How to Stay Married for 15 Years…Part 2
Continued from Part 1
Needless to say, we broke up.
Seven years later, I saw him. We chatted (in real life, not online) for a few minutes and exchanged addresses. I was attending college out of state. For two years, we made casual connection via letters (yes, on paper, written in pen). I tried to explain what I’d meant, all those years ago. He said I did a better job this time.
We were both dating other people.
Life happened. We lost contact again.
During that time, our respective relationships ended. I decided not to date anyone seriously for a year; at the end of the year, I prayed.
“God, if you could send me someone exactly like him, but a Christian…that would be perfect.”
God did one better.
A year later, we were dating, doing our best to follow God. Together.
I wanted to marry him when I was thirteen. I wanted to marry him nine years later. When he asked me, on Christmas Day, I couldn’t speak.
We’d discussed engagement and even picked out a ring but he fooled me. “Let’s wait to get engaged until you finish your Master’s degree.” Next year.
Then he bought the ring, created an elaborate, beautiful scavenger hunt and asked me to marry him. I was so shocked and overcome, I stood with my mouth open, gasping like a landed bass.
When he’d waited long enough to be concerned, he asked, “Are you going to answer me?” With one word, I gave him my whole heart, forever.
A year later we tied the knot. Jumped the broom. Got hitched. Smashed the glass.
Best. Decision. Ever.
Feed Him before Midnight
Learning the rules of cohabitation is one of the most important lessons in marriage. Food guidelines are especially important to communicate.
Determined to get it right, I cooked elaborate meals upon arriving home each evening.
- we both worked long hours (7 pm or after) and
- Hubby had hypoglycemia; he needed to eat frequently to maintain sugar levels.
We rarely dined before 8:30 pm, and often ate much later. When Hubby breezed through the door around 7 pm and made himself a PB&J, I took offense. My homemade chunky pasta sauce wasn’t worth the wait?
Hindsight, and all that. I should have prepped meals to pop in the microwave, enabling us to eat earlier.
As it was, we had a daily tiff about the sandwich because I saw it as a personal affront to my culinary skills. He just needed to eat something. Anything. For a while, he acquiesced to my inane request and waited for dinner. During which time I made the acquaintance of Mr. Hyde (also known as Hungry Hubby).
Have you seen the candy bar commercials “for when you’re hangry” (angry because hungry)? It’s a thing.
I learned we could both be happier if I had a PB&J waiting for him. We still ate dinner together. Win-win.
Argument. Screaming match. Fight. Spat. Tiff. Row. Scrap. Knock-down-and-drag-out. Rumpus. Squabble. Brannigan.
Doesn’t really matter what you call it. Our first years were peppered with provocation. We both grew up in…vocally demonstrative…families. Angry? Yell. Mad? Yell. Annoyed? Yell.
The greater our passion surrounding a topic, the higher the decibel level.
I once heard a preacher say, “Church is the only place people shoot their own wounded.” He was wrong.
In the art of war, Hubby and I were Picasso and Van Gogh. We tossed barbed words, insinuations, blame and comparisons like grenades. We wounded each other with abandon.
Sometime around year five (during a lull in the storm), Hubby asked, “Have you ever noticed? We only yell about stupid stuff we blow out of proportion. If an issue is important, we work together to solve the problem.” He suggested we decide to stop screaming. We agreed.
Other than a stint in year seven when we were both acting like idiots (and I’ll admit freely that I was being the bigger idiot), we’ve managed to uphold our arrangement.
One of my proudest moments: last year, a counselor asked our children how they feel when “mom and dad have a big fight.” The kids looked at each other, confused, then said, “Daddy and Mama don’t fight.”
With a condescending grin, the counselor said, “Sure. So…how do you feel when they yell at each other?” The kids shook their heads.
“When they argue,” he tried.
“Daddy and Mama just work together on everything. They never fight,” the kids told him.
Since then, we’ve had a couple arguments (mostly stemming from occasional hormone fluctuations during which time I may become…unreasonable), but overall, we hold to our agreement.
Feel free to steal this idea; eliminating fights is great for the blood pressure.
As I mentioned above, Year 7 was not our best.
We almost broke up for good. Hubby had a bag packed in the trunk of his car. We discussed logistics. He said I could keep the house. I said I’d probably move out of state. We thought we had no options.
It’s easy to feel alone in the midst of a struggle. Even more so when it involves marriage; you’re separated from the person who should be your best friend.
If you’re smart, you don’t involve mutual friends, family members or work colleagues (they’ll take sides, hold lifelong grudges and give bad advice since they have no vested interest, respectively). That means, though, that you experience solitude in the grief.
Thankfully, a slightly older couple befriended us with the intent to mentor us. They could see our struggles; they’d been in similar straits and recognized the signs. Thanks to their care and committed support, we survived.
Help came from two other odd sources:
- Recognizing that a large percentage of our troubles stemmed from my issues, I went to a counselor who looked and sounded like Elmer Fudd, but everything he said made sense.
- Our good buddy freaked out, telling Hubby, “You can’t leave. You’re the only normal married people I know!”
Fight, but not each other.
Another friend told us to be like mules.
“When horses are threatened, they freak out and run around, accidentally kicking each other. Predators can take them down. Mules put their heads together and kick out at the danger. Keep your heads together. Your spouse is not the enemy.”
Here’s what we learned: Love is a choice, not a feeling. Fight for your relationship. Anything worth having comes at a price. We fought—against our own selfishness and desire for an easy out—and won.
If you’re thinking about divorce, this guy has some good advice.
Fight FOR each other.