Vachon Imagined

When my husband and I first got married, we eagerly read the book everyone was talking about: The Five Love Languages. It was enlightening, truly.

I learned that I receive love through physical touch and acts of service. My husband? Words of affirmation came in not only first place, but second and third as well. If there had been a fourth category called “more words of affirmation,” it would have ranked fourth.

The man runs on compliments.

Meanwhile, I viewed compliments the way some people view jury duty: necessary, perhaps, but not something I’d voluntarily sign up for.

In the beginning of our marriage, every time I tried to affirm him, I would throw up in my mouth a little.

“Thanks, honey, for doing the dishes.”

Tiny gag.

“Thanks, honey, for doing the laundry.”

Moderate gag.

“Thanks, honey, for taking out the trash.”

Full-body eye twitch.

Part of me genuinely wanted to meet his needs. The other part was conducting an internal investigation.

Why am I thanking a grown man for participating in the household he also lives in?

Then I’d catch myself negotiating.

Fine. I’ll tell him he’s wonderful, but this better count as at least three hugs and a back rub later.

Apparently, I approached love languages the way a banker approaches a mortgage.

Nothing was free.

Everything had terms and conditions.

And yet, there was my husband, looking genuinely filled up by a simple, “Thank you, honey. I appreciate you.”

It was baffling.

One compliment and the man would light up like I’d handed him a winning lottery ticket and tickets to the Super Bowl.

Meanwhile, I was over here thinking, Sir, all I did was acknowledge your existence.

But because I loved him, I kept practicing.

Over time, something changed. The more I practiced, the more natural it became. What once felt forced eventually became first nature instead of second. I’ve done a good job learning to speak his language.

But that’s only half the story of marriage.

The other half begins when one person—or both people, at different times—feel they are not getting what they need.

That is when marriage can start to feel less like a relationship and more like a cage.

A prison.

Marriage becomes a prison when bargaining replaces giving, when convenience replaces honesty, when fear of rocking the boat becomes more important than truth. It happens when we make an idol of our needs and quietly place conditions on our love.

I’ll love you if.

I’ll stay if.

I’ll give if you give.

Without realizing it, we push the limitless love of God outside the marriage and replace it with negotiation.

We honor our spouses for what they provide, but struggle to honor them for who they are when they cannot provide what we want. Sometimes they cannot meet our deepest needs. Sometimes they may never be able to.

And that is where the real work begins.

Because the needs we believe are most important are often the very things we place above God, above our spouse, and even above our own freedom.

What makes marriage a prison is not the other person. It is the belief that they hold the key.

A secure marriage is not a place where two people endlessly meet each other’s needs. It is a place where two people can set down their armor. A place where they can stop performing, stop bargaining, stop pretending, and finally rest.

I believe that is what marriage was intended to be.

Yet many of us become so busy pursuing our dreams, raising children, building careers, and creating the life we imagined that we forget the person who needs our attention most.

It is not our spouse.

It is not our children.

It is not our job.

It is ourselves.

We must learn how to be with ourselves—the good, the bad, the ugly, and the unmentionable. We must learn to accept the parts of ourselves we spend so much energy hiding from.

Only then can we truly love another person.

Only then can we allow them to be who they are instead of who we need them to be.

Only then can love become free enough to stay.

And free enough to leave when leaving is the last remaining path to truth.

Because love is not possession.

Love is the willingness to let another person be.