Love, Laundry, and Learning to Speak Human Again
Some nights, my husband and I pass each other like coworkers on a long shift.
“Did you feed the dog?”
“Did you switch the laundry?”
“Did you schedule the dentist?”
Sexy stuff.
Marriage, they say, is hard work.
But they forget to mention that the “work” sometimes looks like arguing over how to load a dishwasher correctly or trying not to lose your mind when your spouse breathes too loudly while you’re already overwhelmed.
(It’s not them. It’s the moment. But still—please breathe quieter.)
We’ve been married seven years.
We have a five-year-old, full lives, and full calendars.
And in the blur of responsibilities and “just trying to survive the week,” it’s easy to forget we were lovers before we became managers of the house.
Sometimes we talk logistics more than love.
Sometimes we show up with short answers, tired eyes, and not enough left over for each other.
Sometimes we miss each other—while standing in the same room.
And still—we stay.
We reach.
We try again.
He doesn’t always know what to do with all of me.
The feelings.
The spiraling thoughts.
The vulnerability that feels like both a gift and a test.
And I don’t always know what to do with him—
The quiet.
The practical.
The way he says everything’s fine while clearly radiating not fine energy.
We are very different people who chose the same life.
And that’s both the tension and the miracle.
Love, in real time, is less about candlelit dinners
And more about who remembers to buy coffee filters.
It’s learning that sometimes “I’m fine” actually means
“Please ask again.”
It’s laughing in the kitchen
Even after we just bickered about who left the fridge open.
It’s apologizing when you were technically right
But relationally… wrong.
(It’s me. I’m wrong. But also I’m a little right.)
It’s learning how to keep reaching—
Even when the silence feels safer.
Even when your nervous systems are both fried.
Even when it would be easier to scroll or shut down.
This season of marriage isn’t about fireworks.
It’s about firewood.
About keeping the flame lit when the wind howls
And the days blur.
It’s about seeing the person you chose
Through the chaos, through the kids, through the fatigue—
And choosing them again.
And again.
And again.
If you’re in the thick of marriage right now—
If you’re doing more surviving than serenading—
If connection feels like something you have to work for…
You’re not alone.
It’s not broken.
It’s just real.
Leave a comment and tell me how you keep choosing each other in the middle of life’s mess.
Here’s to staying soft, staying honest, and staying in it.
With grace and grit,
–J
Steele Water 
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