One Day in Our Marriage.
I took off my wedding ring today because it was bothering me. Underneath the bright metal cinch, there is a band of sad, dry skin and a pink dotted sore left-of-center. Like it hasn't seen the light, was my first thought. Suffocated skin. Like a bed sore or sun weathered parade of unhappy cutaneous cells. Funeral parade. This is the place where life leaves me - this tiny inch of skin. Just thoughts.
It would be unfair to say that marriage is harder than anyone told me. Why didn't anyone warn me about this? How many times have I complained about that? But in moments, I believe that the little blasts of white gold and diamond just might symbolize the status of my on-again-off-again affair with monogamy. It only seems to itch, sting, be too tight when I feel stuck, pinned, terrified, uncertain. Hello Doubt, welcome home. It is like a far-too-fancy marriage mood ring.
The instruction card might say, Note to ring operator: Itching = anxiety. Stinging = hurt. Too tight = flee, flee, flee.
When I got engaged, the ring, diamond encrusted, timeless, was too big. It swung loosely on my finger. I felt dainty. I had room to grow. And it was heavy, so when the weight of the band twisted along, pushed up against my knuckle, I remembered there was love. I always knew. And I was safe in it's circle. The ring or the love?
In reality, I'm just 15 pounds heavier than I used to be. The ring is tight because I am fatter. Duller because I am lonelier. My marriage has not changed too much from the very first day I accepted one brave man's proposal.
We have grown, learned, survived, become cautious but we are - together and apart - essentially the same as before.
I wish I could say that this piece will end well. Not knowing where my husband is this evening and knowing exactly where I put my ring, I predict there is no ever-after ending here today. But maybe tomorrow that shriveled skin, little itchy spot, extra water weight on my finger might allow for a more peaceful, sure marriage. Maybe I'll get the old toothbrush out to scrub up the diamonds, my polishing cloth to buff up the metal.
Polishing cloth for my marriage?
So there is always hope. As they say, tomorrow is another day.
It would be unfair to say that marriage is harder than anyone told me. Why didn't anyone warn me about this? How many times have I complained about that? But in moments, I believe that the little blasts of white gold and diamond just might symbolize the status of my on-again-off-again affair with monogamy. It only seems to itch, sting, be too tight when I feel stuck, pinned, terrified, uncertain. Hello Doubt, welcome home. It is like a far-too-fancy marriage mood ring.
The instruction card might say, Note to ring operator: Itching = anxiety. Stinging = hurt. Too tight = flee, flee, flee.
When I got engaged, the ring, diamond encrusted, timeless, was too big. It swung loosely on my finger. I felt dainty. I had room to grow. And it was heavy, so when the weight of the band twisted along, pushed up against my knuckle, I remembered there was love. I always knew. And I was safe in it's circle. The ring or the love?
In reality, I'm just 15 pounds heavier than I used to be. The ring is tight because I am fatter. Duller because I am lonelier. My marriage has not changed too much from the very first day I accepted one brave man's proposal.
We have grown, learned, survived, become cautious but we are - together and apart - essentially the same as before.
I wish I could say that this piece will end well. Not knowing where my husband is this evening and knowing exactly where I put my ring, I predict there is no ever-after ending here today. But maybe tomorrow that shriveled skin, little itchy spot, extra water weight on my finger might allow for a more peaceful, sure marriage. Maybe I'll get the old toothbrush out to scrub up the diamonds, my polishing cloth to buff up the metal.
Polishing cloth for my marriage?
So there is always hope. As they say, tomorrow is another day.
posted by J.Helen Shaw at 4:14 PM
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