How My Marriage Almost Ended In Divorce Just One Year Into Marriage

"So…how's married life?"

I hate this question. It requires me to be quick on my feet and always have pre-rehearsed answers at the ready. After a picture-perfect wedding, I'd been embarrassed to admit to others (and myself) how difficult married life had been. These innocent inquiries felt torturous; they were a constant reminder of the perfect life I had envisioned the moment we exchanged vows. My husband and I were struggling, and if I didn't find methods to resurrect the relationship that had me excitedly accepting his proposal, we would be headed towards divorce after less than a year of marriage.






To be clear, I love my husband. We share a wonderful life together in Manhattan and I am in no way looking to demean marriage. What I would like to put a stop to, however, is the idea that that the first year of marriage is a couple's "honeymoon phase." It's not always sexy, and it's not easy. We didn't regret our decision to spend our lives together, but the smiling photos of us and our newlywed friends on Facebook didn't match up to our reality.

Our story started like many metropolitan love stories. I moved to New York from San Francisco at 24 for a career in the fashion industry after ending a five-year relationship. I was ready for a fresh start and had heard epically exciting stories about the dating scene in New York (read: I had watched every episode of Sex and the City–multiple times). After a string of dates and failed short-term relationships, I met JP at an industry event and we immediately hit it off. His charming demeanor, undeniable spirit and most of all, his sincere attentiveness to every word I said, was endearing.

From the beginning, JP and I have always had a super easy going, fun and adventurous relationship. We barely ever argued; if we did, it was a grocery store pseudo-brawl about organic eggs versus cage free. Our romance started off as the best kind of effortless and easy connection–the type of thing you read about, not actually ever think you will ever experience. We had a natural connection that was unforced and went on the kind of dates that made us forget everyone else existed. We had great sex and memorable conversations that still make us laugh to this day–there was no doubt we were falling hard in love with each other.

I have always been the social type, but JP was a home body, comfortable staying in and Netflixing on a Friday night. I was Carrie Bradshaw wanting to go to the opening of Bungalow 8; he was Aiden, more than happy to stay at home with a bucket of chicken. In our dating years, this disparity never bothered us. We made it work; we compromised.

Eventually, we moved in together. Manhattan was not the kind of city where I could afford to pay rent in an apartment I never slept in. But, unlike I'd imagined it would be, our decision to live together wasn't romantic, it was a logical and matter-of-fact. Gone was the hope of JP proposing the idea and my swooning as we held hands and apartment hunted through Manhattan. Living together made sense; after two years of dating we shared a 500 square-foot river view apartment and officially ticked the box of the "next stage" in our relationship.

I'm not quite sure where we lost our way, but our once tradition of walking through the door and embracing into a little slow dance turned into not even saying hello or goodbye to one another. Small arguments about cleaning, laundry and how much clothing I owned ensued as date nights waned. We were spending lots of time together but quality time was heavily lacking. I understood that relationships went through ups and downs, but as the arguing continued I feared it would break us. If we couldn't get through living together, we likely couldn't handle much else.

We came to the conclusion that our problems started and would end with our tiny studio apartment, so we moved into a large one bedroom. We started reinstating our cute traditions; handwritten Post-it love notes reappeared in secret hidden places all over the apartment and our relationship felt like it was slowly crawling back into the light.

The author and her husband at their engagement party.


JP proposed to me in Grand Central following the most intricate scavenger hunt around the city, with clues hidden only in places we had been on dates. There were even clues hidden deep inside folds of books in the New York Public Library–he put so much thought into it and the moment was perfect. I knew I was incredibly lucky to have found this amazing man who loved me for everything that I am and as much as I could be.

Our plans to get married in a Catholic church required us to complete Pre Cana, pre marriage counseling, to ensure we were discussing the issues that more often than not, lead to divorce. We discussed finances, family, in-laws, personalities, anger issues and general checks and balances. Getting married at 30 had me confident that I was more equipped to handle married life than a 20-something bride. I wasn't expecting to ride off into the sunset and I wasn't expecting a fairytale. Not thinking we needed Pre Cana but being required to do it made me all the more sure we were prepared for marriage–after two years living together and four years of dating, we already felt like a married couple.

Wedding planning was treacherous and overwhelming; and a year's worth of organizing was the perfect distraction and excuse. I forked up any bickering to planning stress and dove deep into coordinating my custom dress, tablescapes and favors without considering that a perfect wedding does not equate to a perfect marriage. Months after our wedding, I found myself looking through our gorgeous photos and re-watching our wedding video over and over, hoping to recapture those genuine emotions. What was this "honeymoon stage" everyone spoke of? I fought off emptiness with a full social feed; a quick scroll through my Facebook or Instagram account and you would never imagine that the adorable couple pictured would be the one whose relationship was disintegrating with each and every post.

About six months into being husband and wife, it felt like I was failing at marriage. We had so quickly lost what I thought was a solid foundation. I knew I had a man who loved me and whom I loved in return, but our interactions felt monotonous and passionless. We were nothing like the 'frolicking into the sunset' honeymoon photos I was posting.

I have a rather dominant personality, and it unintentionally set the tone for our relationship. When we were dating, JP never resisted my suggestions, the way I lived my life, the decisions I made, how I acted–it was as if nothing I ever did bothered him. Now, it was beginning to feel as though everything I did got under his skin–and vice-versa. Our conversations turned from discussing goals, passions and pursuing dreams to the quality of the weather; we were basically roommates.

Talking about it didn't seem to make much of a difference–we weren't really listening to one another. I decided to go out with friends more and travel often in hopes of getting some perspective. The more time I spent away, I realized that our once-agreeable nature had come to a head; the subjects we once labeled as mainstays like my affinity for nights out, obsession with travel and his more low-key lifestyle were bubbling over in any marital argument that arose.

Rather than truly listen to each other's deep-seated needs early on, we both assumed the novelty of our husband and wife titles would smooth over any problems we'd encounter. We were living our lives by a socially-acceptable timeline (meet, date, fall in love, move in, get engaged, get married, get a dog, buy a house, have children…) without coming to terms with what was best for us as a couple and as individuals. Rather than speak our minds, we put on happy faces. Going from "me" to "we" seemed simple enough, but after getting married, it became a balancing act of finding our individual independence within our family unit.

After a week spent together in the Hamptons, we decided it was best to separate. I was an overachiever in every aspect, and my life felt as though it was falling apart; I never imagined that I would be 30, newly married and separated. Our approach to our marriage led us to this hurtful place. We took advantage of our marital status and assumed it would protect us from the days where we were too lazy to make an effort or threw out hurtful words during an argument. Spending our first Christmas as a married couple apart was heartbreaking. I wasn't happy in my relationship, but I was miserable without him.

My job as a fashion publicist and consultant is all about putting forth the best version of my clients for public consumption–in person, on social media and in photos. Portraying ideals and a picture perfect life comes naturally to me, and I had no trouble curating a social media campaign for my relationship rather than navigating how to be truly happy in my marriage. Selfies, status updates and news feeds create an underlying narcissism that rears its head when you find yourself updating your accounts while out to dinner with your spouse. But your emoji-ridden "date night!" caption underneath the photo of the molten chocolate cake you're sharing can wait.

As a New Year's resolution, we agreed to go to couple's counseling, where we realized that our life together was derailed by constantly striving for perfection. We were far from it–underneath most of our arguments was my resentment and refusal to give up the freedom and adventure I thought married life required me to relinquish (fun fact: it doesn't) and his frustration about feeling the need to hold back his thoughts and feelings under the guise of compromise. The formality of therapy had us talking, not arguing, and truly expressing emotion; we were opening up and listening to each other's wants and needs. Months later, we are a stronger couple and stronger people individually. Our date nights no longer take place at our therapist's office. Our realization that I was communicating with friends and the internet while he was swallowing emotions and confiding in no one helped us to focus on communicating with one another.

Is it a faux pas to be a newly married couple who isn't beaming with joy? I'll take that chance. Odds are, I'm not alone. I vowed to never again ask another newly married couple how married life is treating them–I know better. The only difference now is that when someone asks me that dreaded question, I can turn to the man holding my hand and share a knowing laugh before I answer.

Natasha is still traveling–with and without JP–follow her escapades on her Instagram @jetset.away and on her blog.

From: Harper's Bazaar

My Best Friend Husband-To-Be Raped Me Yet She Went Ahead To Married the Man That Raped Me

What would you do if, not long before your wedding, one of your best friends and bridesmaids-to-be, told you that your fiancé had raped her? That's what happened to two university friends, after one was raped in the room next door to where her best friend, her rapist's fiancé, was sleeping.

The victim was all ready to help her friend enjoy what should have been the happiest day of her life. But one night, while she was staying over, her friend's husband-to-be left the bed they shared and went into the room next door.

After being treated in hospital the following morning and reporting what had happened to the police, the victim later decided she had to tell her friend. "I only said something in the first place to try to protect [her]," she told The Mirror. "I couldn't have stood in church on her wedding day knowing what had happened and that it would most probably happen again."

But sadly her friend chose to side with her fiancé, who claimed that the victim was lying out of jealousy over their relationship. He accused the victim of using a sex toy she had found hidden in a drawer in the room where she stayed–and planting the evidence. He claimed that the reason that his semen was found in the victim is that he had used the sex toy a few weeks before and denied the victim's claims that he had raped her.

The couple went ahead with their wedding just three weeks before his trial, with his wife refusing to believe her friend. This month, he was found guilty and jailed for seven years. Recorder Andrew Sutcliffe said, "In the face of overwhelming DNA evidence to the contrary, you continued to deny this ever happened. This attempt to humiliate your victim severely exacerbated the wrong you had already done to her."

The saddest thing is that the victim says, "Our whole friendship group has become divided when I most needed my close friends." Not only that, but it also caused the breakdown of her own relationship. She had tried to call her boyfriend at the time after the attack, but his phone was switched off. While she says he was like "a rock" in the wake of the rape, they eventually broke up.

"He committed suicide a few months after we broke up. He felt partly responsible for what had happened, he had turned his phone off that night. I couldn't get hold of him. He never forgave himself for that. He always worried every time I went somewhere and wouldn't sleep if I went out, it put a strain on us."

Now, the victim is still left suffering with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

[H/T The Mirror]

From: Cosmopolitan

Why I Refused To Take My Husband's Last Name

As a little girl, I took it for granted that I would probably meet the right person and get married one day and when I did, my last name would probably change just as my mother's had, just as her mother's had. As I grew older, the idea of taking a man's last name seemed less automatic to me, as did the idea of marrying at all. But when I started dating the man who eventually became my husband, it became quickly apparent to me that maybe I would wind up marrying, after all. When he told me he wanted to marry me, I agreed with the idea. We worked well as partners and I liked the idea of committing to our partnership.

Throughout the months of engagement, I wondered about my surname. I wasn't certain that I would keep it—I liked his last name better than mine phonetically and I wondered about the nuances of having different last names if we had children together. I wasn't sure that the issue of changing my last name or not was important to me, but I've never been too traditionally-minded, either. As the date and decision-making time neared, my instincts grew louder and my clarity on the subject sharpened: I couldn't change my name.

While planning our wedding, I found myself facing ethical quandaries throughout the process. The more I researched the history behind what I perceived to be relatively innocent wedding traditions, the more they seemed to be anything but. I am a feminist because I refuse to settle for less than equal rights between men and women and many modern wedding traditions are symbolic of the rights women have been decidedly not allowed to have throughout the centuries. With this in mind, making wedding-related decisions was difficult for me. This isn't to say that women who engage in these traditions or who change their name after marriage aren't feminists, but with equality for women in mind, many of these gestures became a little heavier for me.

I didn't eschew every wedding tradition—my father walked me down the aisle and I'm glad he did. But I couldn't compromise on changing my last name. I've worked hard over the years for successes and experiences that are each tied to my name. My friends, my colleagues, and my acquaintances know me by my name. And I know me by my name, too. To strip that identity away from me for the sake of tradition seemed absurd by the time my wedding day rolled around. I considered the unfairness in me having to take the time to wait in lines and fill out paperwork for a new passport and license and everything else, all for the sake of tradition.

In the end, what made the most sense was for me to simply not change my name at all and for him to do the same. We weren't abandoning our pasts to start a new life together—we were two people, each with our own histories, agreeing to walk together where we once walked alone. My name does not define me, but it's a lot more relevant to who I am than my husband's.

When our daughter was born, we deliberated for days trying to nail down what her name should be. We wanted her to have his last name, but we weren't sure how—or if—we would incorporate my name into hers. It was my husband's suggestion to then give her my first name as one of her names instead, so she now carries his last name as her last and my first as her middle.

And me? I am who I always was—and that's exactly the point.

FROM Reginald Rebook*

*some name's changed.

The Signs Of a Healthy, Happy, Contented Relationships or Couples

We have talked about how to spot a toxic relationship--the kind where keeping score, name-calling, and belittling are the norm. But what exactly does a healthy relationship look like? While "healthy" may look different from couple to couple, there are at least a few universal things you'll both do when you take the health of your relationship seriously. Here are five.

1. You give each other alone time. Couples naturally spend copious amounts of time together, but being attached like Siamese twins crosses into dependent territory. Healthy couples are able to part ways when needed so their individual interests can flourish—whether that's reading quietly in the bedroom or leaving home for a dance class.

__2. You're able to say, "I'm sorry." __Just because you're in a good relationship doesn't mean you'll never do wrong. Healthy pairs are willing step up to the plate of responsibility and offer a sincere apology and a strategy for not letting the misdeed repeat itself.

3. You trust each other. In a healthy relationship, you don't feel compelled to snoop to get the scoop because he's already totally transparent. This can take time—especially for those of us with exes who've given us reasons to automatically mistrust our S.O.—but a good partner will take the time to prove he's trustworthy until you simply know it in your heart.

4. You make each other better people.When he's around, you're wittier, funnier, kinder, more generous—because that's what he inspires in you. You encourage one another to take chances, and you build each other up when you're down.

__5. You show each other gratitude.__You don't take the little things for granted. In fact, you can turn him taking out the trash or emptying the dishwasher into a five-minute-long compliment about how thoughtful and helpful he is. And he can give it right back.

What are some other signs you're in a healthy relationship?