I have been married for nine years, and I am being real honest with you when I tell you that the first seven years where HELL! My husband and I didn’t really talk to one another or share our thoughts and dreams, so when things went awry, well, you can imagine the tempers having their say. In short, we cut each other deeply with our words and the reactive actions that soon followed those heated fights…to the point where we ended up in marriage counseling.
You should have seen us sitting there pointing accusatory fingers and laying blame at the feet of the other. Then, there were cries of separation and divorce. He even took of his wedding ring one night. And that’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks as the old cliché goes. My marriage was not a marriage and we were not two adults ready or willing to be married. We were two strangers living under the same roof trying after seven years of marriage to still maintain and retain our individual identities. What did this mean, I thought to myself as I glared down at my husband’s wedding ring lying there flat and lifeless on the dresser?
How did we meet? Where else? The CLUB! That’s right! I said it. The CLUB. I had always espoused rather loudly before being married that you cannot meet anyone “real” at the club because people send their representatives…to the club. Now, the club is any place where you are putting on your best face, outfit, voice, attitude and salary. You have sent the best, but fake, you to snag your “soul mate.” So, where did I go wrong? Why didn’t I listen to my own best advice? Because I wanted what every woman supposedly wants: the prince, white picket fence and 2.5 kids.
For the first seven years of my marriage, my representative was standing in my place. She was quiet, non-combative, passive and emotionless. His representative was aggressive, selfish and determined to keep a safe distance from everyone that professed to love him.
Our marriage was not working because we were not in a relationship – a marriage – with our true selves. So, it was then and there while staring down at his ring that I realized we had to fire our representatives if we were going to stay together and make our marriage – our relationship - work.
That night, I let it all hang out with my husband, so to speak. The real me, or “Lynn” (my family name and the person my siblings grew up with) as my mother says, showed up finally. Rebekah, the representative, was fired that night and so was my husband’s rep. We have been honest and real with each other ever since and although it ain’t pretty sometimes, it’s better than the alternative.
So, perhaps your relationship isn’t what you want it to be or where it should be. Maybe you need to stop and go back to that night when the two of you first met. Who was really there? You or your representative?
~Copyright © 2008 Rebekah L. Pierce. Mrs. Pierce is the CEO/Editor in Chief of Average Girl Magazine LLC, a motivational and inspirational magazine for women in search of change, purpose and prosperity. She is also a playwright, former radio talk show host, motivational speaker, teacher, wife and mother. Visit www.averagegirlmagazine.com for more information.