It’s April 1983, my loyal boyfriend of four years was graduating from university in June and already had a great job lined up. I had been working for two years and doing very well – bought my first car and was making big bank. So what was the logical next step for a couple of 19 year olds with a bright future?
Lets get married! Plan for a house, a family. The joy that is suburban living!!
While the two of us didn’t give this too much thought as we concentrated more on individual careers, our parents were definitely ahead of us. As far as we were concerned, we enjoyed each other’s company and had good times together. We had no idea that other options existed.
So began the journey of the wedded bliss. Not to blame Endicott, but that was as romantic as the proposal got. Looking back, we were pushed into an event that our parents wanted and drove versus an event we should have considered a while longer.
I really didn’t know what I wanted except to get out of my parent’s home. I had not experienced even a room of my own much less a life on my own. I did have sexual fantasies that I did not share with Endicott (because good Catholic girls don’t have fantasies) and certain desires I should have explored further. And for goodness sake we should have talked more about having kids or not!
Thus began our journey into the traditional marriage model of ethical monogamy. The next 30 years tested our relationship: individual vs. couple vs. other people’s needs. Our unvoiced desires. Our assumptions. What it really meant to compromise oneself without loosing oneself.
Frustration and anger persueth all in living in the bubble of happily ever after.
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