Happy Wedding Anniversary To Me: When Marriage Feels Lonely
When Marriage Feels Lonely: A Reflection on Love and Absence
Happy Anniversary to me.
But here I am, alone.
Well, not technically alone. There’s a handful of children in the house – ours. But that’s the thing about loneliness. It has little to do with how many people surround you and everything to do with how many truly see you.
In 18 years of marriage, this isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way. Sadly, it’s become familiar.
This loneliness is an echo from childhood. Back then, it came from being the quiet one in a house full of noisy people. A sister with the opposite temperament. A family too busy to notice my melancholia. Books were my refuge, and in their pages, I imagined a long-lost twin who knew me instinctively. Who saw through me and spoke to my soul.
That fantasy eventually gave way to a hope—marriage. If not a twin, then maybe a soulmate.
When I met my husband, it felt like that dream was coming true. We shared so much: a love for martial arts, swimming, strong faith, and deep prayer. Our values aligned, even if our upbringings had different tones.
But marriage, as I would find out, is not always what we dream it to be.
Soon after the wedding, I discovered a shocking truth: my husband is a man. And I am a woman.
We could walk into a room and notice the same things. Think similar thoughts. But how we process those thoughts, how we respond—worlds apart.
He’s a man of rugged faith. He embraces discomfort. Craves the Spartan life. I’m strong too, but I do not long for opportunities to practice enduring hardship.
“This man would live in a tent if I let him,” I’ve often thought. He’s the kind of father who teaches his daughters to walk barefoot indoors like Maasai warriors, insists farts should be set free, and once encouraged them to hunt roaches before calling an exterminator.
Food? Don’t get me started. We’ve lived through his mono-diet phases: ground rice and okra soup only (once a day), oranges and bananas only (twice a day), cucumbers, coconuts, and fried fish (twice a day). The pièce de résistance? A plain, scratched-up plastic plate—his chosen vessel for every meal. Every plea to upgrade it failed. So I gave up.
That’s marriage for you: picking your battles.
So here I am today—our wedding anniversary. He returned from a trip mid-week, was here this morning, and then left again. He’s been pastoring a church in another city, an hour’s flight away, and goes every weekend. Every single one, except one, in recent months.
Even last Christmas, he invited me to join him—leaving our five children at home, alone, on Christmas Day.
It broke my heart.
They were brave. They tried not to make us feel bad.
And me? I try to roll with the punches.
Sometimes I hear myself think: “Many women cry because their husbands are out drinking, cheating, or battling addiction. Yours is out preaching. Boo-hoo.”
So no, I won’t feel sorry for myself. Today, I’ll dress up, take myself out, and celebrate anyway. Because being lonely with a man on a mission is still better than being lonely with no one at all… right?
Who am I kidding?
Someone, please tell me: where do I report a husband who’s run away with a church?
If you liked this post, you will enjoy: Things that Shocked me About Marriage.
The Third Person in My Marriage
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