Why does marriage look easy for everyone except us?

Two months post-wedding, I said to Denis, “If I was a boy, I’d beat you up!” The door slammed behind me. I was running away into the night. Not a clever plan when all you are wearing is a sheer nightgown. Our problems as newlyweds were spiritual and mundane.

 Struggling with Doubt and Faith in Marriage

Spiritually, Denis admitted he was having a lot of doubts about Christianity. This scared me. At University, we didn’t have answers for the questions our classes raised. My way of coping had been to accept the dichotomy between private and public, sacred and secular, and to try not to think about the inconsistencies too much. Denis could not accept this dichotomy even though he was afraid his doubts might slide into unbelief.

If Christianity applied only to personal morality and eternal salvation then it had almost nothing to say about ordinary reality. Hedonism sounded a lot more attractive.

In addition to our questions about the faith, we didn’t know of a place or a person where we could safely air the struggles we faced in our relationship. Navigating relationships can be among the most torturous passages in life and none of us are exempt from this struggle. We watched married couples and witnessed public demonstrations of affection as they sat together in their pews on Sunday morning.

No one ever admitted having trouble, or that life could be thorny and complicated. Marriage looked easy for everyone except us.

There didn’t seem anyone in our church who had questions quite like my husband’s. Discouraged and confused, we kept on with the pretense of attending Sunday meetings. It seemed like we were destined to become the very hypocrites we despised.

 Struggling with Daily Life in Marriage

As we struggled to navigate these intense spiritual issues, we also struggled with mundane everyday issues.

            Who should take out the garbage?

            Who keeps the cash and how much?

            Who has to take a bag lunch while the other buys lunch at work?

 Marriage became an unexpected arena for conflict. The reality of two intense personalities trying to get along in daily life wasn’t getting any easier.

We clashed over the most mundane issues. Our fights depressed me, but it wasn’t enough to stop me warring with Denis. Our ways of handling disagreements were polar opposite.

After a head-on collision where I exploded, after some reflection, I was ready to apologize, work out a deal and restore our relationship. Not Denis. He disappeared into the Arctic for hours, sometimes days. I accused him of cutting me out, of not talking about what really mattered. His retort was that a simple hug and a kiss is not going to fix it. He claimed I didn’t respect his privacy and it annoyed him. True, I didn’t leave him any room for it. Growing up as I did in a three-room house with eight people and no indoor bathroom, I liked being close to others. I couldn’t understand why Denis had to close the bathroom door. Nothing should separate us. After all, what the heck did it mean for two to become one flesh (Mk. 10:8)?

What We Didn’t Understand Then, That We Do Now

What I didn’t understand then was that when he was growing up the only safe place in the house was the bathroom. There wasn’t a square inch of life where he was not sternly surveilled by his father. Not even thoughts were allowed freedom—as if that were possible—and this made the bathroom a welcome escape into privacy.

We hadn’t yet understood that our expectations of one another were informed by our different childhood experiences, and we didn’t have anyone in our life who could help us explore these issues in a healthy way.

As we matured, we’ve realized we could offer support or the possibility of hope by telling our story of when we were young and since. That admission alone might cause people to feel less lost and isolated.

 But Learning this Would Take a While

That night I ran out the door in my sheer nightgown, we were only two months into marriage. Perhaps we fought because of his habit of dropping clothes on the floor as he was getting ready for bed and leaving them there until I picked them up. Whatever the cause, after an exchange of boiling whispers, I ran.

It was summer and if the mosquitoes hadn’t been massively aware of me as I crouched under the lilac bushes in the dark, I may have run away. Forever. I waited and waited. I wanted him to search for me, take me in his arms, say he was sorry and that he’d never do it again—whatever it was—and oh how he loved me.

Finally, the door opened, and I eagerly watched his silhouette in the dark as he stepped down the landing. He hoarsely whispered, “Margie, GET IN HERE. Now.” I silently begged. Come get me. But he didn’t. He didn’t even come down the steps. Eventually, he went back inside. In my flimsy bridal negligee, he had given me, I became an insect smorgasbord.

I don’t remember a happy ending. I don’t remember an ending at all. My romantic dream—of being pursued by my lover into the dark night and taken into his arms as he begged forgiveness—didn’t happen.

Excerpt from Margie’s book, No Place: A Spiritual Memoir