Before you get married, know that it might not look like the movies. Movies focus on falling in love and saying the words. The End! They do not center on what it looks like to build a life together. They don’t show you how endless laundry, dishes in the sink, deciding what to have for dinner every night — forever — and overflowing garbage can diminish desire.
They don’t show you what it’s like when one of you gets sick for a long time and is internally focused on illness or health or how they’re feeling that day, and that leaves little room for any sort of relationship. Movies don’t show you what happens when one partner changes and they certainly don’t show you that change is inevitable if you’re together for a long time.
When I got married, I thought I’d have a built-in best friend and partner in adventure. No stranger to compromise, I thought I would get my way some of the time, rather than be the only one to capitulate to the other’s demands. I thought we’d navigate domestic duties and balance that with frequent date nights and physical intimacy. I did not count on feeling alone and frustrated for years, even when sitting in the same room as my then-husband. I did not count on the hundreds of times he would turn away my affection, and make it feel like a slap. I did not count on being told that “kissing me was repulsive and like kissing worms.” I did not count on feeling undesirable, unwelcome, and unloved.
I didn’t know that there was a darker side to marriage.
Maybe I should have. My parents split when I was only 4, and for years after had a very acrimonious, contentious custody battle. You’d think I would have been aware of what can happen when love sours, and perhaps I was. I just didn’t know what happened when love…seemed to just evaporate. POOF.
Maybe I went into my marriage with blinders on. Maybe I thought we were better than those who had failed before us. Maybe I thought that we were smarter and wouldn’t fall prey to the same arguments about money or children or politics that I knew had broken other marriages. Maybe I thought we loved each other more. Maybe I was naive. Maybe I thought love was enough.
And maybe it would have been.
Except that what we had wasn’t really love; it was sacrifice and control and dominance and capitulation and martyrdom. What started off looking like a lush green garden withered and turned brown and barren. It was no longer a place to linger and feel recharged.
And even though I have a new garden now — one that is actually verdant and lush and lovingly tended by two careful gardeners — maybe I’m still having trouble wrapping my mind around that first failed garden. Maybe I’m still afraid that the problem lies with my lack of gardening ability. Maybe I can’t discern flowers from weeds and maybe I’m afraid that this garden, too, will wither.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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