I know this is an ironic thing for a relationships writer to write about, but it’s the truth:
I suck at marriage.
In my head, I know the crucial components of a successful marriage, like the secret ingredients to my mother-in-law’s famous chocolate chip cookies (more sugar, extra flour), but in reality, I’m not quite sure how to put all the pieces together.
If you told me before I started this marriage journey that the sum of the problems in our marriage would come down to the smallest, stupidest of things, I probably wouldn’t have believed you. And if you told me we would fight over toilet paper, or who gets extra time to work, or cry over that one ridiculous time my husband fed the baby a bottle, I might have even laughed.
It’s a balancing act, of course and I know that eventually, my oxygen mask has to come on or I will crash and burn in that plane, but unfortunately for me, sliding that gold diamond solitaire ring on my swollen finger didn’t transform me into a wife — or a mother — with all the answers.
Some days, I suck at marriage.
But for right now, that’s the best I’ve got to give.