Marriage can be a beautiful thing to experience, but at the same time, it can be tough. But one of the best things about marriage is that, with time, it will teach you how to pick a fight.
I met him at our college Spanish class. After admiring him from afar for the better part of a year, we fell into a heated relationship. I was crazy about him. Our relationship was tumultuous. Until it wasn’t. Eventually, the passion was gone.
We were living together, making a home and making plans. Three years together and talk of a future, but I knew it wasn’t working.
I tried to save us. For well over a year I tried. He was pleasantly apathetic.
Eventually, I was done.
He called. He wrote. He begged me to give him another chance. He promised to make changes. Things I had pleaded for, he now promised to deliver.
It didn’t matter.
I was done.
That’s how it works. You try. You fight. You fight for your relationship.
Until you’re exhausted and tired from all of the efforts. Until you realize you’re the only one putting in the effort.
It’s that cold realization that is the nail in the coffin of a relationship. The loneliness that comes with the scratching and clawing for love… and looking around and realizing that no one else is getting their hands dirty. The harsh loneliness of sharing space with someone.
That was a long time ago. Just after that relationship ended, I fell in love with my husband. I was gun-shy and not looking for romance. I tried to talk my way out of it. I told him I had feared. I told him that I needed more than he could give. I couldn’t live a life of complacency.
I told him that I get bored easily.
He promised our life would never be boring.
I told him I need passion. I needed fire.
He promised a lifetime of passion.
I told him I needed someone who wouldn’t give up easily.
He promised me he would fight for me. For us.
That was over 18 years ago. Three houses, three kids, three dogs ago. A lifetime ago.
It hasn’t always been easy. Sometimes it’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Hard because we all have something, something that burdens us. Something that lives deep inside of us and comes out sideways.
Hard because we’re all pretty messy inside. Hard because all of the things that we all carry are forced to mingle with all of the messiness of this person you share a life with. And they bump up against each other and they feed each other and they confuse each other. And sometimes they hurt each other.
So what do you do with all of this?
You pick a fight.
You pick a fight with yourself. For yourself.
The fight you choose is the fight to become a better you. You trudge into the stagnant waters of long-held pain and damage. You wade into the muck and you start cleaning it up. You fight through all the barriers and the defenses that we each cling to like a tattered blanket of comfort. You get dirty and you fight.
You fight through all of this because it’s the only fight you can really win. You can’t fight for him. It’s not about fixing him. If it was, there would be no breakups. There would be no divorce. The idea of fixing the person you love, of fighting his battles? That’s just a fantasy.