I love my husband. We've been married for over 15 years and together nearly 25 at the ripe old age of 36. He's literally sewn into my existence. We are like peas and cornbread—absolutely inseparable. Except back when we were separable—back when we were making our own rules, following our own feelings, and generally doing life (including marriage) our own way.
Way back when, we were stuck together but we both had some strong moments of being ready for that to not be the case. I'll never forget those days. Those long nights of fights and tears—when he finally decided enough was enough. Those are raw, unshakeable memories for two reasons. Obviously for the immense pain entrenched in them for both of us, but even more so for the unspeakable redemption and joy that came out of it all.
We often have a habit of looking at someone else's marriage and saying they have something we don't have. They're lucky. They don't fight, or their kids don't cause distress, or they don't have financial issues, or they haven't sinned against one another, or their husband does this one thing—or he DOESN'T do this one thing. But the fact of the matter is that almost every pristine-looking marriage that I know of has been on some seriously shaky ground. Loving is HARD work.
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