What the F is up with that second year of marriage?

 




I have to preface this by saying that I am in no way a marriage expert. Not even close. The only advantage, I guess, that Will and I have as a couple is that we’ve known each other for 16 years, so there are a few things that we’ve learned. And we’re still learning! Every day.

 

The past few months in lockdown have been so great that it made we wonder why we ever disagreed in the past. So I did a little mental digging and asked myself, “Seriously... what the F was up with that second year of marriage? And why is no one speaking about it?”

 

In November, Will and I will be married for 9 years. I always joke with him and subtract a year because that second year… Yor, ku rough! There’s no other way to describe it. Granted we had gone through a year of loss, surgery, trauma and NICU visits that I wholeheartedly hope not many couples have gone through, but upon reflection and chatting to a few friends, there were some similarities that most couples do share. 

 

For so long, I felt as if I couldn’t speak to anyone, because Will and I were always viewed as #couplegoals. The OGs. Other newlyweds would come to us (the “experts”) for advice or, on the other side of the spectrum, would keep completely quiet about any issues because we “wouldn’t understand” being the perfect couple and all.  I always felt that it was not our right to complain about silly, minor issues or to burst this bubble of “bae perfection” we apparently had built. But tbh, we experience exactly the same marital hurdles as everyone else. And this is probably why no one speaks about that second year. You’re supposed to be in this blissful honeymoon phase, right? Bull. Marriage is f****** hard work, man.

 

As they say, hindsight is 20/20. An exact science. So I’ve looked at that second year, and identified a few common pitfalls to help you better navigate the murky quicksand that may lie ahead – speaking from experience. This is by NO means a post to force you to stay in an unhappy or abusive marriage. If that is the case, get out. Please. I am here to help. This… “hold on and suck it up” narrative is damaging… this rhetoric of staying even when you’re utterly miserable and in pain needs to stop. It ain't the 50s, and GBV is so very real in our society.  

 

 

That said, I have realised that before we entered “wedded bliss”, I thought that cheating and mental/emotional/physical abuse were the only obvious reasons to leave or end a marriage. But life is not that black and white, and seemingly “silly misalignments in goals” can also have you asking, ”What happened? How on earth did we end up here?" Nothing may be particularly wrong; there may not even be arguments, you simply feel out of sync for some reason. So here’s what we’ve learned. Hopefully, it can help you understand certain issues and realise that your story isn’t unique. And also that it’s completely “normal” (whatever that means) what you’re going through, and it's OK to talk about it. It may sound as if we have this awful marriage but really, I am only sharing the 10% that is bad... the other 90% that’s great is just for us. 

 

MARRIAGE IS NOT “A WEDDING”

For years, I have said that planning a wedding lays a good foundation for marriage. It has budgeting, compromise, talking about likes and dislikes, family dramas, etc. – “everything” to “prepare” you for the years ahead. LOLs. How naïve. This is why the second year starts stinking like a bag of used dildos… because for over a year, you plan this beautiful day - picking out napkins, lake-side venues, candles, flowers and honeymoon destinations, so consumed with love, gazing at each other from across the aisle, that you believe you’ll ride that high, pretty much until “death us do part.” You believe the movies when they tell you that marriage will be picking out napkins and Mid-century modern furniture, kissing in the rain and giggling on the sofa at Ben Stiller flicks, popcorn in hand. And when it isn’t, you find yourself saying that this isn’t what you signed up for. But life isn’t a fairytale or a rom com. And you ain’t Julia Roberts. It can throw some pretty shitty curveballs at you, heavier than you can ever imagine, and you can only hope that you come out the other end somewhat in tact. I guess the lesson here is to ponder for a sec and agree on what “marriage” means and looks like for the both of you. 

 

LIVING WITH SOMEONE IS KAK

There I said it. On the 28th of September I said it. Kak may be a strong word but if you think about it, when you lived apart, you’d argue about something silly, go off into your separate homes, or bedrooms and eat KFC or watch Lost or masturbate of whatever, forget what you were fighting about, cool off, miss each other and meet up again, or have great sex as if nothing happened. But now that you live together, you not only have to sleep next to the person you’re mad at, but you also have to lay there when they simply don’t realise that you are in fact mad at them. Bruh. That can extend a disagreement into a 2-week long fuck fest. And not the good kind. Also, if you hear, “Pick up your onnie,” for the first time when living together… cute… it warrants a calm, apologetic, “Sorry love, it fell out of my pant leg on my way to the laundry basket." Now imagine hearing that every day for 9856 days, and see if the tone on both ends is still the same. Jarrr. 


COMMUNICATE COMMUNICATE COMMUNICATE

It’s funny, before we got married, I solicited advice from married folks, hoping that they could share some sage wisdom and the one “secret” to a great marriage. The answer was always... Communication. I would secretly laugh internally, thinking that love, respect, talking about finances and doing sweet deeds for each other, surely trump communication. (Trump has utterly ruined that word for me!). But marriage quickly knocked me off my sanctimonious pedestal. Blame the patriarchy, but society doesn’t make it easy for little boys to express any feelings or emotions other than anger or assertiveness; they seem to be the only “acceptable emotions”. We say, “Buck up… boys don’t cry, and the patriarchal bullshit of “don’t be such a girl… stop talking about your feelings... and toxic masculinity tosses in some gross homophobia too - in the form of “that’s gay.” Fucking hell. As if being a human with emotions has anything to do with gender or sexual orientation. What happens then is that boys grow up to be men completely incapable of expressing vulnerability, sadness or even joy, because it’s viewed as “weakness”. Thanks Mr Misogyny! So you end up with an emotionally stunted partner. Whether you're in a same-sex or hetero relationship. I don’t know about you, but I want to talk about what’s bugging me – with friends, colleagues, moms, councillors – and have done so from a very young age. Will is already a very private, not quite forthcoming, person – his family shows love, rather than verbalising it, add patriarchy to the mix and he’s a tough nut to crack. My family talks about eveeeerything. Maybe a little too much. You can’t shut us up. So when Will was feeling low, he would “armadillo it”. I am intuitive (and know him quite well too) so I’m able to tell when he’s sad or frustrated or disappointed. I know what every sigh or grunt means. But my overactive imagination is the pits! So while I was imagining the worst: “Is he done with this? Is he bored? Is he ill?” it would turn out to be something trivial (only to me!) - like a presentation only going 90% well, and not 100%. I’d give him space and it would turn into hours of this dark cloud hanging over us, which in hindsight was completely unnecessary if only we had communicated. Any disagreements weren’t exactly handled as pros either. He is uncomfortable with expressing himself and I am pushy - it took me YEARS to not trivialise his worries, and understand that I need to create a safe space for him to feel comfortable enough to share. And also to acknowledge and admit to my flaws as well; it's so difficult to look internally. So I guess the advice here is to find a way to open up to each other – whether with a therapist or in a place where you’ve always felt happy and comfortable with no judgement – at a pool, in your pjs on the couch or shit-faced at a bar, as in our case. If possible, learn to talk about EV-VAR_Y_THANG. Figure out how to open the lines of communication. It’s NOT easy. But I have spent many an evening wanting to pack my suitcase (read 4 Shoprite plastic bags) because it seemed as if Will no longer wanted in on this… when really, he just struggled to communicate that he was bummed about not giving 464% at work.

 

EVERYONE HAS THEIR VICES

I will say it. Will is a workoholic. He has taken 2 sick days in the past 16 years, one of which I had to force him to take, since he toppled over when he swung his laptop bag over his shoulder. I am addicted to wallowing in self pity and loathing. I believed that once we started a family, that he would work less, but it only increased his need to be a provider, and he didn't want to fail. After the loss of our son, Will threw himself into work even more. Since he worked until 4am from the day that we met, I didn’t see him working through the night, then showering to leave for work, only to pull an all-nighter again, as an obvious cry for help. He needed a distraction from being beyond broken and devastated… he was too overcome with grief to face it. I was too busy being curled up in a ball, crying myself to sleep before the sleeping tablets kicked in to realise.

 

Being completely oblivious to the obvious issue, I told myself that Will’s work is 99.9% of who he is as a person, and that I should be a supportive partner. I did the ‘good wifey' thing of being an all-round cheerleader to ensure that he reached his career goals. Maybe it was an attempt to help him feel “happy” again. That this achievement could somehow erase the f******* horrible shit life had dealt us. He had been ambitious for as long as I could remember, yet so humble about his talents. It’s 100% why I fell in love with him.  It’s been that way since that first day where he shyly and awkwardly opened up this beautiful layout and mumbled his way through it, (leaving me to wonder why he wasn’t just dropping a mic and saying, “Give me all the money, bietches"). But out of nowhere… and this is a confession I haven’t even told close friends, I felt… utter and complete resentment. I had to come to grips with feeling resentment for the very atrritbute that made me fall in love with him. Perhaps it was another cover for grief, but I resented the fact that I placed my career “on hold” to support his. And worse, instead of verbalising it, I did the horrible thing of picking away at several other things until I could eventually shed my cowardly skin and say outloud, “I resent you for moving up while I have been leaving work to attend to all things parenting.” It’s an unfortunate thing – in South Africa, Vodacom is the first and only company to offer maternity and paternity leave for exactly the same duration. And this only happened a few weeks ago. There still is no “choice” in who should stay home and care for the baby at any other company. Women who have given birth unfortunately have the torn perennials and food bags strapped to our chests, so not much choice there. Same-sex parents, I take my hat off to you. So, one night, grief-stricken and angry, after experiencing what Rihanna describes as, “In this California King Bed, we’re 10 000 miles apart”, Will whispered, “I miss you” and we FINALLY had a deep conversation, and many many MANY tears, to help rebuild this once beautiful relationship we had, while laying sprawled out on one bathmat. 

 

KIDS CHANGE EVERYTHING

I would never say “fuck shit up” because it’s frowned upon, and honestly, it’s not something I believe. I’ve known that I wanted to be a mother since playing horsie with my little sister. Personally, if I could go back in time, I would do choose my precious babas again and again. But back to the point. Kids do change your schedule completely. Will and I had 5 months of drinking gin and watching the sunset on our balcony, before we found ourselves slapbang in the middle of a risky pregnancy. When Lily was born, we thought all the fear and trauma were behind us, but the “adventure” was just beginning. I’ve mentioned several times that she was a prem baby with a heart defect, and doctors gave us a goal of 6kgs before her corrective surgery. What they didn’t tell us is that CHD babies bring up most of the milk, get exhausted and fall asleep while breastfeeding (before they’re even remotely full), and oh, don’t pick up weight, so I would cry over a drop of spilled breastmilk. Literally a drop. We then devised a “clever” plan to play to our strengths – we chatted to her doctor to determine the exact amount of milk she’d need per day to reach her goal weight. Whether we could manage 60mls every 3-hours or 10mls every 10 minutes to get her there. Thus began a cycle of 'sterilise bottles – pump – feed – sterilise bottles  pee, maybe bathe – feed, sterilise bottles'. Sexy! Will is also someone who can stay up quite late and be fresh as a daisy in the morning, so we eventually decided that I would go to bed after her 8pm feed, Will would take the 11pm, leaving me enough time to sleep before her 2am and sometimes 2:35, 2:45 and 3am feeds. It worked really well, apart from Lily being sensitive to noise and waking up at the sound of a breeze. However, what we couldn’t plan for was that we’d be on different schedules. We became ships passing in the night. The only words we ever spoke to each other were, “Did you remember to buy the nappies?” Did you sterilise the bottles? Remember, Dr Smith needs to see her at 8am and Dr Pributt at 11. Did you give her medication? Did you pick it up? The pharmacy closes at Xpm. Medical aid doesn’t want to pay for xyz.  Call again. Fcuk they’re out of that special milk. The one is JHB is much cheaper but still R895 per jar and will take a week to get here.” 

Thankfully, after her op, Lily chugged milk like a colleague student drinking beer on spring break, and would nap for longer. Praise the heavens. Our lives seemed back on track. Parents, you will know. Then, I found out that I was pregnant, and you know how that ended. After those few months, my therapist mentioned that Will and I had been living in crisis mode for 2-3+ years, operating on adrenalin 24/7 that should be saved for coming face-to-face with a lion. We were beyond exhausted, traumatised and too numb to think about “date night”. We viewed ourselves strictly as caregivers/babysitters and life bearers, instead of two people who actually fell in love. So, pleeeease learn to see yourselves beyond parents. Get back into the things you did that first made you fall in love with each other, and never stopping wooing each other, dammit. Read your vows to one another, if you need to.

 

FFS, LEARN EACH OTHER’S LOVE LANGUAGES

I feel as if everyone knows and abides by this rule, but still I found myself in a complete maze. Growing up, whenever my dad was a poephol – either forgetting anniversaries or birthdays – he bought gifts. That’s how I learned to express love. Strangely enough, I do not like expensive gifts. Don’t get me jewellery, I much prefer hand-picked wild flowers. When Will and I were dating, he was the most romantic man on earth. I’m talking Idris Elba, all the Ryans, Matthew McConaughy and Richard Gere combined. He folded 1000 cranes to propose, hung “Cape Times newspaper headlines” on my route to work, created a restaurant in his car complete with signage, meals and cutlery outside of my place of work and left me treasure hunt clues and notes in the bathroom. But a year into marriage, that changed. Or at least I thought it did. It was only when his parents spent a weekend at our place and I watched his dad bring coffee to his mom both mornings, cover her with a blankey, and wait for her by the window with a huge smile on his face,  even though she just went to the garden, that I realised that’s how he expresses love too. Love evolves. Even though Will and his dad never say it to each other, Will would always say, “Aw, my dad fixed the oven light/ leaking gutter/jammed lock, I love him so much," after his dad had left. That’s how they express love. With acts of kindness. So I realised… I get my coffee every morn, he tucks me in when I fell asleep on the couch and fills my car with petrol because he knows how forgetful I am. Stupidly, I had spent a good few months buying gifts for him that he couldn’t be bothered with, and thinking that he no longer cared. And vice versa. When the evidence was clearly all round us. So, yes, just knowing what your partner actually appreciates is sound, worthy advice.

 

DO MEN UNDERSTAND HINTS?

I don’t believe in “gender roles”… I don’t believe that people’s brains (read society’s idea of only two genders) function fundamentally differently. I think it’s just ideals imposed on us. So, I will ask this instead, rather than make a statement, “Do men understand hints/cues/realise when you’re angry?” I can’t figure this out. Is it unique to Will? Is it a personality trait? Is it how some people function, mentally?  Will does not understand hints. Or realise when I am obviously angry. To give you an example: Two years ago, we worked together. I grew tired of the fact that a few months in, I was always the “default parent” to pick up the kids - leaving at 5pm to rush through traffic, face the disappointed, sometimes angry look from TAs who missed their buses because I was 3 minutes late yet again, when my team needed me to work late too. I expressed my anger (see resentment point above) and Will calmly agreed that it was indeed unfair and he would get the kids. At 5:10pm, when I asked if he was packing up, he honestly did not understand why I was asking. And later when he got home, I could tell by his expression that he HONESTLY didn’t realise why I had grabbed the car keys from his desk and left in a huff. I would say, don’t ever leave in an unnecessary huff, just state outright what’s bugging you, but it seems like spoon-feeding and never encouraging your partner to realise your needs. This is one spot where I have absolutely no advice. Andiyazi. Ek weet nie. Help a sister out.

 

FINALLY, YOU ARE TWO DIFFERENT PEOPLE, AND THAT’S OK

When I first learned about dating, the common advice seemed to be, “You need to have the same interests to be compatible.” Well fuck…. OK, it makes sense to both enjoy paragliding. But dammit, you are two different people, with different upbringings, beliefs, different ways of being, feeling, reasoning, thinking – for instance I see no problem eating off someone’s plate, this is a HUGE violation in Will’s and other people’s eyes – different hobbies, different tastes in music, shows, designs, furniture, turn ons, different ways in raising kids (if you want kids), sometimes from different worlds, different cultures and often races, different religions, with different privileges or lack thereof, different languages, different ways of expressing yourself and your feelings, different in the things that set your heart on fire, different strengths and weaknesses, different academic backgrounds and even levels of intelligence, different environments that moulded you, different likes and dislikes... who both happen to like paragliding, and still you are meant to decide on exactly what to eat, around a damn dinner table that you BOTH like… in a 50sqm space. It’s impossible. It’s the very reason that reality shows exist and have drama. But you’re expected to make it work... two lowley humans. So if you had a crappy second year of marriage and you’re ashamed about it, don't be. This ish is tough. It's OK not to be in the "honeymoon" phase two years in. And it’s OK to wonder, “What the F what up with that year?” And speak about it. I did. 


This is a learning phase where you’ll probably discover more about each other than ever. It’s where you’ll learn about boundaries, communication, respect, what works, which duties to split and that toilet paper going over or under doesn’t matter.

 





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