if marriage was a house

I often find myself inspired by the hilarious and insightful Rebecca Woolf and her blog “Girls Gone Child”. I identify with her in that I too became pregnant unexpectedly and married my baby daddy after knowing him a relatively short time (another story, another day). About 9 years later Rebecca now has 3 more children, including a set of twins who crack me up daily while browsing my Instagram feed.

Ms. Woolf is a great writer no matter how you slice it, but because of our shared experiences I feel a special connection with her even though we’ve never communicated and she lives 200 miles away in LA. One recent post that really did me in (we’re talking sobbing, red eyes, all the feelings) is entitled “Old Houses Are Like This” in which she does a freakin’ fantastic job of comparing her marriage to her rat- and mold-infested house with a crumbling foundation. Metaphors for dayyyyyyys man.

Isn’t that how it is though? So many of us walk (or are gently nudged by the impending pitter-patter of little feet) into marriage thinking it’s gonna be great. Even the most realistic of God’s children don’t jump the broom expecting to catch their feet on the handle and fall on their face. But that’s just life. There are seasons, there are highs and lows, and sustained periods of meh. The pattern of get up, get ready, change the diapers, make the meals, blah blah blah starts to disguise underlying tension and apathy, two major marriage killers. It often takes a figurative rat infestation to even realize that something is wrong.

Like Ms. Woolf’s contractor told her and her husband (unaware of the deeper meaning of his words), “Without the rats you might not have known about the leak until it was too late. This can be fixed. Old houses are like this. Beautiful and broken, they all need work.”

Rebecca inspires me to stick it out. To keep living and loving my family in spite of the rats and the mold and the mess.