How We Survived Our Worst Year of Marriage

It was the kind of year where everything felt like it was falling apart. We’d been married long enough to know each other’s rhythms, quirks, and habits, but suddenly, it felt like all those little things that once made us laugh were now under our skin. It’s funny how love can be so steady for years, and then, out of nowhere, you find yourself in a season where you’re wondering if you even know how to talk to each other anymore.

The arguments came more often. They started over trivial things — who left the dishes out or forgot to take out the trash — but quickly spiraled into something much bigger. Resentments that had been quietly brewing came to the surface, and before we knew it, every conversation felt like a potential battleground. I’ll admit, I didn’t always handle it well. I’m the type who holds onto things, thinking I’m right, even when deep down I know I’m only half-right. She had her ways too, of course. She’d shut down, pull away, and I would get more frustrated because I felt like I was talking to a wall.

I remember one night in particular. We had just had another fight, and it felt like the hundredth one that month. The tension between us was thick, like there was this invisible barrier that neither of us knew how to break down. I was sitting on the couch, stewing in my own thoughts, and she was in the kitchen, washing the same dish over and over. I could tell she was trying to keep herself together, but I could see the hurt in her eyes. And in that moment, something in me shifted. I saw her, really saw her, not as the person I was angry with but as the woman I loved who was hurting just as much as I was.

I didn’t know what to say. Apologies felt useless by that point because we’d been there before, and words had lost their power. So, I got up, walked over, and stood behind her. For a minute, neither of us said anything. Then, I reached out and gently touched her shoulder. It wasn’t an apology, it wasn’t even a solution, but it was the first time in weeks that we had made contact without words. She turned around, and we stood there, in this raw, quiet moment. No more fighting, no more defending ourselves — just two people who, despite all the mess, still cared enough to stand in the same room and let the silence say what we couldn’t.

From that night on, we didn’t suddenly have it all figured out. There were still fights, still moments of frustration. But something had shifted. We both realized that if we were going to make it through, we had to stop treating every argument like it was a battle to be won. I started paying more attention to the small things — those little moments of connection that I had taken for granted for too long.

There was this one time when I knew she was having a terrible week at work. We were barely speaking, but I decided to do something I hadn’t done in a long time. I bought her favorite coffee and left it on the counter with a note. Nothing poetic, just a simple, “I know things are tough right now, but I’m still here.” It wasn’t a grand gesture, but when she saw it, she gave me this look that said, “Thank you.” It was a start. Sometimes that’s all you need — a start.

And she did the same for me in her own way. She’s never been one for my love of old records and vinyl. But one evening, after a particularly rough day, I came home to find her sitting on the couch with one of my favorite records playing in the background. She didn’t say anything about it, just sat there waiting for me to join her. I didn’t realize how much that meant to me until I saw her there, making an effort to be part of something that mattered to me. It wasn’t about the music — it was about the fact that, despite everything, she was still trying.

That year tested us more than I thought a marriage could be tested. There were days when we both questioned whether we were going to make it. I think what got us through was realizing that marriage isn’t about never having problems. It’s about choosing to work through them. It’s about realizing that you’re on the same team, even when it feels like you’re on opposite sides of the field. There were nights where we’d still argue, but by the next morning, we’d find a way to reach across the divide. Whether it was an apology, a hug, or just a simple, “I’m here,” we made the decision, again and again, to stay in it together.

I learned that compromise isn’t about losing. There was a weekend I had planned to spend working on a project in the garage. I’d been looking forward to it for weeks. But she wanted us to visit her family, and I could see it mattered to her. So, I put my project on hold, and we went. At first, I was grumbling internally, but something happened that weekend. I saw her relax in a way she hadn’t in a long time, surrounded by her family, laughing, enjoying the moment. And I realized that by letting go of my own plans, I had given us both something better. Sometimes, giving a little can mean gaining a lot.

That year wasn’t perfect, and neither are we. We’re still figuring things out, still learning how to be better for each other. But if there’s one thing I took away from that time, it’s that love isn’t always about the big, sweeping gestures or the perfect moments. It’s about the everyday choices we make to stay close, even when it feels easier to pull away. It’s about finding those small moments to remind each other that, despite the storms, we’re still in this together.

And maybe that’s what makes a marriage last. Not the absence of hardship, but the choice to hold on, even when it feels like the world is trying to pull you apart. That year was the worst we’d faced, but somehow, it made us stronger. We didn’t just survive it — we came out the other side, a little more battered, but a whole lot more committed.

If you’ve ever found yourself in the thick of marital challenges, feeling like you’re navigating through a storm with no clear end in sight, I invite you to take a moment to visit my blog. I’ve shared my experiences of surviving one of the toughest years of marriage, from the raw arguments to the small, meaningful gestures that helped us pull through.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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