Somewhere Between Surviving Life, We Lost Us

Marriage is not a cakewalk in the park.

I promise.

And every husband and wife who says they have the perfect marriage and never argue?

I'm suspicious. 😂

Somewhere Between Surviving Life, We Lost Us ❤️

Because there is absolutely no way two human beings can share a house, bills, responsibilities, kids, dogs, laundry, a bathroom, a thermostat and approximately 47 different opinions about how the dishwasher should be loaded without occasionally wanting to launch the other person directly into the sun.

Marriage isn't some fairyland where two people fall in love, get married and suddenly develop magical communication powers.

We still get angry.

We still cry.

We still get hurt.

We still carry trauma.

We still have bad days.

We still misunderstand each other.

And somehow, despite the fact that most of us KNOW communication is important, actually communicating with the person we married can feel harder than communicating with literally anybody else.

Especially when one person is saying:

“I need you to understand how I feel.”

And the other person is basically standing there with an imaginary clipboard trying to determine the scientific reason you're crying. 😂

Sometimes I don't need a solution.

Sometimes there isn't a solution.

Sometimes I just need you to feel it with me.

And somewhere along the way, I think that's one of the places we started losing each other.

❤️ What Feeling Lonely in Marriage Actually Feels Like

Feeling lonely in marriage is the part nobody really talks about.

Because being alone when you're single makes sense.

Being lonely when the person you love is sitting ten feet away from you?

That's a completely different kind of lonely.

You can share a house.

Share a bed.

Share bills.

Share children.

Share pets.

Share an entire life.

And somehow still feel like you're doing life by yourself.

There are meals to cook.

Laundry to wash.

A house to clean.

Kids who need things.

Dogs who need things.

Work.

Bills.

Appointments.

Errands.

The endless list of things that magically appears again approximately six minutes after you finish the last list.

And yes, sometimes one person carries more of that load.

Sometimes it's the wife.

Sometimes it's the husband.

Sometimes the roles change depending on what season of life you're in.

But marriage is supposed to be a partnership.

We're supposed to live as a team.

Spend as a team.

Struggle as a team.

Celebrate as a team.

Build as a team.

So why, sometimes, does being part of a team feel so damn lonely?

Somewhere between the bills, responsibilities and taking care of everyone else… where did “us” go? ❤️

💔 “I Thought We Were Fine.”

Fine.

That word.

I've heard it.

I've said it.

And I've wondered what it actually means.

Because sometimes one person genuinely believes the relationship is fine while the other is quietly drowning inside it.

We don't really talk.

We don't touch much.

We don't kiss.

There aren't random compliments.

There aren't dates.

There isn't much time that's specifically ours.

And somehow, we're calling that:

Fine.

But to me, that doesn't feel fine.

Sometimes it feels like being roommates with benefits.

Except I'm also cooking.

Cleaning.

Doing laundry.

Taking care of the house.

Taking care of the dogs.

Taking care of the kids.

Trying to take care of him.

And somewhere in all of that...

I started wondering who was taking care of us.

🪞 And Then I Start Blaming Myself

This is probably one of the hardest parts for me to admit.

When the affection disappears, my brain doesn't automatically say:

We're disconnected right now.

Oh no.

My brain has a much more pleasant little activity planned.

It starts picking me apart.

Maybe it's because I gained weight.

Maybe I'm not pretty anymore.

Maybe I complain too much.

Maybe I'm not doing enough.

Maybe I'm too damaged.

Maybe I'm difficult to love.

Maybe if I cleaned more...

Did more...

Complained less...

Looked different...

Acted different...

Maybe then he'd want me the way he used to.

And eventually that voice gets loud enough that I don't feel good about myself anymore.

So I isolate.

I stop asking.

I stop expecting.

I just...

exist.

And that's a dangerous place to get comfortable.

Because the less you say, the easier it becomes for everybody around you to believe you're okay.

Sometimes the loneliest place isn't an empty room. It's beside someone you love while wondering if they still see you.

🤐 Silence Doesn't Mean Everything Is Fine

I've learned to stay quiet about things that bother me sometimes.

I know.

Healthy. 😂

But when bringing something up repeatedly turns into an argument, eventually silence starts feeling easier.

You notice something.

You swallow it.

Something else happens.

You swallow that too.

Then another.

And another.

Until you're carrying six months of things you “didn't want to fight about.”

Then somebody leaves one cabinet open and suddenly you're ready to burn the entire kitchen to the ground. 😂💀

I have my signs.

I angry-clean.

I slam cabinets.

I stop talking.

I disappear into the bedroom.

Apparently, my communication style occasionally includes aggressively reorganizing a kitchen while hoping somebody recognizes that the cabinet doors have become punctuation.

Not my finest coping mechanism.

But there it is.

Eventually, I'll bring up what's bothering me.

We'll sit down.

We'll talk.

He'll listen.

He'll try to figure out a solution.

Sometimes I'll get a hug.

And sometimes I walk away feeling like the conversation went absolutely nowhere while he walks away thinking:

Okay. We talked about it. Problem solved.

But I wasn't always asking for the problem to be solved.

Sometimes I wanted to feel understood.

🧱 We Built Different Walls

For a long time, I think I looked at his silence and assumed it meant he didn't feel things the way I do.

I've joked that men must be brainwashed as babies to have no emotions.

No affection.

No sympathy.

Just tiny little robots waiting to grow up and ask women:

“Okay, but WHY are you upset?” 😂

But the truth?

I know that's not him.

I know he feels.

Deeply.

I've watched this man carry things he never should've had to carry.

I've watched him work hard and give everything he has, only to have people build him up and then tear him back down.

I've watched people take advantage of his kindness.

I've watched family put things on his shoulders because they knew he would carry them.

He has helped people who needed him and gotten screwed over enough times that, by all rights, his heart should've turned to ice years ago.

But it didn't.

Deep down, he's still the man with one of the kindest hearts I've ever known.

I just think life got heavy for him too.

And maybe that's what I've had to understand.

When I'm hurting, I reach for connection.

Come here. Talk to me. Hold me. See me.

When he's hurting?

He builds a wall.

He pushes things away.

He carries it himself.

And once those walls go up?

Good freaking luck getting through them.

Mine included.

So maybe neither of us stopped feeling.

Maybe we just learned completely different ways to survive what we were feeling.

🌙 I Don't Want a Different Husband

That's the thing I wish I could explain perfectly.

I don't want him to become somebody else.

I don't want some fairy-tale husband who appears every Friday holding roses and reciting poetry while unloading the dishwasher.

Although...

Unload the dishwasher and we'll discuss the poetry later. 😂

I want him.

I just want him to feel me again.

I want him to want to kiss me.

Want to hug me.

Want to talk to me.

Want to go somewhere together just because we can.

I don't want affection because I finally got upset enough to ask for it.

I want the kind that happens because he walked past me and wanted to touch me.

I want to feel chosen without having to explain that I need to feel chosen.

And maybe that sounds unrealistic.

Nobody can read another person's mind.

I know that.

But there's something about being known by somebody for years and still desperately wanting them to look at you and think:

Something's off with my wife.

And come find you.

🎶 I Miss When Being Together Was Enough

Before life got so heavy...

We had fun.

Real fun.

Stupid fun.

The kind that didn't need reservations or money or some perfectly planned date night.

We'd go to the park just to play.

Two grown adults at a park because...

why not?

We cooked together.

Played games.

Watched movies.

Walked around stores for absolutely no reason.

We'd pick up toys and mess with them like children.

We talked constantly, even when we had absolutely nothing important to say.

And he used to sing to me.

That's one of my favorite memories.

We'd be driving somewhere and he'd sing along with whatever was playing.

He'd look over at me.

Smile.

And keep singing.

Sometimes I wasn't even in the car.

He'd call me while he was driving and sing to me over the phone.

There wasn't anything extraordinary happening.

That's exactly why I miss it.

We didn't need something extraordinary.

We just liked being together.

No plans. No big occasion. No reason. Just us—and somehow that used to be enough. ❤️

🛝 Somewhere Between Surviving Life, We Lost Us

There wasn't one day when it happened.

That's almost what makes it harder.

There wasn't some giant moment where everything shattered, and we stopped being who we were.

Life slowly picked us apart.

A responsibility here.

A disappointment there.

Money problems.

Work problems.

Family problems.

Kids.

The house.

Loss.

Stress.

Things that didn't go the way we planned.

Things we couldn't control.

Things we survived because there wasn't another option.

And somewhere between handling the next problem and preparing for the one after that...

we stopped playing.

We stopped being spontaneous.

We stopped talking about nothing.

We stopped doing things just because they sounded fun.

We stopped being us.

Not all at once.

Little by little.

Until the distance became normal.

And that's the scary part.

Because you can get used to almost anything.

Even loneliness.

❤️ But I Still See You

Here's what I need him to know.

I see you.

I see the stress.

I see the pressure.

I see when something is wrong even when you don't tell me.

I see what life has done to you.

I see how much you've carried.

And I don't complain because I think everything about our life is wrong.

I complain because I SEE everything.

I notice everything.

I feel everything.

And sometimes I don't know what to do with all of it.

I don't want you carrying everything alone.

I want some of it.

Give me some of the chaos.

Give me some of the stress.

Give me the things you're convinced you have to figure out by yourself.

That's what I'm here for.

We're supposed to carry this life together.

But while we're carrying everything else...

we have to remember to carry our marriage too.

🌌 Maybe We Don't Need to Go Back

I know we can't get the past back.

We're not the same people anymore.

Life changed us.

Some of it made us stronger.

Some of it hurt us.

Some of it changed parts of us permanently.

So maybe “finding us again” doesn't mean becoming those two people we used to be.

Maybe it means figuring out who we are now.

Maybe we go back to the park.

Maybe we wander around a store and play with stupid toys.

Maybe we cook dinner together.

Maybe we turn on music in the car and you sing to me again.

Maybe we sit somewhere without talking about bills, problems, kids, work or what needs done tomorrow.

Maybe we learn each other again.

Because I don't think you fall in love once and spend the rest of your life magically staying there.

Maybe marriage is falling in love with the same person over and over again.

After the hard seasons.

After the changes.

After you've both become people neither of you knew on your wedding day.

You find each other again.

And again.

And again.

Maybe marriage isn't never getting lost. Maybe it's choosing to keep finding each other. ❤️

🌸 A Little Beautifully Overwhelmed Note

Maybe you're reading this while lying beside somebody you love and wondering how they can feel so far away.

Maybe nothing catastrophic happened.

Maybe life just got loud.

Maybe survival became the priority, and your relationship slowly became something you assumed would always be there waiting for you.

That doesn't mean the love disappeared.

And it doesn't mean one conversation, one date or one hug magically fixes years of disconnection either.

Sometimes two people can love each other very much and still have work to do.

I know we do.

But I also know this:

I'm not fighting against him.

I'm fighting for us.

I believe there will be a day when life doesn't feel this heavy.

A day when we're happy without waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

A day when surviving isn't taking up all the room where living used to be.

And until then?

We'll keep figuring it out.

We've already survived things that should've broken us.

This is another hill.

Another hard season.

Another place where we have to decide whether we're climbing separately or reaching for each other's hand.

Because even when it feels like we're lightyears apart...

I'll keep finding my way back to him.

And I believe he'll keep finding his way back to me.

Maybe that's what marriage really is.

Not never getting lost.

Choosing to keep finding each other. ❤️🌸