I remember the first fight Paul and I had after we were married. Before, when we would get to that point in an argument of profound frustration tinged with hopelessness, I did not consciously tell myself, “I can always get out. We could break up. I can walk.” But I did think it, I now know.

During that first argument just as I began to wonder, WHEN will he EVER understand ME! (understanding him hadn’t occurred to me yet) the happy possibility of abandonment flitted across my mind and then a giant steel door in my brain – shut! As the clang reverberated through my skull I remembered that I was married and therefore committed.

Committed in an eye scratching, straight jackety sort of way rather than the love and cherish til death does us part sort, mind you, but committed none the less and my mind/spirit weren’t sitting for any thinking to the contrary. That was a dark and perilous moment, a Houston, we have a really, really, big problem, kind of moment. But I knew it was true, a door had shut and there was no getting off the ship.

Now you might be reading this and thinking, “Crap! That’s a depressing picture of marriage.”

And you’re right, it certainly wasn’t the stuff of romantic legends…yet.