Heart Sleeve: I married my father, and my mother!

I had a disturbing revelation over the Christmas holiday. Not only have I managed to marry someone like my father, but like my mother, too.

It’s a tale as old as… well, probably as old as Cain’s marriage. I guess he and his wife might have been the first to be able to say, “you’re just like your mother!” The Oedipus complex. Seeking out someone just like your parent. It’s supposed to be especially true for the parent of the opposite sex from you, but in my case- I’ve come to the disconcerting understanding that the man I chose to marry owns negative qualities of both my parents.

Now, let me back up and insert all the asterisks and fine print (okay, not so fine, bold, large font print) to say: I love my husband, I love my father, and I love my mother. They possess a majority of wonderful qualities that have shaped who I am, and continue to nurture me and support me. I am blessed because of the two people who humanly created me, because of the man who became my family by choice, and by the God who put us all together.

This is not meant to be a husband/man-bashing post, nor is it a parent-bashing post. I only mean for it to be an honest look at my epiphany, and my marriage.

I hate when people just gloss over the hard stuff in marriage by saying “oh, we had some tough times, but God got us through, and look at us now,” because I don’t find that helpful at all. It’s nice, you know, that they managed to hold onto God and now they’re okay- that’s encouraging. But I require honesty; tell me why and how you struggled. That’s what helps me dissect my problem. It’s what helps me be able to separate the problems into fixable chunks. It’s easier for me to turn over parts of my brokenness to God, rather than the whole thing. I’m selfish with my trouble. I like to hold it in my hands and give it in pieces. Here you go, God. I’m done trying to fix this part; it’s yours now. I know it’s not the best approach but I’m a bit of a control freak and God knows that. We’re working on it.

I didn’t intentionally marry a man like my dad. On the surface, my husband and my father are very different kinds of men. But, over time, I realized that the things my husband does that stoke my ire, are the same things my father did. So, for the last 12 ½ years, I’ve been seeking and praying and trying to find ways to cope, contend, tweak, and hopefully heal. As you can imagine, some of it’s gone better than others.

But over this last Christmas, it dawned on me that my husband also possesses some of my mother’s negative qualities. This was one of those Oprah Aha’s for me. I feel like a few more scales have dropped off my eyes.

You see, as much as I struggled with my dad’s stern thumb of oppression, we have generally gotten along quite well. I adore my dad. He’s a good man and I think that while I realized my husband tended to exhibit some of my dad’s not-so-great qualities, he also exhibited some of the great stuff, and it endeared me to him more.

But my relationship with my mother has been, well, complicated. I won’t go into the details because it only brings pain for her, for me, for the family- but know that it’s fraught with struggle. But it seemed exclusively between her and me.

So when I realized that some of the same patterns and struggles with my mother were in my marriage, too, I was confounded. Because these are much fiercer, bigger battles. They feel personal because they’re battles I’ve been fighting since I was a child. It’s like realizing just how big an iceberg really is.

This is where God comes in. Or rather. This is where God HAS to come in.

It’s one of those stretching, growing points that I’m not very fond of. I’d really rather God just equip us as fully-rounded humans from the start so that we can skip all this ouchy stuff in the middle.

I don’t think God put these struggles and challenges into my life on purpose. But I think God helps me learn the lessons I need to, from my struggles, so that I can glean what I need in order to be equipped for future battles.

This morning I’m still licking my wounds from last night’s scuffle. That’s completely metaphorical. My husband is a gentle man, let that be clear. But my ego is hurt. My spirit is hurt. Hurtful things were said (albeit in a very gentle way) and we didn’t resolve much, if anything. It’s left me weary.

It feels like the part of a journey when you realize just how far there is to go. And it seems far, far too long for you to ever make it to the end alive. I could sit down. Protest. This is ridiculous, who in their right mind would walk that far when there are cars, trains, and planes somewhere? Go find one of those for me, God, and bring it back- I’ll be here.

But then comes the part where I look over at the companions I have in this journey: God (the ultimate hero, with unbelievable patience and a great sense of humor), my husband (the only human who’s committed to stay with me to the end), my family (yep, mom and dad, too) - and I think, okay, I can do this (my marriage can do this), one step at a time, maybe one inch at a time. I reach out, grab hold of familiar hands, and start walking again.

It’s not easy, this marriage thing. And I certainly didn’t expect it to be haunted by old ghosts. But the good news is, I’m not alone. I don’t just mean that God is with me, though that’s very true. I mean that I’m aware not everyone has a partner in life that’s willing to work through the ugly stuff together. I’m grateful for a partner that is in all ways, committed. That’s no small thing.

That’s my heart, very open, and very obviously on my sleeve today. I pray you encouragement if you’re feeling likewise.