We’ve been through hell and back.
As young parents.
As partners.
As two people who had no idea what we were really saying “yes” to all those years ago.
As partners.
As two people who had no idea what we were really saying “yes” to all those years ago.
Nearly 20 years together—and there were times we didn’t know if we’d make it.
We’ve stared down the face of divorce.
We’ve been inches from walking away from it all.
We’ve stared down the face of divorce.
We’ve been inches from walking away from it all.
But God.
God has an order.
And we — like many others — did things out of order.
We rushed.
We skipped steps.
We made decisions from pain, from programming, from survival.
And we paid for it—in resentment, distance, misunderstanding, and deep struggle.
We skipped steps.
We made decisions from pain, from programming, from survival.
And we paid for it—in resentment, distance, misunderstanding, and deep struggle.
Because the truth is: we each came into this relationship carrying our own inner wounds.
Our childhoods.
Our unmet needs.
Our unspoken fears.
Our silent expectations.
Our childhoods.
Our unmet needs.
Our unspoken fears.
Our silent expectations.
We brought with us the stories we were told (or not told) about love, gender roles, marriage, sex, family.
We absorbed messages from society that said we had to perform instead of feel, succeed instead of slow down, keep it all together, even when everything inside was falling apart.
We absorbed messages from society that said we had to perform instead of feel, succeed instead of slow down, keep it all together, even when everything inside was falling apart.
No one really taught us how to be in partnership.
How to repair ruptures.
How to hold space for each other’s pain while still honoring our own.
How to repair ruptures.
How to hold space for each other’s pain while still honoring our own.
We had to learn all of that the hard way.
But still — we fought.
Fought for us.
Fought for love.
Fought for our family.
Fought for love.
Fought for our family.
And today, I can say: I am so damn grateful we did. And continue to do.
Because here’s the truth no one tells you when you’re young and in love:
Marriage is not just romance and milestones.
Marriage is not just romance and milestones.
It’s a soul contract.
It’s late nights in silence after a fight.
It’s forgiving when it’s hard.
It’s choosing to stay even when your body wants to run.
It’s growing… sometimes in opposite directions for a while… and then finding your way back to one another.
It’s late nights in silence after a fight.
It’s forgiving when it’s hard.
It’s choosing to stay even when your body wants to run.
It’s growing… sometimes in opposite directions for a while… and then finding your way back to one another.
Marriage is sacred.
But it’s not always soft.
But it’s not always soft.
There are seasons of loneliness, even when you’re lying in the same bed.
There are days when you don’t recognize the person you married—or the person you’ve become.
There are decisions made in survival mode that ripple into years of repair.
There are days when you don’t recognize the person you married—or the person you’ve become.
There are decisions made in survival mode that ripple into years of repair.
And yet — when both people are willing to show up, look in the mirror, and try again—there can be something so unbreakably beautiful on the other side.
We’re not perfect.
We still bicker.
We still push each other’s buttons.
But underneath all of it — we are each other’s home.
We still bicker.
We still push each other’s buttons.
But underneath all of it — we are each other’s home.
Marriage is not about avoiding the mess.
It’s about loving each other through the mess.
It’s about loving each other through the mess.
It’s about unlearning everything that never served us—
and remembering who we really are.
and remembering who we really are.
It’s about learning to do things in order even if you didn’t get the order right at the start.
If you’re in the thick of it right now… if you're wondering if you’re going to make it, I want to tell you this:
It’s okay to start over — with the same person.
It’s okay to admit you’ve both changed.
It’s okay to learn how to love each other again, differently.
It’s okay to admit you’ve both changed.
It’s okay to learn how to love each other again, differently.
But both people have to fight.
Not against each other—but for each other.
Not against each other—but for each other.
And when you do?
What’s on the other side is not just peace—it’s power.
A bond built through fire.
A friendship rooted in truth.
A friendship rooted in truth.
A home with strong bones.
A love that has been tested—and still stands.
A love that has been tested—and still stands.
So here’s to the ones still in the ring.
To the ones showing up to therapy, to hard conversations, to the vulnerability it takes to heal.
To the ones showing up to therapy, to hard conversations, to the vulnerability it takes to heal.
You’re not failing—you’re becoming.
I love you, Jonny.
Thank you for choosing this fight with me.
I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.
Thank you for choosing this fight with me.
I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.
1 Comment