We’ve officially decided we’re out of the honeymoon stage. I looked forward to this revelation with dread, fearing that the exiting of the honeymoon stage would mean that we had failed as a couple. The spark was dead, the butterflies had flown, it meant we were normal (ew) and negligent to each other. I just loathed the idea of it happening, but then it happened. And we looked at each other with a little gleam in our eyes, surprisingly pleased with the new thought. It felt meaty and right, and tough and strong. Nolan was like, “It feels like we’d be going backward if we were still there?” “I know… it feels like we’d be undoing all the work we’ve put into knowing each other.”
Maybe you’re like me and were/are a little worried about feeling less warm inside every time you looked at your husband. I think the fear is healthy, because we always want to be close and smitten. And this is a good thing, right? Yep, it’s a good thing- that can easily turn into a desperate thing. It’s incredibly stressful when you’re hyper-vigilantly gripping onto the hope that you’ll forever be dazzling to your partner, and he, you.
Well, one thing that I think has made this transition so surprisingly ok, is that not only was the fear communicated, we also put in some major work to unpack ourselves before each other. We did not simply grow out of smittness, we grew into intimacy. Nolan has slowly changed from a hologram version of himself, to real flesh in front of me. I’ve begun to see more and more clearly who he is within the bounds of a committed covenant between Jesus, myself, and Nolan that abounds with grace and calls me to not only tolerate, but embrace his edges, misgivings, and ugly parts. Nolan, in turn, has also learned to see not only my rotting insides, but my whole person. We’ve bloomed, imperfectly, in front of each other and sometimes sheepishly, but in trust, allowed the other to see it. Nolan is wholeheartedly authentic, and he has challenged me immensely by sharing even his darkest, most grave sins and his most sensitive thoughts with me. He trusted me, and then called me to trust him enough to keep walking hand in hand and share my own darkest, gravest sins and innards.
This. has. sucked. It took (and continues to take) a whole lot of vulnerability, bravery, sadness, anger, forgiveness, crying to God, and humbling. There has been pain, betrayal, and gross offenses, but we just. keep. talking and working it out. And please know, that we don’t do this well with every confession. I spent a good 45 minutes yelling at Nolan for something that built up too long just a couple of months ago, so hear my humanity in this too. But, as much as we can search within ourselves, we try at all costs to not allow anything to linger.
Perhaps this is vague advice, considering I can’t share the whole of our marriage story with you (it’s quite personal, thanks. hah), but I hope that the fundamental template can be gleaned. Practice the combination of confession, vulnerability, trust, empathy, benefit of the doubt, forgiveness, and communication and exiting the honeymoon stage will feel like the next right thing. In order for this to work, you both have to bring your whole selves to the table. But isn’t that marriage? It’s a full send, working alongside each other to know and see the other. And gosh, the freedom that follows. You’re on each other’s team. You’re not alone. You’re seen and known. And that’s all something you can take a sigh and snuggle into.
And that’s why leaving the honeymoon stage has been a sweet kiss goodbye. We’ve only leveled up from the in love stage to the true love stage. It doesn’t have to be sad. It can actually be really, very, sweetly happy. Like a good day’s work. Be of good cheer, newly married friends, leaving the honeymoon stage isn’t so bad.
