Today, the eight year anniversary of our wedding, is supposed to be a day of celebrating. And let me start by saying, we have SO much to celebrate. Alive. Healthy. Two beautiful boys. Wonderful neighbors. So much love and support from family on both sides, near and far. But - today is not a celebration of all of those things. It’s supposed to be a celebration of a promise, our marriage.
I’ve written and felt some things that are so deeply personal; we’ve chosen not to share them here, but there are things about this year that I want to remember. That I want my children to learn from, and that I hope, maybe someone out there, is walking into and can press through, because we shared.
This eighth year of marriage started on the rocks. At the time, I blamed it on the emotional toll of adding a second child. I blamed it on the anxiety of going back to work. In hind sight, there were other reasons, choices being made, that were driving a wedge between Kyle and I. On the surface, the challenges of every day life were seeing the consequences of that wedge, but it’d take another seven months for the root cause to surface.
I spent much of this year avoiding those challenges. Diving back into work. Trying to fill the void that was left by the constant feeling of not good enough. Not a good enough wife. Not a good enough mom. Not a good enough woman.
And then, the end of our performance year came, and I was not a good enough manager either. Honestly, I handled it like a champ outside, but it rocked me inside. Work was the one place I was consistently successful, even when I wasn’t. I knew how to respond. How to navigate challenges or constructive feedback. I was confident and capable. I am confident and capable. I accepted that I wasn’t a good enough wife or mom, but I could not accept the same at work.
It’s shameful to say all of that, but its my truth. I had to fail at work before I really started reflecting. I blamed Bryce. I blamed Kyle. I blamed myself. In the midst of birthday parties, and summer fun, and family adventure, and all of the things that made each day worth living, my heart wondered if I’d made the wrong choice. In the darkest corners of my heart, I wondered if I should have made that promise. If I should have said “I do”. If i’d committed to '“for better or for worse” naively.
Eight years ago today, I had some ideas of what “for worse” meant. I imagined getting old and needing diapers. I imagined loss of parents, loss of jobs, fighting over money and parenting. And yet, after this year, I wonder if I walked in blind. To who I was. To who Kyle was. To where this life would take us, and what I was promising. And yet, I pillowed my head every night - grateful. Confused. Hurting. Empty. Desperate for more in our relationship, but grateful for all that we had. It’s been a really confusing spiral of gratitude and desire.
Then the Lord reminded me that he knew exactly what he was dying for, and he did it anyway. Maybe in my selfish heart, if I had the Lords for-knowledge, I wouldn’t have said “I do”. But - He knew how much my sin would hurt Him, and He died a miserable death all the same. He granted me access to all of his glory and grace. Only the resentment, and pain, and frustration, and anger that I’ve felt could bear in me an appreciation for just how great His love is.
&& finally, a healing has begun. Through counselors and conversations and a lot more work, we’re moving forward. Together.
Despite all the laughter my kids bring, they can’t fulfill me.
No matter how successful I have the potential to be at work, it cannot bring me true joy.
Even at his very best, Kyle (& our marriage) can not satisfy my empty heart.
The Lord has reminded me of this message so consistently. In the Instagram stories of church friends turned fashion bloggers. In a church conversation about Love, Dates, & Heartbreaks. In the sneak peeks of a book I’m so excited for: When Less Becomes More.
As I look back on one year ago today, I remember the beginning of building walls around my heart. When I look back on today, I want to remember surrender. I want to remember joy, and gratitude, and hope. Grace. Mercy. Love!
Therefore, we will celebrate. Not just all the blessings, but the one who blesses us. Not just health, and provisions, and family, but our marriage. We will celebrate. Not what it has been, but what we will work for it to be. Nine is a special number for Kyle and I. His football number. My volleyball number. The date of our first date. Hopefully, the best year of our marriage.