Why I Needed to Forgive the Church to Find God

Pastor's Daughter. That label defined me for most of my life until I moved out of my parents' home, left the church, and actively worked on forming my own identity. 

My relationship with the church has always been a rocky one, full of both love and anger. As a child, my dad pastored small churches. We moved a lot. I was an awkward kid and the transitions were always difficult. When I was 10 years old, we moved to Indiana and my dad accepted a staff position at a church where we would remain at until I was 18. Some of the hardest and best years of my life happened while attending this church. When my parents accepted a new position at a church in Colorado, I stayed in Indiana and went to college, and left the church entirely. My struggles with the church did not stop there, though. 

As a kid, I remember church feeling forced. I tried hard to be good, confessing all my sins at alter calls when I was only a child. My parents didn't raise me to believe I was a sinner, but inside I knew I wasn't feeling the things I was "supposed" to. Once I entered the youth group, I pushed harder. We had a youth pastor who believed in "excellence" as Christians. We were expected to devote our lives and all our free time to the youth group. I signed right up and was on his leadership team. I was always "different" though. I questioned and searched, was loud and dressed different. My parents were supportive of my mild rebellion- as long as I went to church and believed as they did. I was teaching Sunday school, on the Praise Team, a youth group leader, and doing all I could to push my guilt and questions aside. I even chose to attend Christian school to try and "fix" myself. My self-expression came in my appearance, chopping off my hair and dressing in outrageous clothes. Despite my efforts to be a good Christian girl and conform, I was always leaking out. I went to alter calls and gave my testimony to alleviate my guilt and try to fit- to force my real self to line up with who I needed to be to be sanctified. 

Insecurity grew and grew. Christian school and the youth group became awful for me. It wasn't working. I didn't fit and my heart was breaking. I could not be like the others. I thought I had to be, but I couldn't stop being loud and rebellious, questioning and searching. I was bullied at Christian school and always in trouble. One day, after many days of tears, I couldn't take it anymore. I called my mom from a pay phone during lunch and, between sobs, told her I had to leave. The next week, I moved to public school. A week later, I was active in the school's theater department. It was a haven for insecure, searching, different teenagers. I had a talent for acting, and I found my tribe and was starting to be happy again. 

My relationship with the youth group and my close friends there continued to crumble. I began to thrive. I found others like me in the theater department. My differentness was normal to them. My depression stayed, and would for many years to come until I found therapy. But I was home with them for a time. 

As I did more and more plays at school, my lack of attendance at church was frowned upon by the youth pastor. He confronted my dad, and my dad rose to my defense. Theater was a possible career, and Wednesday night youth group was not. I will always be grateful to my parents for supporting me. I still had to go to church on Sundays, but I quit the praise team and Sunday school. I drove separate as soon as I could so I could leave directly after service and not talk to anyone. The youth group wasn't a place I wanted to be. I usually sat alone and sneaked out of service to go on walks around the neighborhood. 

With college came more struggles, my depression and anxiety could no longer be ignored. During high school my depression turned into an eating disorder that was still with me. Bad boyfriends played a role as well.  In the theater department, my professor said something to my acting class I will never forget: "All of you are hear to pursue a career where you pretend to be someone else. That's not normal. I encourage you all to go to therapy to figure out why you want to do this. You cannot deal with emotions of acting if you don't have your shit together." Well, a year in to the program, it became abundantly clear he was right. I was a mess. I wasn't sleeping, my weight was plummeting, I was turning to outside things to numb myself. I went to the school counseling center and quit acting.

 A lot of time was spent in therapy dealing with my anger at the church for my struggles and those of my parents, bad relationships with boys, and trying to reconcile my feelings of abandonment from God. 

 As I went through therapy I also searched other religions, I hated entering a church. I was still plagued by my own messy feelings. I did a lot of work to forgive. Eventually, I didn't feel the need to beg forgiveness for my true self at an alter. It was me that needed to do the forgiving. I had to release my own demons. I forgave the church, the youth pastor, the Christian school, my parents. I found my freedom and God within myself. This was one of the most difficult and freeing things I have ever done in my life.

My freedom came from the realization that I did not have to have labels. As I searched other religions, I realized it was more of the same things I was trying to leave in the Christian church. Every group had their own rules and books and names for God. I realized I did not believe in the Bible as the only word of God. That was incredibly freeing. I allowed myself to recognize God in things outside of the church, outside of any religion. I claimed my own rules, my own names for God, my own thoughts. I decided there was a reason it all felt forced to me. It didn't have to be. God accepts me without conditions, and no one religion has the answers for me. The answers are within me and waiting for me in life. I stopped trying to make myself fit an idea of God. God was there the whole time, in the people and experiences of my daily life. 

..........................................................

I wrote this piece two and a half years ago, sitting in the parking lot of the church of my childhood. Now, as Christmas approaches, all the traditions of my Christian childhood surround me. They bring me peace and comfort, remembering the happy times in church and with my family. At the same time, this piece has been on my mind, reminding me of what I came from and where I am now. I fought long and hard to find peace with God. Now is a time of gathering with families, where we are surrounded by people who may be very different from us. This holiday season is also filled with angst for many as our current political climate has brought all of our differences to surface. Now is a time for remembering that we are here because of where we came from. We must tell our stories from our hearts, and listen to others stories, to propel each of us to a place of understanding and our truest selves. It is important to move forward with honesty and without fear. 

Image Credit: Amazon 

Becoming a Grown-Ass Woman

I just turned 32. Yep, there it is. I'm 32. I'm in my thirties.

So why do I only feel like a grown-up some of the time? A good chunk of the time I still feel like that girl in high school, and sometimes it is genuinely weird to me that I am a homeowner, bill payer, a parent. (Not that those are the qualifications for being an adult, but one would think that with those things, I would feel like an adult all the time, right?) Someone put me in charge of maintaining a house, holding down a job, and growing another human into a productive member of society. Who the hell thought that was a good idea? Being an adult was supposed to feel way different, right?

Referring to myself as a "woman" feels weird, so grown up sounding. Michelle Obama is a woman. I'm just here trying to figure out how to adult today and how much coffee is needed for that. There are women not much older than me who I see as more "adult" than I am. Is it about age? Is it something else entirely? After all, I am THIRTY-TWO, now!

This snapped with me when I was shopping for a new outfit to wear out for my birthday (I know this sounds lame, but who knows how something will hit you). Whenever there is an occasion, I go out and get a new outfit that is fancier that anything else I wear, I feel awkward in it, and then it hangs in my closet. Every time an event like a wedding or birthday dinner comes up, I feel the need to dress up like someone I'm not. This year, I started to do that, then it hit me how silly that was. I should dress like myself, in something I love that I will wear again because it resembles me. Also, this is much more affordable, and who doesn't love that?

This simple act claiming who I am gave me one of those moments where I felt like an actual Grown-ass woman. That night, I went out with my best friend and our husbands, drank delicious martinis, ate steak, and declared that I am 32 and claiming it. Why should I be ashamed of becoming an adult?

All this got me seriously thinking about the women in my life and other women I admire, and what it was about these women that made me look up to them.

• They doesn't have time for other people's bullshit. They let others think and be what they may without playing in to their mess. 
• They don't harbor guilt, but simply apologize for what was their fault, and move forward.
• They are themselves, whatever that looks like. I don't know if anyone truly "doesn't care" what anyone thinks of them. But Grown-ass women care what they think of themselves MORE.
• They own their shit. It's okay if they are a mess, if  life is still a mess, if things are falling apart.  They are not habitually life's victim.
• They are impressive because they aren't out to impress. These women simply are, and that is what makes them intimidating.
• They embrace other women. They are strong together, seeing each other as necessary to survival, not as enemies or competition.  

These are things that I aspire to as a Grown-ass woman who is now thirty-two. I simply don't have the time or energy to keep living in the insecurities that I did in high school and college. It's exhausting, it keeps me trapped, it makes me feel bad about myself and my life. It's time to step up my Grown-ass woman game. When I was drinking martinis, eating steaks, being with the ones I love, dressing like myself, and declaring my thirty-two-ness, it felt amazing. I was free. I was a Grown-ass woman for that moment.

You've Set the Bar Too High, Pinterest

Pinterest is the most wonderful and terrible thing on the planet, and the inventors of Pinterest are internet freaking geniuses. Before Pinterest, I barely used the internet except for emails and Facebook. I had no idea what was out there. Suddenly, instructions on EVERYTHING are at my fingertips with beautiful pictures in well organized boards. Let's be honest. It's always been there. Pinterest is Pretty Google. You are Googling things and putting them into folders. It's just so much better.

Pinterest is single-handledly responsible for teaching me how to cook and opening me up to all the possibilities of Mason jars. I literally had no idea that Mason jars could in fact change my life. Not to mention, Pinterest has helped launch about a million bloggers who otherwise might never be found. There are things I never would have thought I could do if it weren't for Pinterest and all the amazing bloggers.

That's also the problem! You can go to Pinterest to learn how to do something, or to learn how to do that thing in the best possible way ever! Last week I simply wanted to learn how to roast the pumpkin seeds from our jack-o-latern. Not only did I learn how to do that, I learned 50 ways of making the best possible pumpkin seeds that your guests will die for. I bet you had no idea a damn pumpkin seed was so versatile.

No game has been more upped by Pinterest than parties. I am currently planning my daughter's third birthday, and of course, I turned to Pinterest for ideas on her chosen Pete the Cat theme. Once upon a time, when your kid had a birthday, you went to a party supply store and bought some balloons and plates in whatever theme, ordered a matching cake from the grocery store, and bought a veggie tray and some chips and salsa. Done. If this is you, don't ever change. Save yourself millions of dollars and hours.

Because now there is Pinterest to show you how to create everything you need for the perfect party of your dreams. Since your friends are on Pinterest, they also know what amazing things you could do for your party, because they are doing it all too. You can make your own adorable decorations out of upcycled old clothes, a custom sign out of your neighbors reclaimed pool deck, and serve all your food in stations out of various size jars. Gone are the pre-ordered cakes, you can learn how to make bakery style cakes with impeccable fondant, in the shape of your child! Why buy a Ninja Turtle balloon when you can make a life-size Ninja Turtle out of kiwi? Don't forget the ice cubes infused with herbs from your garden and lemonade from the lemons in your mini green house. Be sure to label all the refreshments with calligraphic signs written in your own glittery blood.

I am pretty crafty and I think that a lot of stuff like this is fun. I really do enjoy creating a special day for my daughter. And yep, I'll be getting some ideas from Pinterest.  I am, however, dialing it down a bit. In the long run, my kid isn't going to remember the hours I spent on the hand-made decorations, and I will likely regret all the hot glue gun burns and paper cuts acquired in the process. Who cares if a few of my guests snub their noses at my Party City plates and store-bought non-ogranic veggie tray (served in the plastic container it came in). Who invited those bitches anyway? Because what it is ACTUALLY about is celebrating my daughter, hanging out with friends, and eating lots of food. If you want to guarantee your child's party is a success, serve alcohol. Kids birthday parties can really suck for the adult guests who don't know each other if they must be completely sober.

Infertility and the Loss of Something You Never Had

Here I am again, laying on the couch, distracting myself with Friends and M&Ms while trying to ignore the cramps in my stomach and lower back that remind me that another baby may not be in the cards for us.

Infertility is a special kind of emptiness that is incredibly hard to explain to someone who has never been through it. It's a loss, but of something that was never actually there. It's not a tangible loss, not one that other people know how to deal with. It's the loss of the dream of something, the hope of something. An infertility diagnosis feels like something invisible being taken from your heart.

It was about 5 years ago when we were told by two doctors we had an incredibly small chance of having children. The doctors told us our test results and simply said "I'm so sorry." Those are words you never want to hear from a doctor. Not being candidates for invitro-fertilization, we were told we could try hormones but to not expect results and to consider adoption.

We were preparing for my husband's deployment to Afghanistan when we decided to go on Chlomid and try anyway. Pills, schedules, fights. There is nothing romantic about trying to have a baby in the midst of knowing you probably can't. Being told when to do it, how to do it, laying still with your pelvis tilted up for 20 minutes after. The Chlomid caused me to have mood swings and hot flashes. Then the waiting. Month after month of heartbreak. I eventually resented the pregnancy and ovulation tests because I felt like I was "failing" them.  Meanwhile, everyone was having babies or trying to be helpful. You want to be happy for your friends and their new babies, and you know your friends are trying to help.

When a friend announced she was pregnant, I had to try not to resent her. Being around pregnant women sucked terribly. Each baby shower, I found myself in tears on the way there and again on the way home. Usually while I was there I busied myself passing out cake or keeping the list of gifts. I remember spending birthday parties and family events finding somewhere quiet to go hold one of my friends babies and holding back my tears. Eventually I had to avoid social media to get away from the babies everywhere.

After being married for several years, people were asking questions. When would we have kids? What were we waiting for? What was wrong? Things that are none of anyone's damn business. The people who did know what we were dealing with tried to say the right thing. Most often, we were told stories of other people who faced infertility, to "trust God's perfect timing," or to "just relax." People loved us, and wanted to help. You simply cannot stop trying. It's impossible. The people who stopped trying didn't do it to relax, they did it because they gave up, there's a difference. That's the only way to really stop trying, to just be done and ready to move on with your lives.

That's what happened, we gave up. Then, we found out we were pregnant. We were lucky, very very lucky. Not because we finally did the right thing to get pregnant. Somehow it just happened. Many, many people out there have to wait for years and never get a baby. Somehow we won the fertility lottery. We were able to get pregnant within two years and have a baby with no complications. She's amazing, and we are grateful for her.

What I didn't expect was going through this again in a different way. Now all our friends are on their second baby, or third. We get questions living in a new town, "is she your only one?" and "do you want to have another?" We have to remind people we know what we went through to get her. Since we had one baby, we should be able to have another, right? We had a very small chance of getting pregnant, and no one wins the lottery twice. Some people who struggle with infertility get pregnant quickly with the second one. This won't be the case for us.

We are facing the choice of going down this road again, deciding if we want to go through the treatments, the schedules, the heartache. Last time, we ached for the dream of a child. This time, we know exactly what it means to be pregnant, to welcome a new life, to hold our tiny baby. We also know about the sleepless nights, days of worry, the toddler years. It's not just a question of if we want to go through the baby part again, it's the if we want to go through the pain it takes to get there knowing what we know now.

If you are in the midst of this struggle, you aren't alone. Thousands of us know the emptiness and heartache.  Infertility is the thing no one talks about because no one knows how. It's a grief many of us go through alone because it's incredibly private, yet everyone feels like it's their business. You may be feeling broken, hating your friends when you don't want to, avoiding family events, dreading the holidays with the babies, the questions. All I can tell you is that this is really, really hard. Hold on to your partner and leave Christmas dinner early if you have to. Skip the baby shower and mail a card, it's okay. I deeply wish I had other words for you, but please, do what you need to do to take care of yourself. Talk to loved ones, find a therapist (I did that, too), whatever it takes to have people who love you and get it in your corner.

If you love someone struggling, then you have no idea what the hell to say. If you are saying a lot of things, stop it right now. What was the most helpful was the friends who offered no advice, but who held my hand, who let me hold their babies without comment, and who helped me put my make up back on after crying at yet another baby shower. They didn't ask questions but were always there and saw me, drank wine with me, and stood by me.

Potty Training: The Actual Worst

I am of the general belief that babies are easier than toddlers, or at least a very different kind of hard. The first few months of parenting are a special kind of terrifying hell, but once you get through that, babies aren't too awfully difficult. They require most of your time and energy, but they are basically fussy, wiggly potatoes. Babies don't argue with you, throw things at you, tell you what to wear, and refuse to eat anything but Goldfish and apple sauce. Teething and sleep regression are a nightmare, but they pass after a couple weeks (hopefully). Snuggle that baby while you can, because soon it will be a talking, walking little ball of emotion. Picture a teenager trapped in tiny body with limited language. My daughter is bright and funny, and about the most pig headed little thing you ever saw, just like her Daddy. Fortunately, like him, she's generally charming enough to get away with it.

Enter Potty Training. My daughter has always been ahead of the curve, so I was pretty sure once she "got it," we would have this potty training thing down in days. That was SIX MONTHS ago. She acted excited and fully on board, so I took this as a sign of readiness. That first day, we broke out the stickers and sat on the potty over and over, she even peed in it. Half way through Day 2, she announced "I don't want to use the potty. Don't give me stickers. I want a diaper" and stuck to that with all her will. We put it off until after moving and getting settled in the new house. Time to try again. After a couple of days,  she was once again over it. The kid happily pees in her new panties, refuses any matter of treats, and could care less whether or not Big Girls, Elsa, or anyone else uses the potty. She will simply say "Elsa uses the potty, I wear diapers. I WANT A DIAPER! An actual diaper, Mom." (My daughter for real talks like this).

I decided not to make it a thing, but I kind of did anyway. Between nannying for 5 years then having a baby, I have been cleaning up poop that isn't my own for 7 years. If there will be a baby #2, I kind of need a break from shit before I commit to another 3+ years of it. Since my daughter and I are home most of the day, I put her in panties and told her she could sit on the potty if she wanted to. After a couple days of peeing herself, she figured out her signals and would ask for a diaper when she needed to pee. Instead, we sat on the potty, she didn't pee, and went happily back to playing. What didn't occur to me was that after a few days of not peeing all day, she could get a freaking UTI. Mother. Of. The Year. 

Before having kids, and even in the early days, I was one of those intolerable parenting experts. Now I get it. The Toddler Years have broken me down. (And we haven't hit three yet!) Sometimes as a parent you have no idea what the actual fuck you are doing. Your kid doesn't care about your preparations and research.  Then, once you get your kid figured out, they go and grow on you and turn in to a different person. You have to teach a tiny person how to do Person Things, like use a fork, zip a jacket, and poop in a receptacle. That tiny person will have their own ideas about how every bit of that will go. Since my daughter is clearly willing to hold pee to the point of pain for 8 hours, she can pee in the potty whenever she damn well chooses, or not...ever. I'll sit back and laugh when she explains her Depends to her boyfriend one day.

When I Need Forgiveness from My Kid

It started out with good intentions. On a rainy fall day, I thought it would be fun to bake and decorate sugar cookies with my three-year-old. Sure, they would be a little messy and have lots of rainbow sprinkles, but it would be charming and fun.

I have OCD and Anxiety Disorder.
(And even without those things, general parenting is super freaking hard.)
She's a strong-willed three-year-old.
You can see where this is going.

I really try to cook with her and let her help me with chores, I feel like it's important to let her learn these skills. But she's three, so she does things wrong. Like, a LOT. And she takes forever. Like toddlers do. Right, learning to be a person is hard. I get that. Most of the time I can keep my cool.

Today was NOT one of those days. It started out that way. She wanted to make her own crazy creation, and I let her play around. Then it came to that magical moment I pictured, when we would decorate the lovely, charming little cookies together. We could deliver them to friends, and I could Instagram it.

Of course, all my three year old wanted to do was eat cookies, lick the frosting, and down handfuls of sprinkles. Things were straying from the plan. After she ate a couple cookies and too many sprinkles, it was time for our serious fun decorating. After asking her to stop eating everything over and over, then insisting that she stop or she couldn't help, I started to lose my shit.

She got sick of it, saying "No! No, Mommy! Stop, or you will have a time out!"
I didn't stop. I kept on saying over and over loudly "You don't get to help if you can't listen. Stop eating it all!"
To which she kept saying "Mommy, I said stop or you will have a time out! Stop, stop, stop!"
Switch tactics, then. I lowered my voice and kept saying the same thing, but I still didn't just stop.
She got kicked out of the kitchen, tears streaming down her face, and I stood there decorating cookies alone, which was super depressing.

I started thinking... maybe she wasn't wrong. Here she was, telling me to do exactly what I tell her to do when she loses control: stop talking and take a time out. So I did. I gave us each a break.

While eating cookies by myself, I realized that I was the one who ruined cookie time with expectations that weren't appropriate for a toddler who had a 7:30AM doctor appointment and no nap. I probably couldn't expect a toddler who is learning self-control to stand in front of cookies, frosting, and sprinkles and just decorate. I mean, I was sneaking eating dough, licking the frosting, and had already had a few cookies, too. Could I salvage this? If I really believe that kids learn best by modeling behavior, I should start there. I certainly hadn't listed or respected her.

So, I sat down with her, tears forming in my eyes, and said "baby, I am sorry I yelled at you and didn't listen to you."  Yes, she had made my frustrated, and part of me wanted to add "but you...," I stopped myself. I didn't try to justify what I did to make myself feel better.

"Do you forgive me?"
"I forgive you, Mommy."

I asked if she wanted to try decorating cookies again. This resulted in her trying to eat more cookies. I still stood firm to my boundary that she had had enough, but I didn't expect her to perform the way I wanted her to and I didn't lose it, She didn't freaking care about decorating cookies and happily went and played while I finished.

Did my daughter learn how to decorate cookies? No. But maybe she learned how to apologize. Little kids seem amazingly good at forgiveness on their own. What I learned may have been even more important.

Let me tell you, there are few things more humbling than admitting to my own tiny little child that I did something wrong, and admitting to myself that I hurt her feelings. But afterwards, I think both our hearts felt a lot better.

Secret's Out: Marriage Can Suck

Alright guys, I am going to write about marriage. Not because I am an expert, because I have the remotest advice, or because I have any answers. I am going to write about marriage because I am married, marriage is hard, and we need to talk about the fact that it is harder than we all expected it to be. We don't have to wait until we are old and our marriage is a "success," or until we have been divorced and our marriage has "failed" to talk about marriage. One of my favorite authors Glennon Doyle Melton says we need to talk about things "during the during." So, I am going to go balls out and do that.

"During the during" is probably the hardest time to open up. During when we are most vulnerable and, in the case of marriage or relationships, there are other people to protect. But here's what' I've noticed. My husband and I and most people we hang out with are 4-8ish years in to a marriage or committed relationship, have small kids, and talk about how hard it is to have kids, only touching on a recent fight we may have had with our spouse in a funny story. The kids are easy to talk about. We are all struggling with parenting and there's not that sense of betrayal when talking about the kids. Writing about parenting is easy. Writing about the hard days of parenting is harder. Writing about marriage feels terrifying. I am not here to betray my spouse or throw him under the bus. I'm not here to air our dirty laundry.

What I am here to do is tell the truth, because it's happened multiple times now. We hang out with other couples, joke about the kids, have a few drinks and talk about parenting and home improvement. Suddenly, one of those couples is divorced and we are all like "what the hell?" Then my husband and I have another fight a few days later, and we kind of know what could get us there. We wonder if someday that will be us. Divorce isn't something we want,  but it's something that is happening to a LOT of our friends who don't want it, either. My husband and I know that just like getting hit by a bus, we aren't immune. If we don't want hit by a bus too, it's time to start looking both ways before we cross the street.

I am not here to vilify marriage OR divorce.  If you are and older Millenial (late 20-early 30s) then you parents are Baby Boomers and they grew up in a time when divorce was riddled with shame, secrecy and blame. Divorce was more common among our Boomer parents, but was often still an indicator of "failure" and surrounded by shame. We are living in a time when the divorce rate is sitting comfortably at 50%. It sounds about right since at 32, I can name about half of my friends who are divorced. I am my husband's second wife. Many of my friends are on second marriages. An increasing number of my friends are choosing not to get married, and while their parents don't get it, their friends totally get it. Marriages and relationships end, each for different reasons, and I don't have the secret for a lasting marriage. What I do know is that divorce does not equate failure, and some marriages and relationships need to end, to be complete and final so both people can  move on. Some marriages don't have to end, there's things that can be worked out. Each couple has to decide that for themselves.

Everyone told us that marriage was going to be hard. And we were like "yeah, we TOTALLY see why it was hard for YOU. But look how much WE LOVE EACH OTHER!" HA! What young idiots we were. There is a reason that marriage vows say "for better or worse...until death do you part." The people who wrote it knew that shit was NECESSARY. I could pretty much write a book on all the things that we have been through that we weren't prepared for: deployment, moving, infertility, a kid, jobs, stress, money. Through it all, we have fought and cried, made love and thrown things, held hands and slammed doors, held each other tight and wanted out.

In a committed relationship, you are doing life with another person, a person who knows every bit of you. I mean KNOWS YOU. My husband knows what I look like when I REALLY cry, he has cleaned my diarrhea and vomit off the entire bathroom when I was sick, he's seen my body push out a bloody little human, he knows what my farts smell like, he knows my secrets. He's the one I go to. I'm the one he goes to. I've watched my husband brush his teeth, sleep, seen his anger and heart ache, his smiles and tears. I know when he's not telling me things and why that's okay. We have had the hardest conversations we have ever had with another person with each other. My husband and I are also both super passionate people. We each have two states: calm and losing our shit. He gets mad, I act like the world is ending. When you put two firecrackers together with that level of intimacy, it can be amazingly exciting or a flat out shit storm.

And here we are, DURING THE DURING. In the midst of a marriage. But is it a "hard marriage" or just "marriage?" Honestly, my friends and I don't talk about how HARD marriage is, so I don't have any way to gauge it. I think that's one big reason we should talk about it with other people we love and trust. We should share with others without blame, without vilifying, without throwing each other under the bus. Our partners are our partners. That means we keep each other's secrets and we tell each other how we are feeling. But that doesn't mean we need to pretend to our best friends or family that it's all fine, like we don't feel really lonely sometimes despite having someone to share it all with. There will be fights, there will be make-ups. For some, there will be divorce, for others not. I do think if we pretend like everything is fine, it will all be a lot less fine.

Marriage is hard, guys. Parenting is hard. This shit is sometimes absolutely terrible. Let's not just pretend like it's all sunshine and fucking roses. Let's be real with those we love and who care about our relationships and start talking about it during the during instead of just the before or the after.