The first thing anyone is going to tell you as a newly married couple is that marriage is hard.

They are wrong.

Marriage isn’t hard, well, my marriage isn’t hard. My marriage isn’t hard because it is where I belong. I remember years ago, 16 to be exact, I was a bright eyed engaged gal working at an Earls where I shamelessly showed off my ring to anyone who would stand still long enough, reveling in the appraising looks. One customer though, stopped me in my tracks. She was the brassy feminist type with Sally Jesse glasses and a handbag made by hand in an African village. She wore capes. Got it? Good. “Aren’t you so scared to belong to another person?” she demanded, her eyes widening in terror under the garish glass lenses.I remember feeling immediately angry and defensive. I could not comprehend her lack of enthusiasm for Trevor wasn’t going to put me in a hole and make a dress out of my skin, he just wanted to marry me for God’s sake! What was wrong with that? I wouldn’t belong to anyone, who did this woman think she was?

I was wrong. I have been married for almost fifteen years and I can tell you, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I, Laurie Lyons, belong to my husband, Trevor.

Absolutely.

I am his and if he was writing this, he would tell you the same thing. He belongs to me.

I belonged to Trevor on our wedding day, which we paid for all by ourselves and somehow pulled off the party of the decade with stolen wine, borrowed decorations, and a drunk DJ. He belonged to me when he wept holding our first child, his big eyes squinting with joyful tears. I belonged to him the day a doctor looked me in the eye and told me we were going to lose our second baby and all I felt was Trevor’s arms wrap around me as he took the brunt of my rage and pain. He belonged to me when I shook my head to explain that I knew in my soul that this baby would be just fine and he trusted me completely to know myself and my body. I belonged to him when that baby was born as perfect as the sun and thrived and grew into the little girl that cuddles us and is considering shaving half her hair off.

He belonged to me on the morning of my mother’s funeral when he whispered to me that everything was going to be okay and I believed him even as I sobbed. I belong to him when we walk in somewhere and I see his chin lift a little in pride because he thinks I am the most beautiful, charming woman in the room. He belonged to me the other day as I moved his mother into a home, one that she is far too young to have to go to, and settled her into the bed like a child. I belong to him when we sigh together, in exhaustion, or joy, or pride, or in the quiet after the kids go to bed. We belong to that moment. To each other.

I belong to him every day when he makes me laugh so hard my cheeks ache, or we worry about money or plan a vacation, or get a ticket, are late, clean up vomit or dance the polka in the kitchen because the kids think it’s funny.

I belonged to him this morning when he woke up and the first thing he said was, “I like your face.” I belong to him, more and more everyday of our fifteen years of marriage, not because of some patriarchal notion that I am property, but because I choose to belong to someone who makes me a better person.

People always say that marriage is hard. I disagree. Marriage is easy, life is hard but life becomes a whole lot easier if you are willing to belong to each other. It is that simple. Allow your soul to be possessed by another and take the responsibility of theirs. Be open. Surrender to each other and then you will know the magical sweet spot that is…my marriage.

I belong….here.

About Laurie:

Laurie is the author of ‘The Feather Trilogy’ with Ring of Fire Publishing and various short stories with Little Bird Publishing and Twisted Core press. She writes a foul mouthed blog  about her misadventures with Celiac Disease and contributes to Scary Mommy. She lives in Canada with her two spawn and the most patient husband in the world. You can stalk Laurie on Twitter ,Facebook . Check out her Website for updates on her newest novel, ‘The Wilds’.

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