Are You Becoming Less of Yourself in Your Relationship?

Tears streamed down my face as I stood in church, singing the worship songs I’d heard hundreds of times before. The familiar melodies felt like my mom rubbing my back, telling me it was OK to cry. It felt like the words were finding me, after months of wanting to stay hidden. I swayed to the music, finally willing to be seen in this place.

My relationship was coming to an end. I didn’t know it in my brain, yet, but my heart knew. The music gently wrung it out, beginning the process even before I was aware.

I would hang on for a few more months, tightly gripping every last shred of what we had. When things would hit rock bottom for us, still, I would hold tightly, being expunged from the relationship, rather than walking away with dignity.

Things were bad between us for so many reasons. One of the many reasons, though, was that I was becoming less of myself, not more.

I was quieter, more anxious. I was jealous. I was nervous and afraid to speak up. I felt like I was both too much and not enough. My emotions overwhelmed him. My desire to spend time together was suffocating him. The things I did that I considered to be thoughtful didn’t seem to reach him. The things I really wanted him to do with me, like running and going to church and cooking dinner, no longer interested him. We were on different planes.

He felt like he was enjoying the season of life we were in to the fullest. I was ready to move forward - grow up. He felt I was holding him back. I thought he was dragging his feet. We were broken long before the breakup.

Chris and I were doing something, recently. I was being goofy. We were laughing. Mac was laughing. We were happy. It hit me, then, that in my old relationships, I wasn’t secure enough to act this way.

If I could give any advice to single girls, it would be this: do not stop looking until you can be your real self. Your full self. Your messy self. The goofy one. The emotional one. The one with real needs, real conversation.

The one who is unafraid.

You will never be perfect and neither will your relationship. I believe, though, that when a relationship is right, we have the ability to be both our best and worst selves, because there is safety. We are no longer performing. We make mistakes. We apologize. We laugh. We cry. We thrive and grow and stop tempering, stop monitoring. We aren’t afraid to ask for things and we give generously.

I’m passionate about this topic because I have seen myself almost disappear into a relationship before. At times, I’ve wanted a person more than I wanted to be myself. It’s scary, but, unfortunately, not unique to me.

Let your anthem be one of becoming more fully yourself, more alive, braver and stronger. Speak up and remember, if it doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t.

Do You Take Life Too Seriously?

Chris and I have an ongoing, pretend debate that centers around this question: am I easygoing? I have enough classic middle-child qualities that make for a healthy conversation: I tend to be agreeable, quick to compromise and, like every good-girl-turned-adult, eager to please. From a distance, these qualities can make me seem relatively relaxed. 

This side of my personality is never more obvious than when I show up to the Atlanta airport 40 minutes before a flight, confident we will "figure it out!" if we miss it. Those traveling with me are sprinting (/sweating), while I am stopping to buy gum and a magazine. 

During our debates, I often joke that I tricked Chris into dating me by seeming chill, only to reveal my anxious, sometimes high-strung side when he was already hooked. This is, of course, fictitious. It was on our first date that Chris said: "This feels too good to be true. Tell me all of your bad qualities now so there aren't any surprises." 

At which point I believe I told him: "I tend to run anxious. I am working through perfectionism. I put a lot of pressure on myself, especially when it comes to people and things I care about."

Never has this been more true than in motherhood. You have so much responsibility, combined with love, for another human. It can feel overwhelming to make the right choices, especially when handling a newborn who can't express his needs.

Early on I realized I was taking the role very seriously. While I, yet again, tried to be easygoing, as people encouraged me to relax into it and follow McCoy's rhythms, I stressed a lot. Tracking his sleep, poop, pee and feeds. Worrying if, at 2 p.m. one day, he'd barely slept. Worrying still more if, at 4 p.m. the next day, he'd barely been awake.

"He pooped three times yesterday, why hasn't he pooped today? It was yellow yesterday, did you notice it was green today," I'd ask Chris. "Should we call the pediatrician?"

Our pediatrician doesn't know it, but she thanks Chris for his calm reply: "Let's give it a little time before calling." 

Bless this steady man. 

A few weeks after Mac's birth, my friend, Katie, who has a very similar easy-going-high-strung-personality, told me this: 

I'm trying to remember that not everything in life is so high-stakes. 

I made her repeat it. 

High-stakes. 

It struck me. I treat so many parts of life like they are high-stakes. As if there is great risk or impact or loss at every turn. 

It is a combination of two things: Desperately wanting to "get it right" when it comes to the people and things I love. And wanting to please. 

Combined, these two desires can create a monster of anxiety. They can make every decision or step seem superly important. They can make it so life becomes more serious than it ever needed to be. 

Lately, before beginning a task or decision, I've been asking myself: is this high stakes? 

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If the answer is yes, I allow myself to take it seriously, diving into it with research and zest and focus and whatever I need to do to feel prepared to tackle it.

If the answer is no, I force myself to take a deep breath and let my shoulders drop just a little bit. Perhaps even smiling through it - even if it's just me, solo, grinning away.

I'm remembering that life presents enough opportunities to be serious. We need not make mountains out of molehills when life is already full of so much heartbreak. When it already asks us to make big, impactful decisions regularly. When it already requires us to be grown ups so much of the time. 

Today, let us not treat every inch of life as a high-stakes game. Instead, let's remove pressure from ourselves, opening up our hands and letting go of frivolous expectations. Let's sink into the natural rhythms of each season, knowing they are meant to be lived with freedom and grace.

Resolving Conflict When You're Not on the Same Page

On our best days, when it comes to making decisions, Chris and I are two sides of a balanced teeter totter. I'm inclined toward my heart; I'm gut-reaction, instinctively knowing what we need to do. Chris leans head; weighing outcomes, measuring options, thinking through the next steps. When we're good, we're both 85/15. Mostly leaning one way, but able to see the other person's perspective; willing to reach across the midpoint to find one another.

When we aren't good, though? It's not like this. I lean too heavily on my heart, pouring more emotions into it than I should. I struggle to see the numbers and only consider the feelings. Chris moves just as quickly away, getting out his ruler as he takes his planning to the next degree, assuming a little more precision will help him gain his footing. 

I've learned that so often our greatest strength as a couple can become our weakness if we aren't careful. Our head and heart combination - one minute our shield - can become our downfall if we let it.

Marriage has taught us that there will be days, months and seasons when one of us is ready for something before the other person is. To be honest, I'm often ready first. Things tend to make sense in my heart faster than logic will allow for it. That's the thing about your gut; it doesn't always leave room for explanation.

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When I have an idea, I generally know within minutes how I feel about it and am ready to put a plan into place. Chris, on the other hand needs time to think on it. He wants to talk through the idea, spend time alone with it, pray about the decision. 

During our early days of dating, one of our greatest sources of conflict was when I'd share an idea with him and expect to be excited the moment it hit my lips. I'd say: let's wake up and drive to Florida!, anticipating his response to be something along the lines of: You read my mind. My bags are packed. Let's leave tonight instead! In actuality, he'd say something like: That's sounds fun. Where should we stay? How much will it cost?  And then I'd be upset, frustrated that he didn't immediately match my enthusiasm.

As we grew together, we learned that with a mix of spontaneity and planning, we're able to enthusiastically take the trip, but remember to budget for it. And even pack road trip snacks!

When we turn away from one another, his questions become insurmountable to me and my big dreams become flippant to him.

So what do you do when it feels like you're waiting for your spouse to come around on an idea and you're already halfway out the door? What do you do when you're approaching a decision totally differently? What do you do when you just don't see eye to eye on the next steps? 

Here are a few things that have helped us navigate these moments:

1. Pray about it.

Pray for what you hope for, yes. But also, pray to see his perspective. Pray to see what he sees. Pray to come toward one another and be willing to change your perspectives. Pray for the greater good of your family, as opposed to what you want.

2. Touch each other.

I'm always amazed at the way holding hands or touching Chris' leg during conflict helps us resolve it. It softens me; reminding me he's a human, not a small army. 

3. Acknowledge your side.

It helps me so much when Chris admits he's being overly cautious. Saying it doesn't necessarily mean he's going to change his mind, but it puts voice behind his perspective. And, it helps him when I say: I know this doesn't totally make sense to you, but it feels right. 

4. Walk away.

If you just can't come together, take a break. Talk about it in a few days. Go for a walk by yourselves. Call a friend who will talk you off the ledge. Do not call the friend who will only agree with you. Call someone who will challenge you and help you move in the right direction.

5. Understand you might have to let go. 

It's awesome when you can reach a compromise. But, sometimes one person just has to get their way. One person has to be right. In those moments, we have to open up our hands to the Lord and trust. I love Chris, I believe in his instincts and decisions. If he's feeling convicted before me, sometimes I have to trust what he's saying, even when it doesn't make sense to me.

In the end, if you wind up going his direction and not yours, commit to trying your best to make it work. It can be tempting to pout, but, remember, if it's better for you as a couple or a family, it generally is better for you as an individual, too. 

Your Significant Other is Going to Annoy You (and it's OK!)

The first time Chris did something that really annoyed me, I wanted to cry. This is it, I remember thinking. He isn't perfect. Here comes the end. I'd convinced myself that happy couples are perfect; that they never frustrate each other or have strife. How wrong I was! I was looking for a romantic comedy instead of a relationship.

What I didn't know then, because I had never been in an honest, authentic relationship, is that everyone gets annoyed of their significant other from time to time.

In fact, I'd venture to say that if you've been together for years and you're not annoyed every now and then, you're probably not paying attention. 

The first time Chris was really bugging me, my internal thoughts went into overdrive. Am I being unreasonable? Is this going to work? Why is he doing that!?...Why is he still doing that? I am fairly certain I was almost in tears when I asked him to stop. And then I apologized over and over for asking him to stop, assuring him it was OK. His reaction?

He told me this wasn't a big deal and if we were going to be in a relationship, we needed to practice authenticity over harmony. 

If something is bugging you, he said, you have to let me know. How else will we ever grow together? And how would I know it's bothering you if you don't tell me? 

I recently asked Chris, jokingly, how long it would take him to name something about me that bugged him sometimes. He wouldn't commit to an exact time, but laughed knowingly when I said 30 seconds. He then told me that he thinks in almost any close, healthy relationship - romantic or not - most people could probably name something about the other person that is frustrating. Why?

It's a sign of authenticity and comfort. It's a sign that you're not pretending or walking on eggshells, but, instead, letting your guard down. It's not a lack of love, in fact, it's a space where love and comfort flow freely. 

I recently read a Time magazine article about why it's actually good when you annoy each other. The article said it can be a catalyst for growth, because the little things that bother us often point to larger issues.

"How do you know what could be improved in your relationship? Look at what’s annoying you. Maybe your partner being late to dinner points toward a deeper issue: She always stretches herself too thin. Or maybe your partner forgetting to wash the car is evidence of his irresponsibility—a legitimate concern in any relationship."

Sometimes, it's probably pointless, and the fact that two humans living in close quarters can be a breeding ground for a little bit of conflict. Other times, though perhaps it does serve as the gateway to conversation about where we can both grow. 

And, of course, if your partner always annoys you - like all the time - it might indicate a lack of compatibility. But if him leaving the dresser drawers open or not keeping his car clean gets on your nerves from time to time, I think you'll be OK. Just remember to speak kindly when you bring it up and, of course, bear in mind he might have a thing or two that bugs him, as well.  We're only humans, after all.