Memoir Missive: Making Vows
Let me tell you about a time I shared just a little too much of my opinion and changed the trajectory of my marriage.
I’m currently working on a marriage memoir with Courtney (who has graciously edited this post). It has no publisher (besides “self”), I have no agent (unless you know one), and I am not sure what will come of it (but you should read it one day). It’s part of my effort to grow in my marriage and in my writing over the next year. Here, I’ll share modified snippets of the book as we move along on this journey. I figured starting off with one of my early failures could send us into the weekend on a high note.
The Vows We Make
Everyone vows. I currently have several I can recall that impact the way I live. One of mine has to do with vacations. My family didn’t take many vacations growing up. I remember a few—New Orleans, San Antonio a time or two—and I loved them. I loved the time our Ford Tempo broke down on the way to San Antonio and my dad found a way to take care of us. My vow: always travel with family and make memories. Courtney and I travel with our boys several times a year to see the world and connect at a different pace.
A lot of vows come from wounds and pain, others come from great memories, all of them form us. The ones from wounds are often the ones that stick. People build entire habits out of the pain they’ve experienced—an unfortunate part of the human condition.
Words that Wound
One night, Courtney and I were at a cafe with two others. One of them was our friend Karen, whom I originally got to know as a co-worker at an early morning Starbucks job. Karen was also a student at seminary with me so our friendship had staying power. She and Courtney hit it off, and Karen calls Courtney “Grumplet” to this day for some reason. Karen’s friend was also there.
Four of us at a table: three girls and me.
I’ve never been much for table talk. I’ve fielded the question, “Are you OK?” enough times that my answer could be on autopilot: “Yep.” If I’m feeling the need for additional words, I will add, “I don’t have much to say” or “I don’t feel like talking.” People in the South like to go to lunch after church—in groups, at that. For at least the past decade, I’ve rarely attended. When I do go, I almost always regret it.
This particular night felt like a “Yep” night. I didn’t say much, at least not as much as others—especially Courtney. She followed her usual strategy of asking great questions, following them up, laughing, and making people feel loved by her interest in them.
After that dinner we got back in the car and I turned to her and gave the feedback I knew Courtney needed:
“You talked too much.”
What business did I have telling Courtney anything? Maybe this is where I thought being brutally honest would be a good thing. Courtney would receive it and move on. That outcome did not happen.
What do I think actually happened? I think at that moment Courtney heard my asinine critique of a harmless and enjoyable dinner and vowed, “I will never talk too much again.” You might think, “No way that happened,” but how many parts of your life have a vow attached to them? How many “always” or “never” statements form how you live your life today? Many of them come from when we were young.
You commit to never say “no” to your kids because you were told “no” too often when you were young.
Your family didn’t have pets so you promised yourself you’d have chickens in your backyard for the fresh eggs.
You learned being vulnerable would get you mocked so you turned into the class clown.
Did Courtney look at me in that parking lot and say, “You’re right, Hans. I did talk too much”? Of course not. Did she ask, “Why are you being a jerk?” She didn’t ask that, either. I’ve learned since then that when you’re depressed, you don’t have much of a desire to push back because of the emotional energy it takes.
What I do know is, regardless of an intentional vow or not, Courtney began to shift—she stopped talking as much when we were with others.
I confess I was complicit in breaking something inside of her that was so core to her identity that, when challenged, she didn’t know what to do. The person people loved talking to being brazenly critiqued by her husband about, of all things, talking.
She didn’t deserve me, but she was stuck with me.
You’re reading from the “Real Life” section. This portion of the site highlights the reality that who we are as we lead directly impacts who we are at home—and vice versa. Reply back or post a comment and tell me about the vows you’ve made or the mistakes you’ve made that have produced vows in others.
I want to do the easy thing and mark this with a heart, but I can't. I do love that you wrote it, but the story breaks my heart a little. Words like these, spoken in the moment, have a long shelf life.
If the rest of your memoir is this honest, then I'll pray it become mandatory reading for every about-to-be-married couple.