all that “stuff” before we got married. That was always the goal anyway. The second year has brought up all the little things that we have forgotten could be endearing (like Cody’s incessant snapping and clapping, which he swears is not an expression of anxiety and impatience) and difficult truths that run deeper than dust (like my tendency to, for whatever reason, assume the worst of intentions from the man I should trust the most).

The second year has brought up ideas of beginning a family, but not knowing “when” we’ll be ready (Ha! Is anyone ever really ready and prepared for parenthood?). It’s brought up core differences in our philosophies: he’s a planner and has no problem playing chess with circumstances and the wheel of fortune. I, on the other hand, have no problem giving Jesus the wheel and whispering in submission, “Thy Will Be Done”. You’d think these two seemingly opposing world views would doom the relationship – and maybe this really would be enough cause for a couple to sign divorce papers –

but we’re not those people. 

Our long distance journey was the climbing of a mountain. It was long, arduous, seemingly never-ending, but there were those trips where we finally got to see each other that allowed us to breathe and admire the view of our efforts. When the road got hard again, we at least had the memories of the last rest-stop that kept one foot climbing in front of the other for the continuing journey, as painful as it would become.

I’d like to say that our long-distance love has prepared us for this very moment in our marriage (and yes, it really is only a moment in the scheme of time). I believe long distance living helped us develop a kind of grit that keeps us going.

Grit. According to Wikipedia, it is a positive, non-cognitive trait based on an individual’s passion for a particular long-term goal or end state, coupled with a powerful motivation to achieve their respective objective.

So here’s a status report: We’re still on this beautiful mountain of ours, and the last couple years were admittedly gorgeous sights admired from a plateau. We had found really huge boulders to climb onto and just watch, hold hands, and “oo” and “ahh” at all the sights we got to see just because we made it so far.

But then it started to rain a little, as it does. We didn’t do anything wrong; in fact, if we want green pastures, we have to embrace the drizzle. The precipitation, however, has caused for some muddier trails and less clear paths. We’re still holding hands, but sometimes it feels like he has to go ahead of me and all that’s left to hold on to is his pinky finger. Other times, I want to take a different road than what he’s had planned in mind, and this causes a stand-in with frowns on our faces.

Until we can discuss a more strategic plan that compromises both our philosophies, we’ll just take baby steps. There may be shoes lost in the process, but his hand is more important to hold on to.

Gotta learn to dance in the rain, baby.

The rain didn't stop us from picture-posing in Colorado, so I don't see why it would stop us now.
The rain didn’t stop us from picture-posing in Colorado, so I don’t see why it would stop us now.