We Don’t Fight – By Blair.
Editor’s Note: This submission is from Blair. I love her. She’s like the chicken soup of passion, sweetness, truth, honesty, and a spicy kick. She emailed me asking if she could help with the project, and in her email, she mentioned that she was still wildly in love with her husband, and that they never, ever fought. WHAT. Are you serious? So I asked her to share a bit of her story with us. Read read read. – Lauren
My husband & I do not fight.
That may seem odd, or difficult to believe, or impossible…but true. We have never raised our voices or thrown out words in the heat of the moment that we regret. In our marriage, there is never name-calling or storming off with slammed doors & tears. It is not because we are both meek lambs that avoid conflict; in truth, we are both bulls that lovingly point fingers at who is the most stubborn. No, my partner of seven years & husband of almost five & I do not fight because years ago, I pledged to honor & cherish him.
I strive daily to uphold those vows, & thus in the simplest, most raw form, be a good wife. A good woman.
Today, I stood alone over a grimy sink full of dishes. My shoulders ached through the suds as I scrubbed pots & bowls & spoons. Mountained up from a weekend away followed by a blistering week. I thought of the weekends my husband left for work or golf to come home to a fresh-scrubbed home. A warm smile to welcome him home, all worries conquered so he would rest upon his return. That labor of love so willingly given by me, yet not returned. Bitterly, I gazed around the kitchen, taking measure of crumbs & coffee cups & dust bunnies that welcomed me home. “It’s unfair,” my mind snapped. I seethed at the inequality.
I heard my husband’s steady footfall into the room – my back stiffened & I spun to face him, a retort hot on my tongue, ready for a fight. Ready to make my opinion known. Ready to win.
Fires blazing, I looked him in the eyes & drew in a breath to speak, only to find myself suddenly deflated. If I said those hot words that I felt so justified in saying, I would hurt the man I love. Those words would show ingratitude for the months he encouraged me to leave town. They would null the hours he spent as a “single parent” while I was away, policing over our 15-month-old on the staircase. These words I held would strip him of the good he achieved & give him justification for resenting me. If I fought, there would be no winning – only dishonor & resentment & selfish pride.
Those words may have felt good as they exploded from my mouth – but I will never know. Instead, I handed my husband a dishrag & said, “I’ll wash, you dry.” Side-by-side, we worked together in the quiet stillness of the afternoon, letting the dish water carry away the frustration & fight.