20 Years

20 Years

We are celebrating 20 years of marriage this summer. It reminds me of my parents divorcing around this milestone anniversary, and I also chuckle when I think about the neighbours we had when Jason and I were newly married. They were splitting up and the woman said wistfully, “We made it almost 20 years. That’s pretty good.”

No awards are given for simply lasting a long time in a marriage. What does the length of time even mean if both people are unhappy in the relationship? My parents did not leave me a very inspiring model to follow. When it came to my own marriage, I was determined to forge a new path toward a joint entity that satisfied both of us.

When I look back on the months preceding our wedding, I remember a cold sense of panic that I might be making a mistake. Jason seemed like a solid choice for a marriage partner, but so few marriages seem genuinely happy. I didn’t want to make a mess out of it and I was consistently worried that the alcoholic patterns from my childhood would carry over into my own marriage.

And of course they did. Every unconscious pattern we experience as children will inform our adult lives unless we confront it and change it. Thankfully, around the twelve-year mark, through intensive personal counselling followed by Al-Anon group counselling, these dysfunctional patterns were faced and we built new coping strategies in their place.

What a difference that painful season made to the quality of our relationship. We always had a low-grade marital satisfaction as our through-line, but this personal growth work I jumped into made everything look different because Jason responded enthusiastically to my changes. He didn’t demand that I stay the same. And since that time, when he has made significant personal changes, I have responded in the same encouraging manner, giving us both the freedom to grow into who we always wanted to be.

I’m so incredibly grateful to be married to this man. Without a doubt, choosing him as my husband has been the single best choice of my lifetime. Nothing about marriage is simple and straightforward. It’s full of peaks and valleys; happy times and sad ones; losses and gains so slow and steady they can’t be measured while they are being experienced. Only after can you look back and see just how much you’ve survived and changed.

The key to our strong relationship has been laughter. And loyalty to one another. Plus a liberal dose of courtesy when we speak to one another or about one another. We certainly don’t always feel gooey and mushy toward each other, but we endeavour to keep the respect and dignity front and centre. We also value the space between us and don’t let others into it, for it belongs to both of us and our unique marriage.

Happy Anniversary, my love. Here’s to the next two decades of growth and commitment.

Look at these kids!

 

Reconciling Kindness with Authenticity

I struggle to reconcile kindness with authenticity. So often they seem like opposite ends of the spectrum.

In helping my daughter through friend issues, I feel as if authenticity is at odds with inclusion. Do I teach her to look after herself first, even if this means backing away from a friendship that tends to bring more frustration now than support? But if I also advise her to be as kind as possible, what is she supposed to do when kindness to this person means a type of sacrifice for what feels like authentic friendship for Ava?

It’s one thing to make these kinds of choices for myself, and another thing to watch my child suffer through them. William is quite naturally adept at this. He genuinely doesn’t care if someone wants to be his friend or not. He decides for himself who his friends are (it’s a small number of people) and doesn’t feel obligated to extend friendship to everyone. Part of this might be that he is a boy. Or it could be his introverted personality, where he’s just as happy to be alone as with peers.

Reconciling Kindness with AuthenticityBut Ava is different. She’s extroverted, socially aware of how she fits into any particular group, and she’s in middle school, a place where belonging can be be a blood sport. I love that she feels ready to make certain decisions about her social life and is willing to accept the consequences of these choices. I think my fear enters in when I start worrying about how other people might perceive her if she stands up for herself when it comes to defining her friends.

I’ve lived through these friend choices and felt the pain of being labelled disloyal, cruel and full of myself. Over time, however, the anger fades away, along with the shame, and I’m left with a tighter, more intimate handful of friends whom I can trust. I had to prune away the negative in order to make room for the positive to grow and flourish. And my life is richer for it.

I want this for Ava, but I have to make my way through my own reservations and private anxieties to get there. It’s one thing to endure scorn and derision from others for yourself, and another to help your child through the same thing. When I talked to a friend about this, wondering aloud if Ava should stay quiet and not risk offending this girl or her entire circle of friends, my friend said, “It sounds like a leadership quality to not need a huge group of friends. Just one or two that you can really count on.”

This helped to soothe my fears for Ava. Perhaps kindness and authenticity can be reasonable bedfellows after all, but it comes down to listening to our intuition. When we feel like we’ve had enough, and we aren’t willing to endure a difficult situation a moment longer, then we honour our authentic self by communicating this with as much kindness as possible. Until that point, we watch and we wait, holding our tongue, which is also a form of kindness and generosity.

At the end of the day, it’s critically important to know that we all have choices. We are not stuck in painful situations. We must do what we believe to be right for us, and then learn to live with the consequences of our decisions.