I’ve Been Married for Six Months. Here’s What I’ve Learned So Far.
Had somebody told me a few years ago that I’d one day be happily married, I’d have laughed in their faces.
“Me, married?” I’d respond, choking on my own spit. But marriage meant the loss of so much that I deeply cherished.
How would I be able to leave the house whenever I felt like it for joy rides? Listened to my favorite music in the car? Eaten somewhere without needing someone else to offer their opinion about the food?
My first assumption about marriage was definitely that the loss of independence was inevitable.
I also feared what being forever stuck with the same person entailed. Their habits. Their snoring. Farts, burps, and monogamy. Bleck.
I’ve never really been one to get under a lot of people, which actually is a good thing, kids. Don’t exchange your fluids with random weirdos, that’s just gross. So I never got weirded out by sleeping with the same person day in day out. But what if someone became boring?
Like, what if I knew everything about them? And they became predictable? Ewwww!
As it turns out, the unity you feel with another person when their behavior is consistent with their personality is absolutely relieving. No more wondering what someone is thinking. Nor wondering what their ‘true’ intentions are. I know my husband, and he knows me, and being in such with another body and mind produces a feeling of absolute peace within the two of us.
If you’ve reading my series of articles about my twenties, life spiraled out of control for me, to say in the least. Some of it was due to my own irresponsible decisionmaking, while other circumstances were a result of some terrible, traumatizing injustices done to me.
Stability felt like a rumor, that other people could come to terms with but I wouldn’t be cut out for.
The freedom to roam independently is one thing. The nagging desire to run is another, which is more of a burden than anything.
Not settling down somewhere because I knew I’d up and dip again. That was my life.