I take a tight sip of my Eagle Rare before setting it back on the bar to turn and face my mother. With her hand gently grasping her own pour, we share a knowing glance. I am allowing myself to feel the full range of emotions that marriage can carry, and I am breathing in the safety of someone who holds and loves my whole marriage story.
I’ve been with my husband long enough now that we have carved some grooves into our marriage. Our jokes have grown more layered. Our fights carry a recurring familiarity. When we’re with friends, our eyes will often find one another first to share a quick unspoken acknowledgement of delight or shock or concern before we utter words to the larger group.
Over the past couple of years, it’s as though we’ve surpassed our initial breakout album filled with tender ballads and sweet refrains to develop something a bit more established in its sound–deeper and more complex.
But for someone like my mother, who has been there to listen to our music all the way through, she can clearly trace our journey. She knows the tension and the chemistry that inherently make us work. And she recognizes the melodies of our love songs in the refrains of darker duets.
As I take another sip of my bourbon, I savor how good it feels to be known. And I let myself feel out loud anything that I need to.
An hour or so later, home with my husband, his eyes rest on me kindly as he asks, “Did you get the care that you needed?” And once again, I breathe deeply, more connected to myself and more connected to Aaron because I had the chance to be seen by my mom.
How many times have the words of a loved one brought you back to yourself when experiencing tension with another loved one: a child, a parent, a spouse, or a friend? I can’t help but think of the significance of God existing as Trinity: three parts in one. Not two with give and take. Three with give, take, and witness.
To navigate life and love, we need witnesses.
We need more than just one fellow sojourner, but a collection of people willing to walk alongside us and carry our memories with us. Together is how we bear the pain of loss or trauma. Together is how we multiply joy. And together is how we ground ourselves to tend to our most intimate relationships.
I’m grateful for the woman I get to be thanks to the sacred cohort of loved ones who carry my story with me.
Katy (Johnson) Stafford dreams, writes, and occasionally podcasts in the messy middle of life. Newly married, Katy is spending her 30s embracing hope, longing, and the wild spaces in her own heart. Her favorite creative project right now is called In Love, a memoir about loving your life beyond white picket fences. Katy shares more of her thoughts here, where she cultivates a community for writers and creatives.
Your words click together like Leggo. Each sentence, expertly constructed, to convey the importance of the collective. I agree. Thank you.