My First Marriage Was the Rehearsal That Made my Second Marriage Possible

I think for me, looking back, it’s crazy how many mistakes I made in my first marriage. I made so many novice errors just from lack of experience — not having the training to talk myself through situations, not knowing how to control my emotions. I think about all the conversations that turned into arguments and fights and long stretches of misunderstanding simply because I wasn’t mature enough to handle them in an adult way.

I essentially married my college sweetheart, the woman I met when I was nineteen. We were both athletes — fit, attractive, full of energy. And I think relationships make sense at that age when you’re just talking about the physical. But I realized later that she was mentally undeveloped, I was mentally undeveloped, and we were being led around by our emotions. We were not ready to maintain a relationship with the level of seriousness we were pretending to have.

When you meet somebody young and inexperienced, you make so many mistakes that hurt your partner. You say the wrong things, you do the wrong things, and you end up having constant conflicts. If you do manage to spend any considerable amount of time together, you’ve often done so much damage in those early years — while you’re still trying to figure life out — that it becomes really hard to salvage what you had.

Because one thing I know for a fact is that people don’t forget.

People can try to move past things, try to bury things, but you lose grace. You lose patience. You lose a lot of the goodwill that is absolutely necessary for two people trying to live their lives together.

Life is long

Another thing I realized is that life is long. People say life is short, but it’s long in the sense that when you spend years with a person, you watch them grow. You don’t just see who they are — you see who they become.

As a young man, I always had a very specific idea of what I wanted in a woman or what a woman “should” be. I modeled that woman after my grandmother and my elders — women who were very selfless and very traditional. They endured a lot. They suffered for their children and their families. They carried a heavy sense of responsibility, and they did it with elegance and grace. We look back on those women and cherish them as titans.

Coming up in the early 2000s, remembering what life was like in the ’80s and ’90s, it was hard for me to accept that women my age were not — and might never be — like the women of that era.

I would stir up resentment in my partner by talking longingly about those older women, by fondly remembering the things my grandmother and the women I grew up under used to do. I didn’t realize that the women around me weren’t just different from that model — they had intentionally rejected it. They cast off those standards. They didn’t want to live that way. That wasn’t the kind of woman they intended to be.

To me, that felt like a mistake. I felt like they were doing it wrong. That created resentment in me, and of course, resentment in them.

I still reject the idea of women consistently placing their career or solo endeavors over their partnership. I don’t think it makes sense for a woman to prioritize entrepreneurship or independence over her spouse and children as a lifestyle choice. It doesn’t make sense to me that women would reject the gender roles I grew up watching and was comfortable with, especially since I never saw those roles as a problem.

But I had to learn that I can’t hold that stance and still expect to build a healthy relationship with a quote-unquote “modern woman” who doesn’t share those values. The incompatibilities in that are impossible to overcome.

It wasn’t until I experienced failure in my first marriage and then found success in my second that I realized I’d been trying to shove a square peg into a round hole. There’s no one to blame in that situation. With maturity, you realize that compatibility isn’t something you can manufacture. It has to be there. And when it’s not, you’re often just prolonging the inevitable and calling it effort.

The tools I earned through pain

One of the things I’m eternally grateful for is that, coming out of my first marriage, I knew I was finally equipped with the tools I didn’t have going in. I acquired those tools in the most painstaking way. I suffered my way to them. I experienced agony, anguish, heartbreak, and sorrow to obtain them.

So, when I started dating again, I was careful with how I used those tools. I was intentional about how I approached relationships after my first marriage. I didn’t just look at the people I was dating — I looked into them.

I paid attention to responses. I watched body language. I cared about background. I wanted to vet and get a clear idea of a person’s history. I was more cautious. I was less captured by physical attraction and very meticulous in evaluating mindset and core beliefs.

I think the fear of losing everything and potentially risking it all again slows you down mentally. You aren’t so eager to gamble with your heart. For me, it was only after experiencing devastating loss that I began to clearly understand what was at stake and how important it was — for me as a father and as a potential husband — to get it right. It also taught me not to try to force success, which is exactly what I did in my first relationship.

Back then, I would routinely walk into situations where I knew there was a problem. I knew there was a misunderstanding. I knew there was incompatibility. But I felt it was my responsibility as the head of the household, as the husband, as the father, to make it work. When it still doesn’t work, that’s even more devastating, because it feels like personal failure. It feels like you had an opportunity to get things right, and you just didn’t.

My wife now is a constant reminder that it’s not supposed to be that hard. It doesn’t have to be that hard.

A relationship does require work. You do have to pour into your partner. You do have to put time, energy, and effort into making sure things go well. And your partner should do those things in return. But it shouldn’t feel difficult all the time.

The rewards you get when things do go right — when you and your partner are in sync, when you pour into them and they pour into you — shouldn’t feel small. It should feel like a triumph. It should feel like a great success. It should fill you with happiness and contentment to know that you’re giving to your person, and that your person is giving back to you. That exchange should feel good. It should feel like a partnership.

What I would tell my sons

If I had to talk to a younger version of myself, or to my sons as they get ready to move into that stage where they’re looking for partners and starting families, I would tell them that everybody deserves a little bit of grace. Nobody comes in fully ready. You have to allow people to grow.

A big part of the skill that goes into being a man and a partner is learning to anticipate the direction that growth will take. You have to be prepared not only for who someone is, but who someone will become. And you should look for a partner who can do that with you — someone who can see your potential, not just your present.

At the same time, be wary of people who don’t show a capacity to change or grow or adapt. Be cautious around people who aren’t interested in expanding their base of knowledge, who don’t pursue information with any real hunger. Look for people who are passionate about learning, about becoming better.

And temper your expectations.

Understand that love is not magic, marriage is not a movie, and compatibility is not something you can will into existence. Look for the quiet traits that last: humility, adaptability, curiosity, emotional honesty, discipline, and the willingness to grow.

If I had learned all of that earlier, my story might have looked different. But I’m grateful for where it led me. My first marriage cost me a lot, but it also gave me clarity. It taught me who I am, what I need, and what I’m responsible for. And because of that, my second marriage isn’t just a second chance — it’s the life I was finally ready for.

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