A Tale of Two Marriages

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Today is our 6th wedding anniversary.

That number has some meat to it. It feels substantial. Like we’re past the appetizer and into the main meal.

For some reason, I’ve been particularly reflective this year, looking at this marriage and my first one from the perspective of today.

I don’t remember my 6th anniversary in my first marriage. But that’s not surprising. Not only did we not make a big deal out anniversaries, but both time and trauma have significantly dulled my memories of much of the sixteen years I was with him.

Even without specific memories or knowledge, I suspect that he started living a double life in earnest around our 6th anniversary. It was around that time that he was laid off from his latest job and he decided to go solo. And as I learned later, the company that he started never was profitable. Of course, he worked hard to hide that from me at the time and shared extensive details about projects that he was working on. Projects that I don’t think ever existed.

I can’t help but contrast that with my now-husband. He’s had a couple down years at work due to certain accounts. And I’ve known about it every step of the way. He’s been frustrated about the cuts, but instead of hiding the finances, he’s strategized and worked harder. All while being open with me about what has been happening.

From my perspective at the time, my first marriage was good. If I was to graph its happiness and our connection over time, it would be a horizontal line with only the most minor of deviations. The marriage was steady and we were consistent.

My marriage now is different. When I look back over our 9+ years together, it’s been a positive trajectory. We’re closer now than we were when we married. There’s more intimacy. Better teamwork and communication. More awareness of our own triggers and baggage, which we’ve both made major strides on addressing.

There’s been some hard times, but ultimately, we have both grown as individuals (with the support and encouragement of the other) and the marriage has grown as well.

In my first marriage, we never talked about the marriage. It just was. Something as certain and inevitable as the sunrise.

In contrast, my now-husband and I talk about our marriage quite a bit. What’s working. What’s not. What we appreciate and what we observe. It’s not something we take for granted; it’s something that we make an effort to nurture and grow every single day.

I used to worry that I would never have love like my first husband again. What I couldn’t have imagined was that I would find better. Realer. This love is more challenging and also so much more rewarding. And I would trade this for anything.

 

 

Putting the Lessons Into Play

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My husband discussed some hard stuff with me the other day. I’m proud of him for his self-awareness and courage and I’m also proud of me. Because my response, both in moment and in the days after, truly reveals how much I’ve grown since my first marriage.

 

I didn’t overreact, so I could be a safe place for him.

In my first marriage, I would have overreacted to something similar. I would have instantly gone to defcon 1 with my fears leading the charge. And my reaction would have been the furthest thing from a safe space. In fact, it would have announced, “I can’t handle this, so you need to protect me from it.” Ugh.

A few years ago, my insides probably would have thrown a panic party while I worked to maintain a calm exterior. An improvement, for sure, but still not ideal.

But now? I not only responded in a calm manner. I felt calm. I didn’t try to catastrophize or worry about what could, maybe, possibly happen. I just listened. Instead of being in my own fear, I could be with him.

 

I feel more compassion instead of a need for perfection.

In my first marriage, I was afraid of any potential blemishes. They were threatening, something to be feared. And so I felt a sense of disgust at any sign of imperfection in myself and in my first husband. Of course, since neither one of us could uphold this charge, there was a constant low-lying tension between my expectations and reality.

It’s different now. Which is especially good since my now-husband and I have officially reached the age of mammograms and colonoscopies. It’s hard to maintain that veneer of perfection when a nurse half your age is squishing your boobs against a metal plate.

I have so much more tolerance – and compassion – for the struggles that we all have. I no longer see the struggle as a sign of weakness and I enthusiastically celebrate the courage and discipline evident in those that don’t shy away from their particular battles.

 

My boundaries are both more forgiving and more robust.

Before, I expected perfection but would put up with a lot as long as I didn’t have to look too closely.

Now, my boundaries are set further back. They allow for mistakes and the opportunity to  be human and messy. But at the same time, they are less tolerant of bullshit and will no longer be consoled with pleasing words that are spoken in place of action.

 

I have confirmation that I chose MUCH better this time around.

We are not defined by how we handle the easy times. Instead, character is truly revealed in how someone handles the hard stuff.

My first husband’s response to struggle was to hide, lie and act out of shame. After experiencing the brutal conclusion of that approach, I intentionally sought out someone with courage who’s default setting is in revealing rather than concealing.

 

Yet again, I’m filled with gratitude for what I endured ten years ago. It may have been a conflagration, but it was one that prepared me for the growth that needed to happen.

 

Progress and Room to Grow

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Because of the nature of my first marriage (conflict-less because of a deadly combination of his tendency to lie about everything and my inclination to avoid anything too anxiety-provoking) and the way that it ended (suddenly and without warning), I have struggled at times with my now-husband.

In the beginning, I alternated between being totally flooded and in a panic about being abandoned again at the slightest sense of conflict or withdrawal to an “I’m out of here” conclusion as my traumatized brain assumed the worst about a situation. Additionally, my f’ed up brain decided that if I wasn’t the “perfect wife,” I would again be dropped. Of course, that doesn’t lead to good things because I could never do enough to calm the anxiety and none of this was stuff my husband asked for (or expected) anyways. And then for the cherry on top, I had a hard time bringing up the difficult conversations, my years of avoiding anything anxiety-producing had trained me well.

It’s been years of work learning how to change these patterns. I can now initiate the difficult conversations and I’m more able to stay present during them instead of disappearing into an emotional whirlpool. I trust that my now-husband is in it for the long haul and that he is not a quitter or a coward. As I process a disagreement or issue, I’m finding less and less that it directly has more to do with my past than my present.

Which is good.

But of course, the past is still imprinted on my being. I still have a tendency to take everything too personally and respond at a level ten to something that should be counted on one hand’s worth of fingers. I get in my head too much, thinking when I should be being. And it’s a vicious cycle. Because when I get this way, I become more convinced that I’ll be left again. Which then leads me right back to where I started.

There’s obviously room to grow.

I think part of my recent anxiety is tied to my upcoming trip (I leave in the morning!!!). It’s been almost ten years to the day since I left to go visit my father in Seattle. On that trip, like with any trip, I expected to return to Atlanta and my life at its conclusion.

But that life disintegrated while I was gone.

I returned to an empty home. A missing husband. A depleted bank account. A gutted heart and a shredded soul.

There is nothing in my life now that suggests that scene will ever be repeated. But I think it’s there in my subconscious mind, softly whispering, “what if?” and making me more needy, more sensitive and yes, more anxious.

I’ve come a long way in the last ten years. But I still have a ways to go.

Why Marriage Can Be Better the Second Time Around

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second marriage

I wrote this piece almost five years ago, just before I said “I do” for the second time. It has definitely been one of the better decisions I have ever made.

 

 

I am as familiar with the statistics as anyone — two-thirds of second marriages are expected to end in divorce. There are many factors often cited for this depressing outcome. The family unit is more diverse and less cohesive. The children tend to be older and more independent, thus staying together for the sake of the kids is less of an issue. The ghosts of spouses past can continue to haunt the new marriage. Perhaps one or both partners moved too quickly into a new relationship rather than allowing sufficient time to heal from the divorce or to address underlying issues. Or, maybe they spent so much time single that partnered life with its compromises and complexities is no longer a fit. And, of course, there is the fact that once you have been divorced and survived, it may be easier to tread that path again.

Regardless of the reasons, the numbers are clear. Second marriages are more likely to fail than first unions. But, when it comes to relationships, I don’t care about statistics. I care about individual marriages, including my own. And, rather than focus on the added challenges that can impact subsequent marriages, I choose to acknowledge the ways that a marriage can be better the second time around.

Value

I took my first marriage and my first husband for granted. He was always there and I assumed he would always be there. It wasn’t that I treated him poorly or neglected the marriage, I just didn’t understand the fragility of it and that it could disappear so easily. Now I know that no marriage is divorce-proof and that there are no guarantees. I like living with the awareness that the marriage could end; it makes me value it every day almost like a person who has received a terminal diagnosis appreciates every day they have left. I hope I have many more days with my new husband but I also try to live each one as if it may be my last.

When you know that something could end, you are more likely to value it. And when you value something, you are more likely to appreciate it and nurture it. And when you appreciate and nurture something, it is more likely to live on.

Wisdom

The end of a marriage can be a time rich with lessons. Hard lessons, to be sure, but valuable ones. It’s not uncommon for the wounds and behavior patterns of childhood to follow one into marriage. It’s not unusual for someone to choose a spouse that reminds them of a parent or to fall into a relationship that mirrors one from the past. Divorce can be a huge wake-up call from those automatic choices and behaviors. It is a time to heal from old hurts rather than repeat them. For me, that meant facing my fears of abandonment and recognizing (and changing) my behaviors that could lead to being jettisoned again.

When both partners have humbled themselves to the lessons of the end of a marriage, the resulting wisdom and experience can benefit a new relationship.

Balance

My first husband and I became adults together. We were each other’s constant as we navigated the challenges of early adulthood. As other aspects of life changed around us, we each became more reliant upon the other. We attended most social events together, never took separate vacations and even tended to run errands as a pair.

It’s different now; my now-husband and I were completely independent before we ever met. We each had our own fully developed lives and friendships. My new marriage has areas where our lives overlap, yet it also has plenty of distinct regions. We are independent in some ways and interdependent in others.

A second marriage means that the partners are older and have had time to establish themselves as independent adults before entering into an alliance with another. The edges are less blurred and more carefully maintained and each partner is less likely to be swallowed by the marriage.

Mystery

I knew my ex-husband from the time we were teenagers; I thought I knew everything there was to know about him. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I failed to notice that the man he became was no longer the man I knew. I saw what I expected to see.

With my new husband, I know there is still much to learn. Every week, I hear a new story or uncover some novel fact about his past. The sense of mystery is a reminder that getting to know someone is a never-ending process.

I don’t think I know what he is going to say.

So I listen.

I don’t have any expectations of what I will see.

So I look.

At first, this felt a bit scary to me. I wondered if I would ever feel like I knew him as well as I knew my ex. But then I realized, I only thought I knew my ex. The comfort in that was the wool over my eyes.

I like the dash of mystery. The reminder that he is himself, with all his own experiences and opinions, before he is my husband.

Intention

My first wedding felt like the inevitable conclusion to a good relationship. This marriage feels like a hard-won victory after years of facing struggle. The triumph of love over loss. Trust over betrayal. And peace over pain. Every step has been deliberate. Intentional. There’s no autopilot this time — I’m the one driving my life.

Clarity

Anyone who has survived the death of a marriage is bilingual — speaking the languages of love and loss. And experiencing the depths of the pain only makes love that much sweeter. I vow to never forget the agony because it makes me grateful every day for what I have. Divorce has a way of putting everything in perspective and helping you focus on what really matters.

And what matters to me is not the fact that two-thirds of second marriages end in divorce. I simply want to focus on what I can do to continue to make my second marriage happy and successful.

 

On a related note, I chose my second husband carefully after learning from my mistakes. Here are the significant ways that he’s different than my first.

4 Lessons From 4 Years of (Re) Marriage

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