scribblechic

In marriage there are milestones that bring occasions for unhappiness and invitations to greater intention. Change is a great catalyst for conflict, it takes the silence of things unsaid and ratchets them into a language of assumption. We see one another through a lens that is sometimes informed more by our own understanding than another’s intention; hurt feelings that misconstrue a purer language of love.

I feel this more tenderly as my children grow into their own expressions of friendship and family; forgiveness and trust. We bring to new relationships the lessons we first exercised at home, respectful disagreements and fierce independence. Of all my failed endeavors the greatest is to consistently model understanding over error; communication over blame. It is an imperfect intention.

My husband and I come to our marriage by way of family relationships in which we were constantly held to unrealistic standards and unkind criticisms. My father and his parents. For us there is a rhythm to our conflict; misunderstanding that breeds defensiveness which guards against openness. Later an inevitable  tenderness that informs a more patient dialogue.

Mutually stubborn and equally wounded we have a tendency to speak before listening.

Most recently, long days of physically demanding tasks and the emotional pressures of financial decisions antagonized by family stressors has created a minefield of misunderstanding. Some days we hear and speak with the experience of our childhood conflicts before we remember the language of a healthier wisdom shaped by the values of own marriage and family.

In the week to come there will be moments we exhaust ourselves physically and emotionally to the point of conflict, in these moments I hope we can find a quiet place to lay down our defenses and demonstrate a gentler example of strength and kinder language of love. Temporary stress tempered by the sacrament of a deeper faith in each other. To model for our children and gift to one another a more compassionate lens for understanding.

This week, in the midst of ordinary school day and work day routines, my husband and I will celebrate our anniversary with a stolen moment of togetherness. A calendar day made exceptional for the collection of days past. In much the same way our wedding was overshadowed in consciousness by the concept of marriage; our anniversaries are greater than a celebration of a singular day, they are a culmination of little moments across a year of beautiful challenges that nurture our promise to one another.

Our commitment began with an expectation of family, my husband and I joined our lives mindful of an experience greater than either one of us balanced by the independent value of each of us. From the beginning we were planning for a sum greater than two, but weighted in a sense of self and appreciation for the differences between us. I dwelled over these details as I drafted our vows.

In gathering words into promises I was as determined to map our future with partnership as I was to honor the individuality that first drew us to fill the spaces between us. My husband’s easy humor and certainty complimented my reservations and seriousness. We pushed one another as firmly as we pulled, creating a balance of understanding and curiosity that informed the way we approached the challenges we could not have predicted; premature children, special needs, and professional goals that required a comfortable familiarity with discomfort.

Whatever my expectations, the earliest days of our experiences as a married couple were centered in a selflessness and a practicality as young parents that grounded romantic gestures in gratitude rather than fantasy. Romance was redefined early with small acts of appreciation. Our needs were simpler than exotic getaways or glamorous gifts. A romantic holiday was made sweeter for our homecoming; beautiful jewelry no more valuable than acts of kindness or patience on the most difficult days.

It seems impossible some days to separate my experience in marriage from those of family. In my children I remember my husband and in my husband I am reminded of my children; ours and us often interchangeable. No less myself and yet greater still for my role was wife and mother I curl into quiet moments of self, reflective and uncertain, even as I reach a hand toward my husband for balance or draw my children close marveling at the passage of time; mine and theirs simultaneously.

For all the complexity of our experiences there is a simple math to our experience of marriage; we add together. Each new experience is a product of a series of choices; from the mundane to the momentous we move in a path together that allows for change and growth. We confront conflict, lend patience, borrow strength; subtracting self without sacrificing self.

I am certain there are equally beautiful love stories without children and whose path is built more intimately for two, but as I look back over the years I am thankful for the landscape of mine; ours.