My husband and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary on Monday. I swear that sometimes I still feel 25 inside, so the fact that we've actually been married that long blows my mind!
For as long as I can remember, my parents have had a plaque on their wall called "The Art of Marriage". My mom made this beautiful poem into a framed cross stitch and gave it to us as a wedding gift. There are so many wise insights in this poem, but my favorites are the last two lines, "The art of marriage lies in not only choosing the right person; it is being the right partner."
I definitely did the first part, and it is a continual process to fulfill the second part.
I married a good man. He is honest, funny, goes out of his way to help others, thinks outside the box, and is crazy, fiercely loyal. Even during the challenging times of our marriage, I have never once doubted that he loves me. I know without question that our marriage and the family we have created is his number one priority. Like I said, I married a good man. I chose the right person.
Being the right partner hasn't been easy. I have learned more about myself in marriage than in any other experience I've ever had in my lifetime.
I've learned that it can take a long time to be honest about ourselves. I did not want to admit how critical, judgmental and selfish I can be. It's much easier to just keep pointing my finger at him instead of taking the time to look at my contribution (or lack thereof) to whatever situation we find ourselves in. It honestly didn't occur to me for quite some time that as I berated him for being too critical, that I was guilty of the very same thing.
It took me a long time to learn to say, "I'm sorry", and even longer to learn to say it first. I much preferred being the drama queen, expecting Don to read my mind, and then giving him the prolonged cold shoulder when he didn't. I would get stuck in the emotion of it all instead of consciously trying to work through them and make things better.
I have learned the power of appreciation. Nothing makes my husband feel more valued, loved, and worthwhile than when I acknowledge all the little things he does, and tell him thank you. He also responds tremendously to my touch: when I take his hand while we watch TV, or hug him from behind while he does dishes in the morning, or lightly rub his back when we sit across a booth from friends having a conversation.
All those moments are ways of acknowledging that, "Yep, life can get crazy, and you are my safe place, so even while we're engaged in this other thing, our touch keeps us connected." Doing this lets Don know that I SEE HIM. It is too easy to slip into not noticing and then not even trying to notice.
When you marry someone, hopefully, you do it with the knowledge that all the years that came before were instrumental in forming the person you fell in love with. Don's dad died very unexpectedly of a heart attack at age 40. Don was three weeks shy of turning 14 and his mom was a 36 year old widow with two boys to raise. To make matters worse, his dad hadn't prepared a will, and he was a business owner with rental property to boot, so the accountants and lawyers came calling. The financial and emotional toll was devastating for her, and my husband, who wasn't even in high school at the time, became the man of the house.
He has been taking care of people ever since. It's so ingrained in him to take charge of a situation, and think through every possible scenario, to the point where it repeatedly caused tension between us. I would accuse him of not living in the present moment, and always trying to control how the future is going to unfold.
But I guess when you're almost 14 years old and your world collapses around you and NOTHING is in your control, it would make sense that the ensuing years would be spent trying to rein all of life in and make it manageable. How can I fault him for that?
My mom shared a quote with me many years ago that an astute young priest delivered in his homily at her parish. He said that we need to love people for WHO THEY ARE, not for who we wish they were or think they should be. I spent a lot of time trying to convince Don that he should be someone other than who he was: as if he was never good enough to live up to the standards I had imposed.
I can't pinpoint when the shift in my perspective came, but eventually, I started considering his attributes that I'd been so resentful of, as gifts to be grateful for instead.
His tumultuous past has made him that much more committed to our future.
I know in my bones that no one else in the world means to him what I mean to him.
That is something worth celebrating.
Comments