Omowunmi

True Confessions From A Failed Life

May 24, 2019May 24, 2019 Omowunmi

If you had met me three years ago, you would have met a woman defeated by lack and loss and hopes that never became reality. You would have met a woman who was still mourning the life and success she thought she would have. You would have met someone who felt like the last great thing she achieved was almost ten years behind her. Failing at what you thought you would master changes you. What should have built the resilience to get up and try again made me want to crawl inside myself and disappear. Recently, I am remembering vividly what it felt like to be living a life you deem a failure in your own eyes. To be honest, practicing law not only shaped my identity, it took it over. And eventually, it swallowed it. Until all I was, was an attorney. If all else, failed, at least I was an attorney. But when THAT began to fail – I had an identity crisis! Watching other attorneys flourish and make a living in this line of work filled me with a desperate sense of inadequacy. Everyone in this field seemed to know something I did not. How were they running solo practices and still managing to keep a roof over their heads, considering my venture into private practice kept me in poverty from Day 1? How were they getting these cushy opportunities when doors kept slamming in my own face?

Feelings of inadequacy kept me from connecting with new people in my field. As far as I was concerned I had nothing to offer anyone, so why bother. I kept to the safe confines of the friendships forged in childhood and law school. I did not go out of my way to make new work friends, and at the same time, seeing the camaraderie among my colleagues from the courthouse or law school ate me alive. I did not belong. Nowhere was it more apparent than when I would venture out to social events for local lawyers and find myself wandering the room alone. Too many of these instances made me retreat further away from those that would be considered my equals but whom I had deemed were better than me because at least they did not face a foreclosure (in 2010), at least they were not driving their mom’s old car (till 2013), at least they knew what the heck they were doing with this practice of law. My thoughts ran in circles continually and defeated me before I could even try. When new law school graduates entered our field with all the hope and optimism that was already beaten out of me by unemployment, underemployment and lack, I was immediately jealous. They seemed like they had their whole lives ahead of them and were better equipped to succeed than I ever was. The last great thing I accomplished was passing the bar, and that was in 2007. Every year since then had felt like a constant battle of trying to prove that I was not as terrible an attorney as my fears would have me believe.

I cannot say my years were all bad. I did some excellent work. I helped some truly deserving clients and made my own impact here and there. But when I compared my successes to my bottom line, they did not line up to produce a life I would call a success. For so many years, it had been ingrained into me that being a lawyer meant being smart, successfully and rich. I was willing to work to be all of those things. Until my work kept proving to be less than enough. Eventually my ambition got buried deep beneath my fears of failure and success, and I comforted myself with the lie that career success did not matter as long as I was successful in other ways. I spent TEN YEARS hating what I earned (not necessarily what I did, because like I said – I made some impact in lives that will last for generations), but being too afraid to do anything about it. Every idea seemed like a failure waiting to happen. So i shrank into the life I hated, comforted myself with the love of my husband and children and buried my hopes and dreams in the sand. I avoided associations with other lawyers because their successes only testified more boldly of my failures. Conversations with loved ones about my career or chosen path always left me in bitter tears shed in private. This was NOT how my life was supposed to go. Graduate college with honors, go to law school, finish, pass the bar, find the job of my dreams and climb the ladder while finding love and marrying the man of my dreams and building our family. THAT was the plan. Everything that deviated was a constant reminder of my failure.

One day, my husband pushed me and kept pushing me until my comfort zone was a distant memory. I stopped believing or caring whether people were judging me by my lack of career success and decided to pivot my life. Stop getting up every day for a job you hate because it doesn’t pay you, FIND ONE THAT PAYS YOU! It did not matter what job it was. As long as they would have me and they would pay me reasonably for my time. After six months of effort and calling fear a liar, applying for jobs even when I did not feel qualified, going on interviews (first ones in 10 years) even though I felt terrified and ill-prepared, I got a job. Not just a job. A job that pays me in a day what I didn’t earn in a week as a solo attorney. A job that gave me supervisors and colleagues who care about me as a person as well as my work product. A job that finally healed the sense of failure and brokenness that I had been carrying regarding my career for almost 11 years. I love my job. I love the opportunity I have to do it. I love my direct supervisor and I genuinely enjoy the company that employs me. My life was a failure in my eyes because I did not have a job. Getting one, a good one with an ethical, professional and trustworthy employer has healed me in ways that practicing law never did.

These are my confessions.

Thanks to the hardship that comes with practicing law, I am being forced once again to examine my heart at it relates to the success of other attorneys. The truth is a part of me is angry. I am angry at the colleagues who saw me struggling and took advantage of me (shout out to my first commercial landlord). I am angry at the ones who made jokes about who I was and where I worked (being humiliated in court was not fun). I am angry at the people who saw my resume and decided sight unseen that Omowunmi was just too ‘ethnic” of a name for their company. I am angry but it will pass; it always does.

Truth is, I am also grateful. I am grateful to the clients who hired me based off one meetings and met their obligations to pay me. I’m grateful for the countless numbers of people who now have legal status in this country thanks in small part to my role in their story. I am grateful for the countless numbers of juveniles who have avoided a life altering criminal record because they took my advise, both legal and informal, and changed their entire lives. I am grateful for the mentees who entrusted me with their journeys because “she’s a lawyer” and have gone on to graduate college, medical schools and law school and are thriving as productive members of society. I am grateful for everyone who tried to introduce me to one form of employment or another when they heard I was struggling, and I am ESPECIALLY grateful to the colleagues who have become family who sat with me as I poured over new cases, making sure I understood the nuances and could get the best results for my clients. Thank you! I cannot thank you enough.

My life was a failure in my eyes because of the shame of lack and poverty. But God has redeemed my failures and I am happy to report that success feels more familiar than ever. I will not go back. Sometimes you have to fail into the life of your dreams. Because honestly, without my past failures – I would never have had the courage the change my mind and pursue the life of my dreams.

These are my confessions.

Uncategorized

Hidden, But Still Treasured

May 24, 2019 Omowunmi

Hidden image

Lately, I have been focusing very hard on putting work behind my passions. I love writing and producing creative works that others can consume and enjoy. I have been working on a new project, collecting my best thoughts and insights on every area of life and putting them together into a book. If I put the right kind of effort behind this work, I know it can be a great product. I am already proud of the work it has taken to get to this point.

A part of me pictures this being the work that introduces me to the women I hope to reach and connect with – the audience who would find and build community through my writings whether they are blogs or books. The other part of me does not want to worry about “reaching the masses” with my work. I just want to invest my time in doing good work and doing it consistently. At this point, I rather be a great writer than a popular one. One leading to the other would be welcomed.

Recently though, I have been shrinking away from the thought of being known. Over the last ten years, I can credit the majority of my growth to the privilege of making my mistakes in private. I am not sure I am ready to give up that privilege and trade it for a new reality. The ideas in my head and heart are not only meant for my living room. They are designed to benefit as many people as I can impact but reaching the masses means giving up the comfort of knowing that my decisions only affect those in my immediate community. It means being held accountable to the raised standard that comes with public platforms. For someone who has been so focused on putting my best writing out there, it seems I am now rethinking my methods. All year long, I have exerted my best effort in laying the foundation for others to find me (writing more blogs and short stories, revamping my websites, creating new social media pages, paying for online ads, etc). Now, I’m reconsidering and wondering if this season of not being “seen” has been purposefully orchestrated by God to prepare me for the life I hope to have some day.

What if the years of being in the dark and seemingly buried were just my time to be planted until I grew strong and deep roots? What if the ideas that I am so giddy to share with the world are still so tender and vulnerable that they can easily be destroyed by thoughtlessly uttered words from outsiders? What if I am trying to share the things that God is still desiring to perfect? [If you haven’t, please listen to Pastor Michael Todd of Transformation Church and his sermon series for “Planted, Not Buried” and “Marked” – they changed my life].

To allay those fears, I am committed to listening intently for God’s voice and direction in all things. I cannot tell you how many blog posts I have drafted and deleted because although they were easy to write, they did not reflect what God has instructed me to share. I am committed to doing exactly what God asks of me when He asks it of me, and not a moment sooner or later. For too many years, I have let the approval of man replace obedience to God. I thought being celebrated by others would fill the void that was created by a life lived without purpose but now I know better. Knowing and walking in the will of God for my life has been the best antidote for every emptiness I have ever felt. So in this present reality, even when I feel hidden because there are no audiences to speak with, no readers to engage and no groups with whom to share my gifts, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that being hidden does not make me any less treasured.

Being hidden is a blessing. There are less demands on my time. I am able to learn what is relevant and specific for this season of my life as well as prepare for the coming one. Being hidden allows me to rid myself of any part of my soul that still longs for public accolades more than the private approval of God. Being hidden allows me to know my own heart so that my darkness is not being exposed to me and the watching world on a stage. Being hidden gives me the quiet solitude necessary to ask God to hold a mirror to me and show me who I really am, away from the smoke and lights. Being hidden feels a lot like being forgotten but they are vastly different. Common things get forgotten. But treasure is hidden. And when such treasure is finally unearthed, there is more joy in the discovery than there ever would have been without the adventure and hard work of digging up and unlocking what the world did not even realize was missing.

You may be hidden, but you are still treasured.

Uncategorized

Transparency (My Superpower)

May 12, 2019 Omowunmi

In 2005, I started blogging publicly. Before then, I had been keeping a private online blog for my own amusement. But in 2005, I discovered the ability to make people react just by sharing what was going on in my life. I would often share specific private details to get a reaction (like the time when I was figuratively bleeding out from a recent breakup and decided to share a play by play of my emotions from one day to the next). To have friends and even virtual strangers tuning in and following my shenanigans online gave me a thrill. I felt important. I knew it was dangerous to share so many intimate details of my life and journey but at the time, I did not care. I liked the attention and most of my writings were in revenge of those who have hurt me. I probably gave access to people who did not deserve it and gave ammunition to those who did not mean me well, but I was too hell bent on being heard that I said forget the consequences.

I did not realize that my oversharing was a perverted version of what God intended for me to do. Without proper relationship with God and the wisdom that comes from Him, I thought my gift of writing was just a way for me to get others to see me, and simultaneously give a not-so-friendly finger to the people I considered my enemies. As soon as I came to Christ, the script flipped. There was so much in my heart to share with people about what Christ had done for me. I had this hyper-awareness of feeling so desperately alone in all my past struggles. It seemed there was no one who understood what I had endured. Being in Christ and having found healing, I desperately wanted to be for others what no one had been for me – a transparent example of God’s redemption.

For someone who had been so secretive about her real struggles, coming to Christ and having Him give me the green light to share my heart with others was absolutely freeing. There was no shame attached to anything I had to share with others. The wounds were healed. Anytime I would share another part of my story and it would resonate and give hope to a young woman whose past resembled mine, my heart would flutter. The satisfaction of walking in purpose never gets old. Sharing my life gave me such satisfaction that I knew I would do it forever. Having others connect with me because my words touched them, helped them or gave them hope made me feel like I was exactly where God intended for me to be. After that, I made the most of every opportunity to be transparent with others.

The first time my openness came back to bite me is still the most painful experience of my new life in Christ. I was called everything from a homewrecker to a hypocrite for attempting to write about my life. Telling your truth and being belligerently misunderstood is traumatizing. It’s been seven years; I am still working through it. The experience was the first time I questioned my gift and my approach to connecting with others, but it will not be the last. After that, I questioned any of my posts that were too transparent. Was I sharing too much? Who was going to misunderstand my intentions and vilify me for speaking about this? Writing, which had always brought me joy, began to make me nervous. I retreated. I went back to locking my writings up away from the public eye. I almost deleted a 200 page manuscript because the fear of being misjudged and misunderstood if it were to get out (be published) was debilitating. It was the closest I have ever came to abandoning writing forever.

Eventually, God reassured me. Being THIS open and THIS vulnerable on a consistent basis takes wisdom. I know my journey helps other women. I have had that confirmation over and over again. But as I mature in Christ, I have learned that all of my truths are not for everyone. There are some truths that I have shared in my text messages or in front of a live group of women that will never make it online or into a book (unless God says otherwise). Those moments of speaking about my darkness were absolutely terrifying in some cases, but they were God-ordained. And because of that, I have never suffered any loss.

Transparency has been a gift to me. It has allowed me to build the community of sisters that I have today. Transparency requires a consistent commitment to examining your own heart and the willingness to have others hold you accountable to the standards of God for your life. Transparency also requires wisdom. You are not meant to bleed all over everyone who crosses your path. There are specific places – sacred spaces, safe places – that God wants us to go when we are hurting and bleeding out. Those spaces are filled with people God has specially equipped to bind up our wounds. Perhaps through their own experiences or maybe just the wisdom that only comes from Heaven, these ones are especially equipped to help us heal, without judgment.

I have found my save spaces (thank you Wives in Waiting, thank you Stephanie and Chloelle, thank you Maude, thank you Jessica my one and only Beauti Therapist, thank you Tierra Lebbie, thank you to every woman in my church, small group, community and even ONLINE who consistently lend me your ear and your shoulder). When a truth is too raw to be spoken without tears, it goes to my sisters’ inboxes before it goes public. When I have found a semblance of healing or God gives me something to share about my process, then it is my joy to transparently share it with the world around me. It has been a journey getting to a place where my desire to connect with others does not undermine the work that God wants me to do, but I am eternally grateful to be here now- writing, speaking and sharing – and suffering absolutely no losses because of it.

Transparency is my superpower. What is yours?

Uncategorized

The Blessing of Rejection (Finding God in Other People’s ‘No’)

April 5, 2019 Omowunmi

After I had been in Christ for about four years, I had my biggest set-back as a woman of faith – I lost a friend to a misunderstanding and no matter how hard I fought for it, we never recovered. To say I was devastated would be putting it lightly. Having someone who knew all of my darkest secrets and up until the point of separation, cheered every single milestone (from law school graduation, to salvation in Christ, to my engagement and more) broke my heart. My foundations were rocked. All of my secret fears about not being good enough to love came roaring back to life. My thoughts ran haphazardly from guilt and shame (“I ruined our friendship/I am a walking mistake”) to anger and dejection (“I can’t believe she thinks that of me/how could she do this to us?”).

Forgiveness came easier than healing. I still have to submit and resubmit my feelings of rejection to God. It has been almost seven years, and even now, there is still a pit in my stomach when I think too long or too hard about how our friendship has changed. In the years since our fall-out, I have had time to put the situation in context.

This was someone I cherish (and I still do even if it is from a greater distance than before). Although we had history, we also had two different views of the world and our journeys as women have been drastically different. There are some experiences that God has redeemed in my own life (long-term abuse, destructive relationship with women and years of self-loathing) for which she has no context because these were not her experiences. Although she could sympathize with the pain I was trying to process, she did not have the tools to empathize with my process. Speaking about my pain (in an effort to find healing) to her likely looked like digging up old stuff and stirring up drama. If she did not want any parts of the chaos that was my process, who could blame her?

Losing my safe place (with women who I was able to share my heart freely and without judgment) forced me to re-evaluate my why? Why was I feeling compelled to speak about my past sexual abuse and trauma? Surely, I am not the only woman who has ever endured such a thing (1 in 3, as a matter of fact), so why was I the only one in my circle (friends, community, church) who was so vocal about the topic? Why did I really want women to know all of the pain I had endured from a young age until adulthood? Asking myself these questions meant examining my motives. Was I trying to encourage others on a similar journey or was I actually trying to prove something to all the people that hurt me? (“You did not break me/you lose!”)

Did God actually ask me to share these things? Or was I addicted to the sympathy of others and therefore perpetually sought to play the victim? (“Please feel sorry for me and then maybe you will stop rejecting me.”)

As I combed through my motives, I found that they were mixed. A large part of me wanted to share my life in order to offer help, hope and encouragement to any kindred hearts that were listening. But a part of me was still very angry. I did not deserve the abuse I endured and the people who hurt me needed to know what a mess they left for me to clean up. Also, those that insisted on misunderstanding me needed a reality check so they could cut the crap and stop putting me through so much heartache.

So, who deserved abuse (since I already decided I did not)? Who would I wish trauma and dysfunction and brokenness upon? The answer was no one. No one deserves abuse. God did not write that into any of His plans for our lives. He can use it, certainly. He can redeem it, absolutely – but it is not His desire for His children to be mistreated.

Had it not been for the rejection I experienced earlier on in my attempts to speak the truths that have shaped my life, I would be walking in a perverted purpose right now. Rather than sharing the story of God’s redemption, I would be on a “revenge world tour,” speaking to multitudes about who hurt me and why they suck. Your purpose is in you, from the very beginning – just like writing, teaching and speaking have been my gifts and passions for as long as I can remember. But without clean hands (pure motives) and a pure heart (directed by, and in communication with God), purpose will become perversion.

If I am willing and obedient, rejection can be just the redirection I need to get to the expected end that God desires for my life. If I am stubborn and stiff-necked, however, rejection will embitter me. It almost did. In the beginning it was a constant battle between “forget them; they are blind to what God is doing in your life; you don’t need them,” and “I forgive them, Lord; I repent for every part I played in this misunderstanding; help me to love them for real.”

I had such a chip on my shoulder because there were so many people I wanted to prove wrong. I wanted to succeed to spite them, not to glorify God. If I could be blunt, my success was gonna be the big middle finger to everyone who ever doubted my ability or my intentions. I am so grateful to God that He loves me too much to let me continue in such a perverted state of mind. When I see it in other people now, I cringe, because there – but for the grace of God – goes I. I could be the one marketing and selling shade and calling it ministry. Or packaging my hurt and rejection and calling it a “how-to” on success. It could have been me. But healing made the difference. Wholeness (although a process, even today) changed me for the better. Rejection redirected me to purpose. Without that redirection, all the efforts I am putting into the world today would be tainted with the stench of offense and unforgiveness.

In the book of Exodus 1, it is noted that the more the Egyptians oppressed the Israelites, the more they grew and multiplied. If the Egyptians had welcomed the children of God as a part of them, they would have intermarried and the nation of Israel would have completely assimilated into Egyptian culture. Egypt’s fear and racism allowed Israel to remain set-apart as God intended for them, and ultimately became the catalyst for their growth and fruitful multiplication in a foreign land. When you are a child of God, affliction is the best soil for your fruitfulness. The more we are afflicted, the more we grow. But when we do not have the mind of Christ, affliction just feels like God is picking on us. It makes us resentful, bitter and short-sighted – we overlook the providence and sovereignty of God in our challenges.

Some of the worst rejection I have endured has redirected my life in the best ways. The friends who temporarily damaged and walked out on me were actually incompatible with my life. I loved them so I wanted to keep them, but had we not gone our separate ways – my marriage, my God-given purpose and my sense of self would have suffered. I thank God for their ‘no’.

The romantic relationships that proved dysfunctional and temporary were heartbreaks at the time, but without those “no’s” I would have never sought to do anything different in my approach to romance. I would have rode the Ferris Wheel of dysfunction over and over again for the entirety of my lifetime. The rejection I experienced in relationships made me sit down and take stock of my life. It made me acknowledge the reality that I had always done romance on my own terms – based on what I liked and whatever my feelings dictated. Never once because of what the Bible commands or what God desires specifically for my life and who He has created me to be. Facing that truth made me change my ways. It made me study what, if anything, the Bible had to say about relationships between men and women. It made me ask questions of the couples I admired, and it made me count the cost of building the kind of relationship and marriage I said I wanted. The ‘no’ from men forced me on the path of sexual integrity (sexual integrity is the practice of aligning your sexuality and it’s expression with your beliefs and ethics – practicing what you preach when it comes to sex). Without their no, I would have continued on the path of “trying everything” even it if violated my conscience, just because I wanted a ring.

Rejection has been a blessing. I am not going to lie and say it feels like a blessing while it is happening. It is one of the most emotionally agonizing pain I have endured, but regardless of how it feels, on the other side of it, I am able to see what it has accomplished. A ‘no’ from man is not the end of the world, especially when it has led to to the “yes” from God.

marriage

5 Ways I Changed My Mind and Saved My Marriage

March 25, 2019 Omowunmi

5 Ways I Changed My Mind One of my most vivid memories in my almost six years of being married (I am a newbie so forgive any naivete that is written here) is sitting in absolute dejection wondering why nobody bothered to tell me that it was absolutely possible to love your husband with everything you have and still feel completely unfulfilled in your union. I was a new wife and a new mom. Our infant did not sleep the night before and was screaming his head off, tears and all, for some attention. I asked my husband to attend to him and the man I love put our only child in his Pack-and-Play and walked away, unbothered. I. was. livid! That moment is forever seared in my memory because of what it spoke to me about my husband, whether my thoughts were true or false. It said that he did not care that I was struggling with sleep-deprivation as a new mom; he could not have cared about our son; and obviously he felt that the work associated with raising our children was beneath him and only fit for the maid-wife he had married. The thoughts all collided with each other and angry tears spurred me to call one of my leaders to unleash all the pent-up rage of postpartum frustration and anxiety.

After that moment, I looked for reasons to validate what my fears said was true. That my husband did not care; that he thought the kids were my responsibility and not his, and that he thought less of me. Anytime any of his actions lined up with those thoughts, I added it to my list of small betrayals. Once I did this long enough, I became a walking, talking personification of my worst fears. I was insecure about my place in my husband’s affection (wondering if he really liked me or if he thought I was a burden) and overly-sensitive to any of his criticisms (perceived or real) about my abilities as a wife and a mother.

When I finally noticed what misery I had created for myself, I had already wasted two years to insecurity and feelings of unworthiness. Those two years were not miserable years by any means. We created many fun and lasting memories. I am sure we had more than a few moments of deep joy and absolute marital bliss, but underneath it all was my belief that my husband does not really value me because if he did, he would have helped me more. What finally snapped me out of my “woe is me” mentality was a candid conversation with a friend. Her marriage was facing the same challenges that we were facing but had deteriorated to the point of separation. Underneath the tirade of issues they were experiencing was one common foundation – each spouse sincerely believed the other to be his/her adversary, not their partner.

Alarm bells went off in my head. I had been harboring the same exact thoughts about my husband. Believing the worst about him without speaking it aloud; complaining to our closest allies in hopes that someone would call him to the carpet. It felt like I was the perfect wife to an undeserving husband.

If I did not want my marriage to end in separation or turn into simply a marriage on paper (where we live under one roof and have completely separate lives), I had to change my mind.

Here are the 5 Ways I Changed My Mind and Saved My Marriage:

Remember that I chose my husband just as much as he chose me. Nobody forced my husband on me, nor me on him. We saw each other. We observed one another’s character. We liked what we found in each other and we deemed one another worthy of a lifetime commitment built on Christ. I went into my relationship with my husband with my eyes wide open (for the most part). I knew he was not perfect when I met and fell in love with him. I had plenty of opportunity to decide if he was what I wanted (we have known each other for over 17 years and began our relationship eight years ago – so I had almost a decade of a head start to figure out who this man was before we were romantically involved). After weighing all my options and seeing him, faults and all, I still chose him and I still believed God when God said my husband was His best for me. Remembering the fact that my spouse is my choice forces me to remember why. It brings to mind all of the qualities that I saw before I gave him my heart. When I remember those things – his love for family, his generosity, the simplicity of his faith in Christ, his sense of humor, his intelligence and on and on like that – it is easier to honor him and our union. If my spouse is absolutely without redeeming quality, then why did I choose him? Chances are high that who he is, is who he has always been. Marrying him is my affirmative statement that “I accept you for who you are and I am committed to loving you for life with the knowledge that you might never change.” If I did not intend to make such a statement, then marriage was a premature move on my part.
Treat my husband as my teammate, not my adversary or competition. Husband and wife are designed to become one flesh. That is what the whole journey of sexual intimacy in marriage, combining households, resources and finances, being emotionally vulnerable and monogamous is suppose to aid us to do. In name and in practice, we should be on one team, and speak with a unified voice. When I start harboring beliefs that my husband values his contribution more than mine, I am treating us as if we are competing with each other for “best spouse.” I am not treating us a team. Whether he works and I stay home, or we both work or he stays home, every effort made by either of us, is for the good of the both of us. Me taking primary caregiver responsibilities at home frees him up to focus on his work in the marketplace. It is not a lesser contribution. Him staying home with the children while I work full-time does not make him lazy or a bum. The care he provides at home saves us thousands in outside care as well as providing peace of mind that our children are in the care of those who love them best (their parents). All of the work and all of the effort goes into the same pot. There is no “his or mine,” only ours. And as a good teammate, if I see that my team member is struggling in an area where I am strong, I jump right in to support their efforts. I don’t share insider information (my husband’s confidences) with third parties. I don’t expose his weaknesses to those who may use it against him. I honor him both publicly and privately. And if there ever comes a point where I need to “take one for the team” (by sacrificing a personal non-essential desire for our collective wholeness) then that is exactly what I do.
Give him (and myself) permission to grow. The most dejected I have ever felt about my marriage were the moments when I would convince myself that things would always be like this because this is who we were as a couple. When we are in a hard season as a couple (bumping heads, on different pages or simply not connecting emotionally), that thought is absolutely terrifying. It feels like “I chose the wrong partner” every time we have a difficult day. But when I give my husband full permission to grow, I realize that husbands are grown, not born. What is hard today is not necessarily going to be hard a year, two years or ten years from now. My husband minimized holidays and birthdays when we first got married. He did not grow up celebrating them so he never made a fuss about them and rarely gave gifts. I used to be so disappointed when what should have been milestones would pass just like any other day in our home. I would do my best to celebrate for the both of us. As the years has gone on, my husband has adjusted to my love of holidays and I have adjusted my expectation of him as well. I do not expect a parade at each occasion and make it a point to appreciate thoughtful cards and token gifts. He, in turn, has done an amazing job at surprising me in recent years with meaningful gifts and celebrations. We have both grown in that area. If I did not give us permission to grow in this particular place, I would have interpreted his lack of gift-giving as a measure of love (or lack thereof) and he could have decided my disappointed response from our early marriage was a measure of my ungratefulness for the many ways he takes care of and shows affection towards me year-round.
Celebrate my portion. There is a lot of good in my marriage. I do not always have time to shout it from the rooftops (my Facebook and Instagram page) or throw a party about it, but nevertheless it is true. And I am almost sure that there is something to celebrate in every marriage. If I am married to someone whose company I genuinely enjoy (and I am!), that is something to celebrate. Although it should be true for every marriage, I am sure we all know at least one couple who have chosen to stay together but it is obvious to everyone on the outside that they cannot stand each other. If that is not your portion, please celebrate the friendship that you have with your spouse. If I am married to man who is a great provider, then I celebrate the peace of mind that comes with knowing that my partner invests into our family without having to be prodded. There are some men (women too) who do not want a marriage unless it comes with a “roommate agreement” (split the bills and everyone must pay their own share) so if you have a spouse that joyfully tackles whatever responsibilities may come to your household, with no regard for whose name is on what (no “yours or mine,” only ours), then you have a partner worth celebrating. If my husband is completely in tune with my emotional needs, then I celebrate that. If he is an amazing father and hands-on parent, I celebrate that. If he is a man devoted to private prayer and corporate worship, I bless God for that as well. There is always something to celebrate in my portion, and I am sure if you look for it, you will find something to celebrate in yours as well.
Quit the comparison. One day I was listening to a woman I greatly admire as she was talking to a group of us about her marriage. She told us that her husband sent her to the hairstylist after two days of her rocking a “do it yourself” hairdo while awaiting her hair appointment from her regular stylist. At home, I looked at my wig-less head in the mirror and busted out laughing. As much as I admired my friend’s union for all of the wonderful things that God does through her and her husband, I realized immediately that I would never thrive if my husband was an exact replica of hers. I can go months without a proper visit to my hairstylist. And this is not because I am doing my hair everyday at home. Most days, my natural hair is braided down and hiding underneath one unit or another. My husband always shows me extra loving when I get my hair freshly done, however he has verbally expressed that he does not mind my hair however I choose to wear it at home. I use that light example to drive home the point that God has given me what I can handle. I am designed to flourish exactly where God has placed me in my marriage and with my husband. Comparing my life to anyone else is a fruitless exercise because what looks amazing on them would never fit me properly. Someone else’s marriage is not my size – it will either be too big and swallow me whole or it will be too small and choke the life out of me. Besides, great husbands are not born, they are grown. I cannot even begin to imagine the amount of effort, pain or growth it takes for some of the marriages I look up to, to become what they are today. Some of the experiences that strengthened their union, could very well kill mine. There is no point to coveting something when I do not have the whole picture.

These are five ways I am reminding myself not to be the foolish woman who destroys her home with her own hands but rather, be the wise one who builds her house. Some of these points may be too “pie in the sky” for some readers. That is okay. Everything is not for everyone. But if any of these points resonate with you as the underlying reason for whatever friction has been on-going in your marriage, then I encourage you to take these words to heart and do whatever it takes to have the marriage of your dreams. Great marriages do not happen by accident. Pray for me as I pray for you. That our marriages will be ones that we all enjoy, rather than institutions that we simply endure.

Story-telling

Incredulous

March 12, 2019January 31, 2025 Omowunmi

I love my husband. I do. I just do not trust him. Okay let me explain before you get the wrong idea. I do not believe he will ever do anything to hurt me, at least not on purpose but I firmly believe that I am the best person to know what I need so I trust myself more than I trust him. Jordan and I have been married for 10 years, college sweethearts. Jasmine and Jordan. It’s almost corny, right? We determined that we only wanted two kids, but after the birth of our daughter (Glory), I really do not want anymore. I have been too scared to tell him. It feels like a betrayal to go back on what we initially agreed so I am hoping I can wait him out. Glory is five years old right now. I am inching closer to forty everyday. My window is closing. He has asked me more in the past year than ever before. He really wants to try again for another kid but I keep telling him I am not ready. It is not that I would not like another kid but having our daughter cost me years of traction I had been building up in my career. While I was out on maternity leave, one of my colleagues got the promotion I have been vying for over the last year. Candice and I are work friends but we are also each other’s biggest competition in the company. As the only two women and minorities in our entire department, we collaborate on most of our projects. We are neck to neck on expertise and both great candidates for the open C-suite position in our tech company. We have the same level of experience and comparable degrees, mine from MIT and hers from Yale. The chance to move up to an executive level position in what began as a startup in 2001 and has ballooned as a technology heavyweight was exactly the catalyst I needed to rocket my career into the stratosphere. I knew the competition would be fierce when I became pregnant with Glory. At first nobody cared as long as I was showing up and killing the game. But as my bump grew so did their concern. Suddenly, I was not representing the company on all of our usual yearly conferences.

”We don’t want to overtax you, Jasmine. You need your rest,” the sentiment was echoed in so many words, always accompanied with a sympathetic glance at my belly. They could have saved the niceties. I was not concerned with losing rest (pregnancy insomnia anyone?). I was concerned with losing ground. Sure enough, a few weeks into my third trimester the unofficial company policy was that I should not be scheduled for any work related trips that were beyond a hundred miles of the office. I missed the company retreat to Colorado and for the first time in five years, I could not attend the biggest tech meetup of the year that was taking place in Las Vegas as it was too close to my due date. Candice of course showed up for all of it and brought her A-game. I do not blame her for her promotion because it was well-earned but I really really wanted that job.

By the time I came back from my leave, Candice was my direct supervisor. She was always gracious and we still function more as collaborators rather than competitors but seeing her at the head of the table in our department meetings is a constant reminder that the position should have been mine. I love my daughter but I paid a heavy price to be her mother. It has taken me another five years to rebuild the momentum I had before I had Glory. I am a contender for the next exective position as one of our directors of tech innovation is leaving by the end of the year to pursue other opportunities. There is no one even close to my level of experience and expertise within the company and I have it on good authority that the company is not hiring an outsider to fill the seat.

My husband is a surgeon and he is doing amazing work that gives him joy. I supported us through his years of residency and I am now reaping the rewards. He initially wanted me to stay home with Glory for her first year or two but I explained to him that it was out of the question. My career is in a field that is being innovated every moment of every day. Missing a day is like missing a week. Missing a year would be like missing a decade. There is no way to catch up. So I continued working and we hired a nanny and the best daycare money could provide. Glory is my pride and joy but my work is my passion. Technology touches almost every life on this planet. Developing something as simple as an application on a smartphone that makes it easier for people across the globe to find a safe place for their children to sleep or to access medical assistance that would otherwise be unavailable is meaningful work. I am honored to be a part of that process, even if all I do is make the use of a valuable tool more widespread. We can live comfortably on my husband’s income alone but it is important to me to work. And that my work is being valued appropriately and compensated accordingly is icing on top. Money is not the goal but it is an easy tool to measure how my work is being valued. And for now I can tell you that I am well regarded in my field.

My husband and I have a deep and mutual respect for one another. I respect his integrity and work ethic and he respects my determination and honesty. I tell it like it is. I don’t sugarcoat anything. I do not believe I need to filter myself to say something in the “best most respectful way” in order to be heard. We are both grown. I should not have to sugarcoat my words before he can take constructive criticism from me. Just like he does not need to treat me with kid gloves to get what he needs. As much as I love him, his happiness is not the focus of my world. Of course I want him to be happy but I am not going to sacrifice my sanity, peace of mind or sense of purpose for it. And if he ever asks me to, then I will know we have worn out our welcome in each other’s lives. My career and my marriage are both equal on my list of priorities. I would never sacrifice one for the other. I make sure both work. The only thing that can possibly trump both is my daughter. I would do anything on this earth to make sure she is happy, safe, loved and cherished.

One of the few financial hiccups we have endured came recently when my husband’s tax filing was audited. Apparently he had underreported one of his income streams over the last few years and owed about $100,000 in unpaid taxes. The bill was a head ache but it was not insurmountable. With some savvy representation, our accountant worked it down to $50,000. The worst part of it all for Jordan was that he had to liquidate some assets to get the cash flow. He does not keep a lot of cash readily accessible to curb his appetite for expensive purchases and train himself to invest more than he spends. As for me, I have been aggressively saving one third of my income since I started working. I have over $300,000 in a tax exempt holding and intend to leave it untouched until I need it for retirement or alternatively as an inheritance for Glory.

It is still a sore point with my husband that I did not give him the money to pay off the IRS bill but to me, it just was not a wise move. Having an extra 50K attributed to my income for the year would have jumped me into the next tax bracket and my tax bill would have been astronomical. It was not worth it. He has no issues making the payments; it just took more effort than if I had wrote a $50,000 check. For the most part, we have worked past the friction. It has created this tendency for him not to ask me for major favors, financial or otherwise. Personally, I think his ego is just bruised. He knows I would do anything for him – within reason of course.

This week has been one for the story books. I have a major presentation at work for a new would-be client (the deal is in the bag if they like what I have to say). This is a seven maybe eight figure deal for our company. If I close it, that office in the C-suite is guaranteed to be mine. My husband has surgeries all week. He’s usually focused (stressed) when he has one surgery on his schedule. This week he has five (three scheduled, two tentative), including three that are high risk patients. To say he is stressed out would be putting it mildly. My husband doesn’t react when he’s about to snap, he retreats. From everything and everyone. He doesn’t eat, he barely sleeps and spends all of his time buried behind medical journals, research or reading and re-reading patient files (I am sure he has memoried all their favorite colors and home addresses by now). I try to leave him be, sending gentle reminders for him to eat or take his vitamins. I keep his favorite snacks at hand so he can always grab something and go even if he forgets to eat a full meal. But other than that, the best thing to do is to stay out of his way and not break his concentration. Unfortunately, I am also under a lot of stress right now. I haven’t had a minute to do any grocery shopping and my hours for work are currently 5am to 11pm. I spend the first three hours and the last fours hours of my work day working from home before I go into the office and after I make the 45 minute drive back. The nanny is picking up and dropping off Glory at daycare and staying with her until bedtime. Meals are ordered or microwaved. The only time I am seeing my family is when I look in on Glory at bedtime or when my husband crashes into bed anywhere between two and five in the morning. The house is a wreck so a cleaning service is coming every two weeks until life slows down.

“We don’t have any granola bars,” my husbands states matter of factly.

I look at the clock, 3:15am.

“Granola bars in the middle of the night?” I ask groggily.

“I have a surgery scheduled in a few hours. I am not gonna have time for breakfast. Couldn’t eat it even if I tried anyway. I just wanted something quick for energy. The gas stations don’t sell the brand I like,” he replies with brows slightly furrowed.

I do not like his tone. I know he’s not angry about some granola bars he could have picked up the thousands of times he has driven past the specialty grocer where we do our household shopping.

”Honey, I have been swamped at work just like you have. I did not have time to do any shopping. You can order it online and have the nanny pick it up for you on her way to drop Glory off at school.” Having offered a comparable solution to this mountain-from-a-molehill issue, I turn over and close my eyes. If I am lucky I can get another hour of sleep before I have to start my day.

After a few minutes of dead silence, I hear him leave the room, closing the door a little too firmly for my liking. If he wakes Glory before the nanny gets here, I will personally wring his neck.

Willing my heartbeat back to even pace, I go back to sleep. My alarm wakes me at 4:45am and I hop out of bed, anxious to start the day. After a quick shower, I throw on my favorite T-shirt and yoga pants. I pull out my blouse and skirt for the office and get comfortable in front of my laptop to work.

By the time the nanny arrives to pick up Glory, I’m dressed for work and she’s bathed and dressed in her favorite pink unicorn sweatshirt with matching tights. Her coily hair is swept up in a pretty puff secured with a pink and purple ribbon. I have missed my girl. She has my dark brown eyes and her father’s everything else – height, cocoa complexion, his strong checkbones and bright smile. Sometimes the way I love my daughter scares me. I would do anything and fight anyone to keep her safe. I am not sure I love anyone like this, not even her father.

“Mommy, will you take me to school? You never take me to school. It’s always Claire. Never you or Daddy,” Glory pouts, her brown eyes misting over

The guilt is instantaneous and crushing. My heart drops as I look at my only child. Her dad and I are working hard to provide for her and show her the importance of doing what you love and doing it well. Are we neglecting what truly matters in all of our ladder climbing?

”I am so sorry, baby girl! Mommy is so busy today so I can’t take you today but I promise on Friday, I am all yours. We will have a special Mommy-Glory Day! Okay? I will take you to school and pick you up then we can go get our nails done and have lunch at your favorite restaurant – just you and me! No work allowed,” I promised with a grin at my pride at joy.

“You mean it, Mommy?” Glory asks, her brown eyes dancing with joy! When I nod my head yes, she squeals with joy and squeezes me into a tight hug. My heart is bursting.

When she leaves with Claire, her nanny, I finish up my work and quickly dress for the office.

I never want my baby girl to feel like she is not as important as my work but this season is just a stressful one for us all. I once heard a woman say, “you can have it all, just not all at the same time.” It seems when I am flourishing on the home front, my career is leaving me behind. And when I am killing it in the market, my family feels like I am neglecting them. Do men have to make these kinds of choices? Of course not. They can climb the corporate ladder as quickly as they like while their wives and girlfriends do the grunt work at home.

That is absolutely not going to be story. I have a friend from college who is living my worst nightmare. Her and her husband were college sweethearts and got married before they even graduated. He finished, she didn’t. Now she’s on baby number 5 while her hubby is killing it in the industry and earning almost seven figures. She stays home to homeschool and they do not even have childcare or a nanny. She has no job, no savings apart from her husband. If he ever decides to leave her, she would be on the street with a dozen kids. I cannot believe women actually live like this in 2019. Cannot be me.

My big presentation is today. I realize that my husband dearest did not even wish me good luck when he woke me up about those stupid granola bars. I send him a quick text. I’m sure he’s in surgery still but maybe he will see it by lunch.

“Presentation day. Wish me luck.” I told myself not to expect a response. He is busy.

As I am backing out of our driveway, my phone buzzes.

“Good luck, babe. I know you are gonna kill it. About to meet with patient’s family. Talk later.”

My heart melts at his vote of confidence. I blink back the quick tears. I have missed my husband. I miss us being friends and laughing and flirting with each other like some newlyweds. Date night is another thing that I have gotta plan as soon as I nail this presentation. Presentation. Get my promotion. Mommy-daughter date then husband and wife time – in that order!

I kill my presentation! I mean it was literally the best meeting I have ever had! I had the clients eating out of my hands. When I mentioned the millions of downloads our past clients reached within days and weeks of partnering with us, I could almost see the dollar signs in their eyes.

On top of that, both the CEO and CFO insisted on hi-fives when the clients left the room. That empty corner office is as good as mine. I am so excited. My heart is still racing from the thrill of a job well done. Our lives are about to change. My salary is gonna triple within the next year. I can do so much more for my family. Save more. Travel more. Take more vacations as a family. The sleepless nights and months of stress were absolutely worth it!

I cannot wait to share my news with my hubby when he gets home tonight!

When doctor bae (he hates when I call him that) walks through the door I fly into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist!

“Whoa there! Where’s Glory?” He asks with a chuckle.

”Upstairs with Claire. They are playing tea party for five more minutes before bath, then bed,” I said, keeping my vice grip around his body.

His laugh gives me butterflies. When he nuzzled my neck I squeal in delight, finally releasing my grip and ending our embrace.

”Well, aren’t you gonna ask how my presentation went? I ask with a fake pout.

Gotta milk it for all it’s worth

”Yeah yeah yeah! I thought you would have called me by now. How did it go? Did you kill it like I said?” He asks with a hopeful smile

”I not only killed it, I KILT IT!” I half-yell with a laugh.

”YES! That’s my girl! I’m so proud of you, honey! Come on! We are celebrating. Where’s that champagne the hospital gave us for Christmas?” my husband asks, already heading to the wine fridge in our kitchen.

I laugh at his excitement. It feels good to have my husband say he is proud of me. Sometimes I feel like he might resent my work because it keeps me away from home so much. Jordan’s mom stayed home with him and all of his siblings as children. He half-expected me to do the same after Glory was born but I told him in no uncertain terms that it was completely out of the question. It is a relief to know that he sees the value that I bring into the work I do for a living.

When Glory is ready for bed, I send Claire home and decide to tuck her in myself. We both got a pleasant surprise when her dad decided to join. He reads her a story while I twist her hair. By the time storytime is over, Glory’s pretty brown head was drooping. Baby girl is beyond tired. We turn down her lights and watch her quickly snuggle up to her favorite plush giraffe. Within minutes, her breathing was deep and even.

I slide my fingers into my husband’s and lock our hands. His palm is rough, occupational hazard of the frequent handwashing required by his chosen profession. We get ready for bed and settle into companionable silence, listening to each other breath as I rest on his shoulder. Feels good to have my best friend back.

A few weeks after my killer presentation, life has settled back into a manageable routine. I would say we are happier than we have ever been. The promise of a better income has really taken the stress off my husband. For as long as we’ve been together, he has been on this constant search for the next big thing. Even though we are comfortable, according to him we are not set. Six figure joint income is a nice start but we are far from rich, he would remind me. We have just as many liabilities as we did assets. We needed more income or some kind of big break. My new salary was just the kind of catalyst that would launch us into long-term financial security. We are so close to our next level, I can practically taste it.

It feels amazing to know I helped get us here.

When I get off work that Friday, Jordan asks me to meet him for dinner at our favorite restaurant. Claire would pick up dinner for Glory before we get home. When we are seated and waiting to order, Jordan tells me he has some news.

“You remember my friend Tolu from medical school? Well him and his wife are buying a practice from a retiring doctor. It is a great location and a lucrative venture to boot. It is worth millions in accounts receivable and the deal they have with the doctor who is selling allows them to bring in a third partner for more capital. It is a lot of capital upfront but babe, I have seen the numbers. We would make it back and triple within the next five to ten years. I just had to let you in on the deal as soon as they told me. So what do you think?” His eyes are fixed on me and his smile is a mile wide as he waits for me to speak.

The longer I take to reply, the less confident he appears. Why does he always do this to us? He gets a crazy idea that could possibly jeopardize everything we have built and he wants me to put my entire nest egg behind it with no guarantees. We still have a daughter to take care of and a college fund to consider. Not to mention multiple mortgages and other expenses. Everytime he has a money-making venture, I am supposed to throw my weight (and my savings) behind it just because I am the only one whose money is not all tied up in his countless investments and enterprises.

We were in such a good place. Now he is gonna make me into the bad wife who does not support his dreams.

”You are making me nervous, babe. Say something,” he pleaded gently with a soft laugh.

”How much are we talking about?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even so I don’t betray any emotion, good or bad.

When Jordan mentions almost seven figures, I almost fall out of my chair. It is official. He has lost his mind! I am married to a crazy person.

“Where are we supposed to get that kind of cash, babe? Are you crazy?” The question bubbles out of me before I could reword it.

“Come on, babe! You are about to get a fat raise! If we go to your bank for a loan and use your savings as collateral, we can get them to lend us almost the whole thing! This practice is making money hand over fist and we have a chance to get in on the ground level. These kinds of opportunity are once in a lifetime. And the fact that they are approaching me with it now that your income is about to multiply exponentially is kismet! How can we say no? Please, honey! I wish you could see the opportunity I see here. This is the break we have been praying for. Please, let me do this for us, for our family, for Glory.”

I sigh audibly before I can contain it. I wish my husband would not do this to me. Everytime I make a decision to keep my money safe, he acts as if I am choosing the money over him. And that is not the case at all. If it was a matter of life and death or a necessity like housing or health, I would gladly spend my savings to help but all of his “big ideas” are always brimming over with risk. I cannot put what is supposed to be my daughter’s inheritance into the hands of some doctors he knows from a decade ago in school. What if they are complete frauds? What if someone embezzles from the business? What if they get slammed with another IRS bill and they cannot climb out from under it? I would loss everything and have to start over. Who knows if I can accumulate that kind of money again, especially now with all of our money tied up in these other ventures my husband is crazy about?

”Babe, you know I do not make decisions as quickly as you do. Please give me some time to think it over,” I finally responded.

”Babe, we have to strike while the iron is hot! Tolu has given me a week, two max to get back to him. If I don’t respond with a yes soon, he is going to exercise his other options,” Jordan pleads.

“Babe, I said I will think about it. Give me a few days. Let’s just enjoy our dinner and forget all this money talk for now,” I ask gently, caressing his hand on the table for good measure.

The warmth in his eyes lets me know he catches my drift. A mischievous smile play on his lips and I cannot stifle a giggle.

“Stop flirting with me, sir. I am a married woman,” I retort, doing my best to appear scandalized.

“What your man gotta do with me?” My husband replies with fire in his eyes.

I throw my head back and laugh at his antics. Gosh, I love this man.

Two weeks after our dinner, I am still bidding my time, avoiding the conversation because I know my husband would not like my answer. I really do not want to fight.

Thankfully, work sends me on a short trip to London. We have been conferencing with a new potential client based in England. He is booked solid for the next 6 months so if we wanted face time with him, we would have to meet him before he left town for his three-month stint in India. I happily volunteered and my bosses agreed that I was the best woman for the job. It was to be a quick trip. Four days for me to meet the client, tour his company and rub elbows with anyone he wants me to meet before he is comfortable entrusting us with his life’s work.

I am also taking an extra couple of days to rest and see the sights. I’ve earned it.

The trip goes off without a hitch. Three days into my London work-cation, I get an email from my bank asking me to look over the forms for the new line of credit that was secured in me and my husband’s name.

My heart hammers in my chest as I read the terms for our loan for $1.5 million dollars. The collateral named to secure the loan are a few of my husbands investment properties and my savings!

He didn’t! He wouldn’t! I would kill him!

Also attached is a copy of the financial power of attorney that my husband and I signed giving each other the ability to act on the others behalf in the case of incapacity, death or qualifying event.

How is my travel out of the country a qualifying event?

My heart is hammering. My ears are ringing. I might faint. If he actually did this to me, I am done. I am getting a divorce. Before he ruins my life with his get rich quick schemes, I will cut my losses and leave him.

I told you I did not trust him!

By the time I make it back into the country, Jordan knows he’s no longer on my good side. I move into the guest room to make it known that the cookie factory is closed. He has been trying to talk to me for weeks. Even suggesting we see a marriage counselor. So they can tell him to forgive him and to not let money ruin my marriage? Too late! Someone should have told my thieving husband that stealing is not the way into your wife’s good graces.

True to his word, the new clinic turns out to be a pretty good investment. Jordan is wrapping up the rest of his contractual obligations to the hospital and letting his patients know where to find him. The hope is to leave on great terms with the hospital so he can retain his privileges there. As the months go on, we are closer to the grand opening of the clinic and I do finally get my promotion. I am still excited to do this work and get this bread but some of the luster has worn off. Jordan and I are practically housemates. We have not had a real date night in weeks. Not that he did not try but everytime I sit across from him I remember what he stole from me. How do I trust my life with someone who would take from not just me but his daughter?

That money was as much Glory’s as it was mine.

I do my best to lose myself in my work and focus on Glory but I miss my husband. How could he do this to us? When I start waking up, my face wet from tears I must have cried in my dreams, I decide that it is past time to make a change. We cannot go on like this. We either need to mend what is broken or go our separate ways.

I say as much to Jordan when I hear him come through the doors this evening. When the word “divorce” comes out of my mouth, the coldness that glazes over Jordan’s eyes sends a chill up my spine.

I do not want a divorce.

I want him to fight for me.

I want him to understand how badly he rocked my world with those antics and never do it again.

Instead, Jordan stares at me evenly, his face absolutely void of emotion. When he walks around to my side of the table, it takes everything inside of me not to run. I do not know this stranger or what he is capable of. He reaches towards me, stopping just inches from my body. He bends sharply to get the office bag that is sitting on the floor by my knee. As he rummages through, I take a few quiet deep breathes to steady my pulse.

“Here!” Jordan pushes a piece of paper forecefully in my direction. “It’s post-dated but it’s good. That is from the clinics account. If you think I am that much of a thief, there is your money back. You can walk away a free woman now. Buy a house, go on a world-wide vacation, heck bury it in your new backyard for all I care. I did not realize money was such a slavemaster to you but you have it all back now. Do what you want. What I am going to do is STOP waiting around for a woman who has shown me over and over again that when it comes down to it, she will pick her money over her marriage, any day. I am done. If you want a divorce, you can have it,” Jordan almost spits the word ‘divorce’ at me as he pushes away from the table and out the front door.

My heart thunders in my ears. Was I really the one to blame? I look down at the check from “Glory Family Clinic” and my heart sinks.

Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

He even added interest.

Cashing this on the date noted would promptly restore my nest egg but it would be death of my marriage.

What do I do?

How do I get us back on the right track? Maybe counseling is not such a bad idea. I have to fix this.

And quick.

I make an appointment with my hair stylist and aesthetician and schedule a full body wax. Then I call my gynecologist for an emergency appointment. Thankfully they can see me right away.

Two hours later, my birth control implant has been removed. My doctor said I might have some discomfort but I do not care.

It is time to save my marriage. If luck is on side, Glory is going to be a big sister by this time next year.

I pray this works!

When my husband returns home, I have moved back into our bedroom. I bought new sheets and had a large mirror installed by the headboard…for research purposes.

Mind your business.

I made his favorite dinner (lobster tail, roasted potatoes, seafood Mac and cheese – I added a salad because black people do not eat enough greenery. Do not quote me. Just saying).

I wore his favorite dress – the short, black and green sequins one that should come with a warning label. It caused quite the commotion at the hospital Christmas party last year. According to my husband, I can only wear it if he’s with me. He said he had to be there to beat the brakes off anybody who did not keep their eyes in their head.

I giggle at the memory. Magic dress don’t fail me now. This outfit screams “put a baby in me!” If this doesn’t get me pregnant, nothing will.

I spray on his favorite scent. Last season’s Burberry that never fails to make his head turn. Then I went downstairs to wait at the dinner table. Claire has put Glory to bed for us. As soon as he walks through that door, it’s showtime!

My heart skips a beat when I hear the garage open. He is home!

God, please let this be enough!

Please!

As soon as he walks in the door, I rise to meet him. “Welcome home, honey! Dinner is ready,” I motion to the table now behind me as I saunter up to my man to give him an eyeful. “Then we can have dessert,” I add with a wink.

The shock on his face is worth the scheming I have done today. Exhaustion turned to surprise turned to delight in my husband’s eyes within the blink of an eye and before I know it, he is beaming.

”Let me take a quick shower and I am all yours,” he replies with a chuckle, mischief dancing in his eyes.

Oh you have no idea, sir!

Three months later as our clinic officially held it’s grand opening, I am proudly sporting my newest accessory, my love bump!

We are pregnant! Glory is going to have a new brother! I thought I could not be any happier after my promotion but I was wring, this new reality is a such a deep and joyous one, I am afraid to close my eyes and realize it was all a dream. I did not want a second baby because I thought it would steal my career. That was fear talking and it was a complete lie. With two women in the C-suite of our company now, we have a new maternity leave policy. Six months paid leave and an additional six month option to work from home. All of the executives agreed to a pay cut to fund it and it has gotten us voted one of the best places to work in the country.

My fear of losing my nest egg was also unfounded. My husband is an unapologetic dream-chaser. But if I do not give him permission to fly, his dreams will never fully blossom. Once I threw my full weight behind our new clinic, I was able to offer him sound advice that protects our capital even as he invests. Because he trusts my advice and I trust his instincts (eventually), he tripled my initial investment for me and returned it to my private account. In turn, I took two-thirds out and gave it back to him to reinvest in the business. Life has been more than good to us. Glory is thriving and she is so excited to be a big sister. She talks to my belly everyday, telling her brother about her day at school and showing him her toys. She also warns him not to kick Mommy too hard and to play gently. She is a natural born protector already and the bond between my kids does my heart so much good.

Fear told me that my husband could not be trusted because he does not move through the world the same way I do. He is carefree where I am careful. He runs ahead when I want to wait and see. Instead of seeing our differences as our strength as a couple, I almost allowed the lies I believed to destroy my marriage.

We are still working through our differences. We get marital tune-ups every month from a licensed counselor. There are still times that I have to be the level-headed one in our home but now it is a joy rather than a hardship. To think I almost gave up my life for something as cheap as a quarter million dollars in savings.

What I have, right now with this man and our children, I cannot put a price on it. Money could never buy this kind of joy.

The End.

Uncategorized

Does God See Me?

February 19, 2019 Omowunmi

This week I felt forgotten. Not by my husband or loved ones, but largely by God. My reality is not matching what I know God has promised me and I started struggling to merge the two. For the fifth year in a row, I’ve had to miss a conference that I attended faithfully for nine years because responsibilities at home and finances no longer allow. It’s one thing to spend $200 for me to spend a weekend away and be immersed in all the things that feed me spiritually. It’s quite another to take $600 out of our household budget and pack up my two toddlers for a weekend away, with no help and no guarantee that I will be able to take part in any of the activities that feed my soul because I need to keep a watchful eye on my children.

So, I’m struggling at home and I didn’t get to spend time away to take care of my inner man. It was a double whammy of discouragement. I honestly do not like who I am when my emotions are in turmoil. I did more yelling at my children. I had more quiet resentment towards my husband. I resented the friends who have drifted out of my life because it would have been nice if someone had checked on me this week. I did not take joy in any of the things that typically bring me joy – a well-made meal, a house I didn’t have to clean, or playtime with my children. In short, I threw myself a pity party.

When it feels like God doesn’t see me, life loses a lot of joy. It feels like I’m doing life in my own strength and it is completely overwhelming. I waver between joy and despair as if there are two women living in my one body. But at the same time, I did not give myself permission to feel what I felt. With the agony of emotional turmoil was the guilt of feeling bad in the first place. My life is good. My family is healthy. Our needs are met. Being unhappy (or even *gasp* miserable) feels like the epitome of ungratefulness.

One of the best things I read this week said “God is not intimidated by my emotions.” I’m not too much for Him to handle. Nothing in my life takes God by surprise and that thought is infinitely comforting. In my head, I know God sees me. His word confirms it over and over again. But there a lot of times when what I know vehemently disagrees with what I feel. So, when I’m feeling unseen, unheard, unloved or unwelcomed – I will endeavor to believe my Creator more than my emotions. I pray you do the same.

life

Through The Fire

February 7, 2019January 31, 2025 Omowunmi

If you read through my blog, you might remember when I declared at the end of 2017 that 2018 was the best year of my life even though I hadn’t seen the year yet. I’m here to report that 2018 did not disappoint. I’ve had more joy and personal fulfillment in 2018 than any of my previous years combined.

Not that the enemy did not try.

We went through a nearly fatal car-accident, loved ones were hospitalized with less than favorable diagnosis and we had our low points but in the midst of it all, God has been more than faithful. The year 2018 saw me living my dreams for the first time in over 11 years. I no longer felt like a walking advertisement of all of my personal failures. In 2018, I made significant headway into becoming the woman I know that God desires for me to be.

2019 is an intentional year for me and my family. It’s the year that I’ve determined to build on the successes of 2018 and see breakthrough in old areas of stagnation by God’s grace. January gave me one of my biggest wins, the opportunity to move up professionally and earn a salary that could help my husband go back to school. Exactly two weeks after I was given the opportunity, I experienced the biggest blow of my career. A setback so devastating it seemed likely to swallow up everything I’ve worked for over the last 15 years of my life since I started on this career path.

Naturally, I’m a worrier. If we are late on a bill, I immediately imagine the worst – foreclosure, repossession, homelessness, being destitute on the street with nothing to show for our years of work. That’s how my natural mind is inclined – to imagine the worst and worry myself into an ulcer. It has taken years of training and retraining my mind away from imagining the worst when challenges present themselves to get to a place of peace. As someone who has been traumatized by lack, loss and life changes, any deviation from what I call the norm makes me nervous.

When this potential setback presented itself, my world crumbled around me. I had my first full-blown panic attack in years. I was screaming and shaking so violently that I scared my children (sorry, boys). Here was a manifestation of all my worst nightmares come to life – the thought that I could work hard for years to make a life for myself and those that I love and something can swoop down and steal it all away within seconds, never to be recovered again. To say that I was devastated is putting it lightly. I was absolutely inconsolably. I imagined all the ways my life would be forever changed and destroyed from that point on. I thought about all the people I would no longer be able to help because I couldn’t even help myself. I imagined all the dreams that would go unfulfilled in my life because surely, this is the end for me.

Faith, in that moment, had been swallowed up completely by fear. After having my initial meltdown, I started reaching for those whose faith could bolster mine when my heart was failing. I called my husband at work (for the first time ever). I called my best friends and then I called my army – the circle of prayer warriors that I have been cultivating pretty much all my life. My mom, one of my best friends in Rhode Island, and my mentor in Maryland. Over the course of the weekend, I poured my heart out to these ladies and received words of life. They reminded me who I was and what God has promised over me. They spoke the verses that had long fled my mind in a moment’s panic. They prayed and prophesied until my shrinking heart received new courage. I went in – a quivering mass of fear, but I came out a slightly shaky but steadfast woman of courage. Through it all, God has remained constant. When worry tried to overtake me, I would blast my music at full volume with lyrics that declare the faithfulness, might and sovereignty of God. When fear would peak around the corner, I began declaring to my own hearing “I choose faith over fear!” I repeated it so often it became a mantra. I’m sure I looked every bit of unstable to those on the outside looking in. I was literally walking through my day speaking audibly that “I choose faith over fear!” I was talking to myself!

I laugh now but whatever it would take for me to keep my mental health thriving and keep my heart from giving into defeat, that’s what I’ve had to do. I am still walking through the fire. I am still traveling through my storm. But the God who has promised me that the fire will not consume me and the flood will not overwhelm me is walking with me. I will not be afraid. I choose faith over fear.

More than anything else, my current place in life represents the fear I have allowed to grow into the Boogey Monster of failure and reproach. I thought since I conquered my fear of failure by taking bold steps of faith, I no longer had an issue with fear. It turns out that I only conquered one kind of fear in my life, not all of them. Certain things seem unlikely to happen so I’ve never had to question my disproportionate fear of the unknown until the unknown presented itself in such a threatening and forceful manner. The truth is that this fear is crippling – for it to trigger an anxiety attack that felt like I was drowning in air and moments away from a heart attack – this is not an every-day response. I am wholly convinced that the Lord is using this opportunity to deliver me from this fear. I have created a monster in my own mind and when a shadow that resembles my fear manifested itself, it literally almost took me out.

I refuse to be conquered by something without teeth, without claws and without form. As I walk this particular valley, I am looking forward to my victory over fear. Regardless of the outcome, I know that God will not allow anything in my life that He cannot use for my good and His glory. I’m not excited to be tried by fire. I know there are many more battles for me to win in this war and I’m sure there will be casualties as well as scars, but nevertheless I will not back down from the fight. I refuse to just curl up and die. I will come through the fire, and by God’s grace I know that I will not be destroyed.

No! Rather I will be refined as gold.

Story-telling

Ghost

November 30, 2018March 10, 2019 Omowunmi

Lacey shivered in delight when Daniel wrapped her in the warmth of his embrace. The fall air had grown brisk and her light cardigan did little to guard her against the chill. She could feel her very soul exhale as her body melted against him.

It feels good to be loved.

After six years, eleven months and three days of dating one guy after another,she finally found her soul mate. Daniel had been a casual acquaintance for decades. A familiar face that was always polite but never entered her orbit as anything more than a big brother type figure. He was five years older after all. They certainly did not have anything in common during her school years. He was eons ahead of her, practically a grown man as a college freshman while she was navigating the joys and sorrows of being a preteen.

When they met up at a mutual friend’s New Year’s Eve party, the sparks caught her off guard. Suddenly good ole Daniel felt less like a big brother and more like the answer to the prayer she had been too afraid to speak outloud. Lacey was ready for love in the New Year and Daniel fit her list of prerequisites to a T. It had been almost ten months and they were wholly inseparable. Forever was close enough to grasp in Lacey’s eyes.

Lacey considered Daniel her rainbow after the storm. Her last serious relationship was on-again and off again for five years. Rahim had been her boyfriend in every sense of the word except a title. They were inseparable but he would not make it official. “What’s understood does not need to be defined,” his favorite response when she pressed him to make their relationship exclusive. So for the years they were together, she was faithful – only entertaining other guys when her and Rahim were broken up – or in Rahim-speak “need to take time to think some things over.” Rahim on the other hand kept more than one relationship within arms reach at all times, often telling her about his latest or even current companion, dismissing some as nothing more than flings and glorifying others as the prototype for womanhood.

You can’t be broken up if you were not “together.” Lacey felt initially that Rahim was a drug she could not do without. No matter how many times they went their separate ways, if he called she answered. During their breaks, she would find herself with one guy or another, sometimes even in monogamous relationship yet still Rahim was orbiting in her space. She always knew when he was in a serious relationship or just hanging out with someone new. They conversed regularly even when he was committed to someone else.

“We are friends aren’t we?” He would chide her whenever she mentioned the inappropriateness of their conversations while he was in relationship with someone else. The words “my girlfriend” always felt like a dagger to the heart. Rahim has never once used that term in reference to Lacey, only with the women that came after her.

After her twenty-first birthday and looking at college graduation, Lacey began evaluating her relationship. She made a list of the pros and cons of her connection to Rahim. Pros – they had great chemistry. Rahim made her laugh and when they were together, the whole world fades away. Cons – he wouldn’t commit, he made her feel insecure and not good enough for commitment, he compared her to other women, he always came back in her life when things were stable and upend them, he interrupted her attempts at relationships with other men. On and on it went until the “cons” column was completely full. Lacey’s heart hammered at the thought of a life without Rahim.

She changed her number and deleted all of her social media to make a clean break for Rahim. She deserved love and Rahim was keeping her from it.

When Daniel proposed on her birthday the following month, the answer was a no-brainer. Spend the rest of her life with the man who has loved for best? Absolutely. Lacey wore her ring proudly, texting pictures of their private engagement to all of her friends and family. Her parents were surprised. They knew Daniel. He was a perfectly nice young man. The parental concern that debated whether he should have asked Lacey’s dad for her hand was quickly dismissed as old-fashioned by their only child. No one does that anymore. Besides, he wanted to keep it a surprise and just between the two of them.

Lacey floated into the new year on the wings of love. They had decided on a short engagement. Six months and not a day over. A spring wedding in the new year would be the perfect way to start their life together. Their anniversary was coming up, New Year’s Eve. Lacey and Daniel decided to make it a night to remember. He made reservations at the grandest hotel in the city. They would bring in the New Year on the rooftop with friends before retreating for a private celebration. Lacey’s head was swimming with possibilities. They hadn’t consummated their relationship – she was not ready and he didn’t push, but Lacey contemplated if their anniversary was the perfect night to give her future husband the gift of herself. They were practically married – and she needed to get over her apprehension regarding intimacy. The few times she had gotten close enough to consider sex with a partner, the awkwardness of it all had a chilling effect on all thoughts of getting hot and heavy. But things with Daniel had never been awkward – and their chemistry was palpable. If it would work with anyone it would be Daniel.

When the ball dropped in the middle of downtown, Lacey and Daniel shared a kiss that singed her senses. Her pulse hammered in her throat. Absolutely. Tonight.

Giddy with anticipation, Lacey floated around the room, doling out hugs and pecks to friends and acquaintances in the room. She left Daniel on the balcony as she chatted briefly with a college friend. Tyler was trying to get in contact with her old roommate – they dated ever so briefly in college and the new year had him trying to get that old thing back. Lacey texted her friend to get the okay before forwarding the number to Tyler. After a quick hug and pleasantries, Lacey was ready to get back to her man.

She scanned the balcony for Daniel’s familiar figure. Nothing

”Babe, where did you go?” She texted, brows furrowed. The message was opened but not replied.

Odd. Very odd. In their entire year together, Daniel has never once ignored a message from her.

“Babe, I’m worried. Call me!” She messaged again.

He read it at 12:36am.

12:45 almost ten minutes later and still, nothing.

She called him. It rang without interruption and went to voicemail.

”Babe, where are you? Are you okay? Call me! Please!”

Her first frantic message giving way to three more over the course of the next two hours. She probably called fifteen times. His phone wasn’t dead because it rang each time before going to voicemail. Anxiety turned to alarm which turned to panic. After asking everyone present and calling all mutual friends, Lacey gave up. Maybe he had too much to drink and was sleeping it off elsewhere. Maybe he lost his phone. She told herself not to worry. Daniel was smart and strong. He wouldn’t do anything foolish and he could take care of himself.

When 3am came and went, Lacey checked into their room alone and slept terribly. She was up at six and began trying his phone again. No response. Her friends also called him with no luck.

“Lord, please keep him safe,” she prayed between tears of anguish.

As hours turned into days, Lacey began calling Daniel’s family – they needed to know he was missing.

“Hi, Mrs. Pierce, it’s Lacey. I don’t want to alarm you but nobody has heard from Daniel since New Year’s Eve,” Lacey revealed carefully. She wanted to be sensitive but couldn’t afford to mince words. It’s been almost a week!

”Hey baby? You looking for Daniel? Sugar he’s right here! He drove in and surprised us for the New Year,” Daniel’s mom explained with a laugh.

He was at his parents? He drove from Maryland to Maine without so much as a text?! Was he insane?!

Worry quickly turned to fury as Lacey made the calculations. For all the hours she was calling and worrying on their anniversary, he was driving? While she was sleeping badly and alone in what should have been their magical night together, he was on his way to see his parents?

Lacey gave her best performance at nonchalance and ended the call with Daniel’s mom. Her fiancé was in for a world class fight whenever he decided to call her back.

When the week stretched into two weeks, Lacey’s anger began dissipating into worry and something else she couldn’t identify…dread perhaps.

Daniel was acting very out of character. There was still no calls and no replies to her texts. Maybe he was getting cold feet about the wedding? They had less than five months to plan their wedding now. Maybe he changed his mind about a short engagement.

When two weeks became almost a month, Lacey had carved out a new normal. She would call Daniel once in the morning to say hello to his voicemail and leave one text message in the afternoon. The man of her dreams was going through some sort of personal crisis. Until he was able to verbalize his struggles, it was up to her to ensure that he knew she had not abandoned him.

As their wedding date drew closer, Lacey retreated into herself. Thankfully they had not sent out engagement announcements or invitations so nobody knew her and Daniels timeline but for the two of them. Despite that saving grace, she did not want to answer questions about Daniel’s whereabouts from curious loved ones. None of her friends or family had seen him since the infamsous New Year’s Eve party. The less they saw of her, the less they would have to speculate about.

When she called Daniel’s number this time…it had been disconnected. A mixture of panic and relief washed over her. She wasn’t strong enough to stop going through the motions of reaching out to him. As long as his voicemail accepted her messages, there was hope that he would call back and they could fix what was broken. That hope was the most agonizing part of her ordeal. It taunted her relentlessly.

“You’re not gonna give up on him that easily are you? What happened to love? What about “for better or worse?” You were about to marry this man!”

Her thoughts haunted her relentlessly and kept her tied to the phone. Calling and texting daily with no response as only a deranged stalker would.

As her would-be wedding date drew nearer, Lacey came to terms with her situation. Over the last months, she had lost almost fifteen pounds from an already thin frame, she lost all interest in anything social and did the bare minimum not to get fired at her job. She did not respond to friends and had stopped visiting family. Her imaginary relationship with Daniel was a parasite that was leeching her dry. It was time to let him go.

As a symbolic release, Lacey changed her Facebook status to single. Her new relationship status had one like – Danielle, Daniel’s younger sister.

Lacey’s heart contracted painfully at the slight. Before she could stop herself, Lacey found her eyes roving over Danielle’s page for signs of Daniel. Her eyes immediately fastened on the large cover photo of Daniel and his entire family. Lacey recognized Daniel’s parents and his sister but the one unfamiliar face in the photo was a brunette with grey eyes standing between Danielle and her beloved brother. She knew before she read the caption.

“My brother and my new sister on their wedding day.”

The date was also familiar. May 1st, 2015, Five-one-fifteen. Like they always planned. Daniel was an apparition, a friendly ghost that haunted her life and gave her the best year of her life only to go to his eternal rest in the arms of another woman.

‘Love’ was a joke.

Uncategorized

I Am Tired, And I’m Not Sorry (Refusing The Lies I Believed About Marriage)

November 22, 2018March 10, 2019 Omowunmi

D2336B6C-F621-4972-9D3C-B30842F63C30 When I first got married, I was very much of the mind that marriage is ministry (I still believe it’s my primary mission field). After five years of marriage, I have realized that viewing my marriage as the be all end all of who I am as a woman can quickly give way to idolatry if left unchecked.

When I got married, I still had a lot of growing to do. Marriage immediately began challenging my immaturity, my people pleasing ways and my tendencies for unforgiveness when my feelings are hurt or I’ve been publically embarrassed. Having to do life with someone who is genuinely interested in my growth as person challenged me in a way I’ve never been challenged before. I was immediately enamored with the growth I saw in myself, emotionally, physically and spiritually. My husband was making me better.

I wouldn’t change being married because I believe it’s done me the most good out of anything I’ve done outside of myself in recent memory. But lately I’ve really had to revisit the truth that my husband is wholly inadequate as my source of joy and happiness.

We are going through perhaps our 100th transition as a family (job changes, move, new babies, schedule change, career change, change in responsibilities, new schools, new childcare, no childcare, staying home, working, working from home, job loss, long distance marriage – you name it, we’ve endured it). There has been no two seasons that have been alike in our house since 2013. And every change has required me to recalibrate to figure out what is best for our family.

Right now, our dynamics has me doing a lot of the heavy lifting with the kids and honestly I am exhausted. The level of support I need from my husband has skyrocketed and a lot of days I find myself angry or resentful if I feel I’m not getting what I need at home. Some days all I need are a few words of affirmation (“you’re doing a great job with the kids/I appreciate how hard you’re working”) other days I need my partner in life to jump right in there and roll up the sleeves. It would be nice to walk in at 7pm after a 12 hour day and meet a cleaned house and something to eat. More days than not, I’m walking in from a 50 hour work week to a house that has been destroyed since the last time I cleaned it, a sink full of dishes and the realization that there will be no dinner unless I provide it.

In short, my needs (for a clean house, a break from cooking and a night off mommy duties) are not being met. I look at my husband with a combination of anger and agony. Surely he sees that I need his help more than ever, right? This is not something I should have to put into words, right? The thoughts that knock me over in those moments run the gambit between “did I choose the wrong kind of man?” and “am I the wrong kind of woman?” Immediately my mind flashes to the last “bragging on my husband” posts from my fellow wives and sisters in the faith. One is commending her husband because he told her to go rest while he cleaned the house, prepared dinner and took sole responsibility of their newborn for the weekend. The other is thankful for a partner who supported her effortlessly when her career became more taxing. My chest tightens at the loss of something I’ve never had. The only time my husband has taken on a significant portion of the household responsibilities were the few times when I was medically unable to do so (pregnancy/post partum or serious illness). I literally remember three times in our five years together.

For the next several days, I beat myself up for choosing a man who much like both of our fathers, did less than the bare minimum around the house. It is my own fault for setting the impossible standard that I saw Nigerian mothers model and then grow to resent. A woman’s home is hers to keep. It was the wife’s job to cook, clean, take care of the children and her husband only needs to ‘help’ if he feels like it. I did it all as a new wife. I joyfully cooked three square meals, took pride in a spotless house that I cleaned all by myself and made sure I was at my husband’s beck and call without complaint. My husband loves me more than anyone else I know. He never took advantage of my selflessness and always told me how much he appreciated all of my efforts. I beamed and blossomed under the warmth of his approval. When we had our first child, reality started hinting at the fact that I could not keep up with the “perfect wife who does it all without complaint” ideal I had been working under for over a year. Sleep deprivation started grating on me. The unbalanced workload that required me to not only care for a newborn around the clock but somehow still manage all the cooking, cleaning, shopping and home economics while making myself as attractive and sexually desirable for my husband no longer felt like the joyous adventure it had been just a year before. I started folding under the pressure.

“I need help!” My thoughts would scream at me while I berated myself about the virtues of not being a “nag.” If I asked my husband to pull his own weight with the household chores, he would realize I wasn’t the perfect wife. He would know that I couldn’t “do it all.” He might even call me a nag. (And that was a fate worse than hell according to all the good Christian books about being a good homemaker). So I convinced myself to shut up about it and figure it out.

Being afraid to ask for what you need is a trauma response.

So we continued. Instead of stating plainly what was on my mind, I stuffed my feelings. The result would be months of supposed marital bliss and all of a sudden, I would explode about the most trivial thing (like the fact that he put a dish in the sink I just emptied). I was overreacting to minor triggers because I continued to under-communicate my actual needs, fears and concerns. Someone somewhere had convinced my subconscious that the only way to be successfully married was to put my husbands and children’s needs above my mental health, my need to be heard or my desire to be my husband’s partner in everything, household chores inclusive. On top of all my previous conditioning, I was also being severally warned that as a believer it was unconscionable of me to “scare” single believers away from marriage by saying it was hard or difficult or challenging. So I fell in line and hushed my mouth. Nobody cares anyway if I was exhausted. I needed to take a page from all the generations of faithful women before me and make my home a success even if I was killing myself in the process.

Besides, there was a huge part of me that still believed that my husband was not helping me because I did not deserve his help. When I see my friends whose husbands handle majority of the household chores or who split the responsibilities evenly between both spouses, I would tell myself that it was because they had succeeded where I failed. Maybe they paid enough attention during their courtship phase not to choose or marry a man who was not as equally capable and willing to take care of their home. I was the only one who cooked or cleaned during our courtship (his place was always a mess and he never had a meal prepared) and I’m still there today. Or maybe their husbands simply valued their financial contribution so highly that it was a no-brainer for household chores to fall into the husband’s territory. For someone who had been told point-blank by well-meaning elders that if I did not earn an adequate salary, I would be a ball and chain around my husband’s neck – my lack of wages was a huge source of shame for me in marriage. Maybe I didn’t deserve my husband’s help because I had not earned it.

In all of my preparation for marriage I have also been consciously or subconsciously indoctrinated with the believe that in order to be loved, I must be perfect. “Don’t do this or your husband might feel this,” “ don’t say that or you might damage your marriage.” I have imbibed all the lessons like a dutiful student because the result was supposed to be a perfect marriage where all of my needs are met and my husband feels like the luckiest man in the world. That has not materialized.

I love my husband more than any other human being on this earth. He is one of the kindest and most generous people I know. He is brilliant in an uncommon way and he loves with a purity I’ve never met in any other human being. Our marriage is affair-proof because I will go to actual jail (law license and all) if anyone ever disrespects our union. Even with all of his virtues, my husband makes a terrible god. Pinning all of my hopes and dreams for happiness on the man I love would be a fate worse than death for us. Considering the number of times we fail each other even in the tiny, insignificant things, my marriage would never survive if what holds it together is my husband’s ability to never let me down in any way shape or form. Being married to someone who is amazing in all the ways that matter but still so deeply flawed that it creates some level of disappointment in me as his spouse is a great reminder that he can’t be my purpose in life. Marriage is a vehicle to my God-ordained purpose but marriage itself is not my purpose on this earth. Marriage does not satisfy all the longings of my soul, all the emptiness in my feelings or all the desires of my heart. Marriage is not a reward for good behavior or abstinence. Just because you married in Christ does not mean your spouse becomes Jesus Christ, Jr. and your marriage will never have any difficulties or challenges. You do not have to be perfect to be married, stay married, or enjoy your marriage.

I thoroughly love being married to my husband but I’m learning that it is okay to admit that there are parts of my marriage that I would change if I had the power. Because I don’t have the ability to create my husband in the image I prefer, I have to rely on divine grace to do the things that are just too hard for my flesh or emotions. Like not keeping a record of how many times I’ve felt unloved because I was not help. Like giving him what he needs even when my needs feel ignored (because I have not spoken them out of fear or because he is not equipped to meet them). Marriage refines my character in a way that nothing else has done. There’s almost nowhere else that requires me to stop making myself the center of my own universe and consider something or someone else beyond my feelings, my needs, my wants and me me me. Marriage is hard because I’m constantly asked to prioritize another human being’s needs rather than just my own. And I’m doing this with no guarantees that my spouse is equally prioritizing my needs rather than just his own. When it feels like I’m doing all the work alone, I remind myself to talk to the man I married instead of living in my own head and creating the worst case scenarios. Whenever I work up courage to actually ask for what I need or verbalize what I feel, I’ve been met with grace, mercy and unconditional love. My husband is not the source of these virtues but it always blesses me most when he’s the vessel that God uses to lavish them on me.