As I stand in the kitchen, the baby is wailing, and the dog seems determined to engage in a battle with his own shadow. The trash bin is overflowing, and despite my reminders, it remains untouched. I fumble with an eggshell, and suddenly, it feels like we’re all in a frantic race. I manage to pick it up, egg whites dripping down my arm, while our daughter’s cries reach new heights and the dog resumes his barking.
Frustration bubbles within me. I can’t help but wonder whose fault it is that I’m engulfed in this chaotic mess. You glance up from the couch, your ability to tune out everything except “sports commentary” in full effect. My annoyance peaks, and I find myself raising my voice, letting my anger turn me into someone I don’t want to be. I know how to push your buttons, and you know how to ignore my jabs, which only deepens my frustration.
As I bang pots and pans together, I express my irritation with exaggerated sighs and grunts that are far from the finesse typically associated with cooking. Finally, you get up to take out the trash. Before slamming the door, you declare it’s my fault for marrying you.
The tears come as I wash the dishes, my anger morphing into sorrow. I replay every moment of frustration and resentment, mentally crafting arguments that feel justified. But as the water cools, so does my rage. I realize that letting anger fester only drives a wedge between us. It’s easier to see that the ability to articulate every thought while angry isn’t as valuable as I once believed.
In the shower, I reflect on you—your own stresses, your silent battles that sometimes leave you feeling numb. I think about how I often take on too much myself, wrongly believing I have to do it all. I recall how just last week, you invited me to sit with you, and I brushed you off, convincing myself there wasn’t enough time. Yet time is the one thing we need most.
I consider the picture-perfect portrayals of marriage we see on TV and social media, then chuckle at our current state, egg remnants still on my face. Because you were right: for better or worse, I chose you. I chose you through the challenges that crept in unexpectedly and the triumphs that allowed you to shine. I married every facet of you—the parts that snore, the indecisiveness, the forgetfulness, and the sweetness that makes me smile. I embraced the memories of walking to class together and how you assured me we’d end up married one day.
Today feels different; mornings always do. I watch as our daughter runs to you, a little version of yourself. You scoop her up with ease, and I lean into your side, feeling the warmth of our connection. As we gaze at the moving truck in the distance, I know the road ahead will be filled with challenges and uncertainties, but deep down, I wouldn’t want anyone else beside me. I lean in closer, and gratitude fills my heart—I am thankful I chose you.
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In summary, this letter serves as a reminder that while marriage can be fraught with challenges, it is also filled with moments of joy and love. Embracing each other’s imperfections is what truly strengthens the bond.