Newly Weds
Family,  The Kitchen Sink

Our Marriage Won’t be a Casualty of COVID-19

Our marriage began on a bedrock of challenges. My mom was dying of cancer, my dad had been in the hospital for over a year, I had mountains of school debt, and I was exhibiting symptoms from a yet-to-be diagnosed mental health condition.

Perhaps because of those experiences, I felt confident going into the pandemic. Our commitment to one another was obnoxiously stubborn and that kept me from flinching. We’d survived a lot together already. Either way, I was sure we’d more than survive our COVID experience. We’d thrive.

I was eager to take a more active role in my kids education during distance learning, and my husband was excited to try out some new tech toys for his virtual “classroom.” In truth, we were eager for the challenge.

Lock down couldn’t keep our spirits down. Our marriage felt unshakeable and there was no doubt that our equilibrium would more than survive the three weeks of isolation that had been proposed. Life would return to normal soon enough, and in the meantime we’d be grateful for the extra time together.

Fast forward a year later and we’re still enduring micro disruptions on a daily basis (with the addition of a few major disruptions sprinkled here and there for kicks). The boys are in hybrid learning 2.0, and there’s nothing normal about my husbands job. Add to that the longevity of this pandemic and we’re all running on empty. 

It was right around month nine, just after Christmas, when our endurance to preserver began to wane. In truth, it felt like life was falling apart, or at least I was. Like a “canary in the mine,” I worried about our increased arguments and miscommunications. COVID had finally come between my husband and I.

Don’t hear me wrong. I don’t question the longevity of our relationship. Not like I did in those early years. But this pandemic has created an ever present sense of dissonance that bleeds into all my relationships, and especially in those with whom I’m closest with.

What is it about such prolonged trauma (even micro-trauma) that eats away at our relationships?

A frustrated couple on a park bench
Photo by Vera Arsic from Pexels

Maybe we’re experiencing an emotional drought after feeling so much for so long, craving connection like water in a desert, yet unable to remember how to reach out. Perhaps it’s our biology. Cortisol reserves are working over time, squirting excessive levels of anxiety juice into our brains, that cause us to act more like nervous kangaroo mice than graceful drought tolerant camels. 

As a species, we have poor patience, little perspective, no sense of time, and forget about tolerance for the minor upsets that are inevitable in life. Maybe it’s just me.

The world may be getting back to normal, but before we can return to our “regularly scheduled programing” it’s going to be vital to address the COVID fall out of our emotional exhaustion.

Right now our marriage is running on empty and neither of us are in a place where we can hear the other person without filtering it through our own needy lenses. That doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. It means we’re exhausted in a way that we’ve never experienced before.

To be honest, I don’t think we’ll be able to truly hear one another, or communicate with level heads, until after the dust has settled, after the exhaustion has subsided, and after the crisis has been averted. That day will come, I have no doubt, but it still feels like a long way off.

So until then, we’ll endure. We’ll love one another from afar when we need to, while sitting shoulder to shoulder when we can. Our arguments will continue to be more frequent and difficult. 

And because this isn’t one of those moments when one of us is more stable than the other, we’ll view it more like riding a tandem bike together. Only the bike is the traumatic experience called COVID, and the road is longer than expected.

I’m not interested in sugar coating this experience any more. Sure lessons will be learned, and silver linings will be discovered. But it’s also been really hard on my friendships and my kids, on my dog and my marriage, and on me. Were my husband and I not on the same bike well before this journey began, intent on sticking it through till the bitter end, I’m not sure we’d still be willing to pedal together.

Red tandem bike under a fruit tree
Image by JillWellington from Pixabay

But here we are. Weary and sweaty, grimy from the dust and debris that’s been kicked up, but still here. Sometimes the best kind of love isn’t romantic love, gentle love, or even kind love. Sometimes the best kind of love is enduring love. 

Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean long lasting love. I mean the kind of love that’s willing to endure the annoying, frustrating, sometimes hurtful things we do to one another when we’re under stress. The kind of love that’s willing to call our spouse out on their *poop*, knowing that they want to be the best person they can be in this relationship, and that when put in the same position, they’d do the same for you. 

Our marriage will have more joyful moments in the future. But this moment isn’t one of them. It’s messy and hard and sometimes it really hurts. But if the last 17 years have taught me anything about my husband, it’s that I’ve married one of the most stubborn, pig headed, won’t-ever-give-up husband I could ever ask for, and I love him for that.

I have no doubt that this too shall pass, and when it does we’ll stand together on the other side of it all, exhausted and teary, grateful that we have endured, and crazy glad there’s still enough toilet paper in the world for all of us who use it.


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@anon-gray

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