So I've been a missus officially for almost a month, and the most common question I'm asked is, "how's married life?"
Not very different, honestly.
Sure, the mister has moved in and my space has effectively been cut in half.
I had to say goodbye to a far number of clothes and books, but it's worth it. That's what I tell myself to feel better anyway.
My sleep patterns are a bit off because I'm a 9 - 6 girl, while ZW's schedule is all over the place (something I definitely do not miss about reporting).
So I try to stay up to spend some time with him, or else I'm effectively sleeping next to a person but not interacting much with him.
Other than that, it's simply getting used to another person in the house I suppose.
For him, he feels like an outsider moving into my home (a hopefully temporary solution to a housing crisis). My family has been absolute troopers, trying not to scare off the husband but smothering him with too much attention.
ZW too has been trying his best to fit in. It's difficult, of course. When our tempers clash, he never ceases to remind me that he's the one making the sacrifice, moving into a foreign situation and trying to acclimatize.Sure, I may have offered to do the reverse, but circumstances dictated that him moving in was the best solution.
So I try to hold my tongue when he unleashes his fiery temper, I try to squash my natural instincts to be a dirty, messy person and roll happily in my own filth. Because it's not just about me anymore.
For the most part, I feel like we are making progress, trying to fit into each other's rhythms.
But then we have a fiery blowout and I feel deflated again. I would then sit on my gorgeous new queen size bed (big perk of married life) and wonder what I've gotten myself into. The selfish single in me questions the point of giving up my free-wheeling ways, clamping down on after hours activities, cutting down the drinking, the clubbing, trying to be a cleaner person... and for what? So that he can still find fault with me? Wouldn't it be easier if we just lived apart.
Yup, things do suck royally on occasions.
But on other occasions, when he encourages me to pursue my passion for cooking, when he swallows half my cake to show support, when he smiles after a long day at work because I greet him at the door, when I fall asleep and he kisses me goodnight... these precious memories somehow make it all worth it.
And that's really it, I guess. Having a companion, a witness to your life. To feel like your actions have meaning, that what you do affects another person. That at the end of the day, bad behaviour can hurt someone, that good behaviour delights a person. To feel like you have an anchor to this world and that I'm accountable for, and to another person. To feel like I matter.
So deep breathe, baby steps people, baby steps.
Not very different, honestly.
Sure, the mister has moved in and my space has effectively been cut in half.
I had to say goodbye to a far number of clothes and books, but it's worth it. That's what I tell myself to feel better anyway.
My sleep patterns are a bit off because I'm a 9 - 6 girl, while ZW's schedule is all over the place (something I definitely do not miss about reporting).
So I try to stay up to spend some time with him, or else I'm effectively sleeping next to a person but not interacting much with him.
Other than that, it's simply getting used to another person in the house I suppose.
For him, he feels like an outsider moving into my home (a hopefully temporary solution to a housing crisis). My family has been absolute troopers, trying not to scare off the husband but smothering him with too much attention.
ZW too has been trying his best to fit in. It's difficult, of course. When our tempers clash, he never ceases to remind me that he's the one making the sacrifice, moving into a foreign situation and trying to acclimatize.Sure, I may have offered to do the reverse, but circumstances dictated that him moving in was the best solution.
So I try to hold my tongue when he unleashes his fiery temper, I try to squash my natural instincts to be a dirty, messy person and roll happily in my own filth. Because it's not just about me anymore.
For the most part, I feel like we are making progress, trying to fit into each other's rhythms.
But then we have a fiery blowout and I feel deflated again. I would then sit on my gorgeous new queen size bed (big perk of married life) and wonder what I've gotten myself into. The selfish single in me questions the point of giving up my free-wheeling ways, clamping down on after hours activities, cutting down the drinking, the clubbing, trying to be a cleaner person... and for what? So that he can still find fault with me? Wouldn't it be easier if we just lived apart.
Yup, things do suck royally on occasions.
But on other occasions, when he encourages me to pursue my passion for cooking, when he swallows half my cake to show support, when he smiles after a long day at work because I greet him at the door, when I fall asleep and he kisses me goodnight... these precious memories somehow make it all worth it.
And that's really it, I guess. Having a companion, a witness to your life. To feel like your actions have meaning, that what you do affects another person. That at the end of the day, bad behaviour can hurt someone, that good behaviour delights a person. To feel like you have an anchor to this world and that I'm accountable for, and to another person. To feel like I matter.
So deep breathe, baby steps people, baby steps.
