I don’t write about marriage because I have it figured out.
I write about it because I don’t.
Somewhere along the way, many of us absorbed the idea that a good marriage looks a certain way — affectionate social media posts, heartfelt captions, weekend getaways, effortless connection.
And when our own marriage doesn’t look like that, it’s easy to assume the grass must be greener somewhere else.
But real marriages don’t stay in one shape forever. They stretch, contract, and change as life does.
This isn’t advice. It’s simply a look at the seasons our marriage has moved through — in case parts of it feel familiar to you too. Especially if your marriage feels quieter, harder, or different than you expected at this stage of life. Particularly in a long-term marriage, these shifts can sneak up on you.
The Fun, Carefree Beginning
I was older by my small Midwestern town’s standards when I got married. I was 28 when we met and 31 when we married. He was 24 when we met, which earned him the nickname “the 24-year-old” among my friends. Not creative, but fitting.
The early days were easy and fun. Weekends out. Parties. Friends. Late nights. Watching for texts. That floaty, exciting stage where life feels wide open and uncomplicated.
We lived separately then — I had my apartment, he lived with a friend — and everything felt light. It was the super-fun-fun-fun phase of getting to know each other.
Building a Life Together
Then I bought my first house, and life shifted.
Suddenly there were house projects, tighter finances, and more responsibility. He jumped in easily — helping with projects, yard work, and eventually bringing my first cat into the mix.
My job began to require a lot of travel. I was a little house-poor and frequently on the road. We were still having fun, just a different kind. We traveled, got engaged, adopted a dog, and traded bar nights for walking the dog around the neighborhood.
It felt like growing up — together.
Marriage and Momentum
We got married, and it was joyful.
Wedding planning wasn’t something I obsessed over. I wasn’t the “perfect vision” bride — I just wanted cake and food for our guests. (Though saying that lightly ignores the fact that we had nearly 400 people at our wedding.)
Married life meant living with my best friend. We worked hard, traveled often, both changed jobs, and he graduated from college. We bought our first house together.
Life had momentum.
When Marriage Started to Feel Hard (And Why)
Then we began talking about having a child.
That conversation led us into infertility, and this is where our relationship shifted in a way we hadn’t experienced before. For the first time, being married felt heavy.
Grief entered the picture. Communication suffered. The emotional load didn’t always feel evenly carried. We were hurting, and we didn’t yet have the tools to navigate it well.
Adoption and Survival Mode
We decided to adopt.
The emotional toll was immense. We weren’t in a great place then — not because we didn’t care about each other, but because everything felt overwhelming and exhausting.
When we received our foster license, something shifted again. We were more unified — reading emails together, taking placements together, showing up as a team.
Still, life felt heavy. We were together, but a bit adrift.
Looking back, it’s clear how much change was layered into a very short amount of time.
A New Family, New Strain
After our adoption was complete, I quit my job to stay home full-time.
Being a stay-at-home parent is hard in ways that are difficult to explain unless you’ve lived it. From the outside, it doesn’t always look hard especially when one spouse leaves for work each day while the other is still home in pajamas.
That difference can quietly create distance.
I was jealous of his adult conversations and social interaction. He was jealous that I didn’t have a rigid daily schedule. Each of us believed, at times, that the other had the better deal.
The Pandemic: Our Lowest Point
Then came the pandemic.
I was home with an undiagnosed neurodivergent toddler. He was considered an essential worker, so his daily routine didn’t change much.
Meanwhile, schools closed. Outings stopped. Playdates disappeared. Support vanished.
We were both drowning and often frustrated with each other instead of the circumstances. Communication was grim. We were ships passing in the same house.
This was the lowest point for us.
Learning How to Talk Again
Eventually, we entered counseling.
Having a neutral third party guide us through arguments we’d had countless times was incredibly helpful. Counseling didn’t magically fix everything, but it gave us tools, language, and perspective we didn’t have before.
It helped us see each other more clearly again.
Where We Are Now
Today, we’re raising a neurodivergent child and figuring things out as we go.
Our days are hectic. Plans are complicated. We don’t always feel like a unified team. Sometimes we feel more like roommates than partners and that’s a season we’re still learning how to navigate.
But we’re also friends.
We have separate lives that cross paths throughout the day. We’re different than we were before and that doesn’t automatically mean something is wrong.
Rethinking What a “Good” Marriage Looks Like
Does marriage fail if you’re not writing heartfelt love notes online?
Is something broken if your relationship doesn’t look like a movie montage or a resort commercial?
Are there really couples floating together in crystal-blue pools or is that just the adult version of a fairy tale?
I don’t have definitive answers.
But I do know this: marriages change. Seasons come and go.
When the grass starts to look greener somewhere else, I’ve learned it’s often not a sign to leave — but a quiet invitation to pause. To notice what’s been growing here. To tend gently to what still matters.
Sometimes love isn’t loud or romantic. Sometimes it looks like showing up in ordinary ways — sharing the load, staying curious about each other, choosing patience in a season that feels dry.
That doesn’t mean everything is perfect or that effort replaces real work when it’s needed. And it doesn’t mean staying in situations that are unsafe or harmful — those deserve support and protection.
It just means that many marriages move through quieter chapters that don’t photograph well, but still count.
If any of these seasons feel familiar, you’re not alone.
Does any season of marriage described here feel familiar to you?
If quiet, honest reflections like this resonate with you, you’re always welcome here. I share thoughtful stories about marriage, parenting, midlife, and the messy in-between — straight to your inbox.
You can subscribe below if you’d like to keep reading along.
Mindful Momma Moments 
Leave a comment