Beneath the caressing sunset, I said “I do” to my husband, my fiancé of two years and boyfriend of four years. My husband, my prince charming. And with a deep kiss, we were set on our journey to a forever happily after. Oh, how wrong I was!
It started a few days after our honeymoon in Rio. Rio was the most breathtaking place to ever consummate an intimate love. We ate, we drank, we merried but most importantly, we made love, most passionately, soul-pouring love ever, at every chance we got. Oh boy! It was worth the wait. Earlier in our relationship, I had told my boyfriend that there would be no sex until our marriage and he had patiently waited, respecting my wishes.
Oh, mind you, I wasn’t a virgin; I just felt that I had had enough with premarital sex and its heartaches. Then I found God along the way, which helped strengthen my resolve to wait till my wedding night.
Now, to the issue at hand. My husband is a neat/organisation freak. My husband could organise and plan our friends’ lives and that of the universe without missing a beat. He is anal that way. I, on the other hand, could never keep up. I take each day as it comes, never worrying about tomorrow. I am neat, not just compulsive-obsessively neat though. No, I don’t keep everything in my laundry basket separated by the colours, fabrics and textures. No, too much organisation makes me feel like I am in a straight jacket and that is the most uncomfortable place to be in the entire world. And I hated it.
So, that was the lingering issue in the first few months of our new marriage. And it went unresolved. Each of us was seething underneath, never allowing the anger to blow over the top.
Occasionally when my husband complained about my lack of organisation skills, I took it very personal. It was a personal assault on my person, I felt like I wasn’t good enough for him and I would go days having this funny thoughts in my head, which directly influenced the way I reacted to him.
Eventually, small issues become big one and we began to have problems.
Two years into our marriage, we began to have major problems. In rebellion, I began to be DISRESPECTFUL and vehemently STUBBORN. Did I mention I had an advanced degree in stubbornness? My new found habit infuriated my husband to bits and he would lash out verbally. Or sometimes, go mute for days. That noise, the silence was always so resounding that my ear drums would almost explode.
I became stressed and severely unhappy. To make matters worse, I couldn’t CONCEIVE. Not that anything was wrong with my reproductive system/organs or that of my husband’s, I just couldn’t conceive. Five years into my marriage, I contemplated a divorce. Deep down, we both knew we loved each other, we weren’t just happy anymore and I wanted out before I lost my mind.
My inability to conceive sent me on a spiral downward slope and I couldn’t pull the brakes. Yet, I couldn’t reach the bottom. It was as if I was freefalling a dark bottomless pit and all hell were let loose. That experience was ugly. Heck, I was ugly. Everybody who saw me was convinced that some monster had possessed me and eaten the once beautiful, lively and free-spirited girl they used to know up.
We were both miserable. We no longer had a connection anymore, except to device ways to torture each other more than the previous day. The sex, which had gradually become mechanical had finally stopped. We were both shell of our old selves.
Finally, we caught a break. One day at my gynecologist’s place, he mentioned that I needed to see a psychologist. He said he couldn’t find anything wrong with me, except that my mental state had become so fragile; it was on the brink of getting warped. I almost broke down in tears but held myself together till I got home.
During the hour-long drive back home, I felt a wave of new sadness wash over me. It suddenly hit me that I am losing my marriage and I wasn’t doing anything to save it, that although I loved my husband, we have suddenly become strangers. I reminiscenced about the first time we met, the first kiss, the first everything and how we had made our relationship work for six years. I had known my husband for 11 years of my life and I was about to lose him to a creeping insanity.
I barely made it to the front door when I broke down sobbing. I wept like a bereaved mother who had lost her only child. I wept for the love long gone. I wept for the years I had wasted and could never get back. I wept for everything. My husband, who had arrived home earlier than usual saw the anguish in me and came over. He cradled me gently to himself and asked what was wrong. I told him what my gynecologist said and he told me he would work through my issues with me.
I apologised for the hell I put him through. He did same and confessed that he was tired of our fights. He apologised for his sensitivity and he made a very remarkable point. We both left GOD out of our marriage. We both apologised to God for our behaviours, and made a commitment to hand our lives and issues back to God, who has the beautiful blueprint of our live.
The following morning, my husband made an appointment to see a psychologist together. But that night was when the HEALING began to take place. After a year of THERAPY, my husband and I retook our VOWS before God and a few family and friends. And we began our journey to live happily ever after.
*Now, this story serves a premise on what’s to come in the following months. We’ll be dealing with marriage issues on this column every week. We will provide insights to a lot of problems in marriage and how to deal with them. We look forward to reading from our readers, as they share their experiences, or send in their questions. We look forward to a beautiful life together on this column.
Cheers and keep ‘em coming!