There was an era in my life where romance was a genre that left me in a state of intense longing. Romance was something I deeply craved but was yet to have. Intimacy, desire, fun, intense emotions and a racing heart; gosh, it all seemed so wondrously delightful.

Five years of marriage, and two kids later, I find myself now watching romance movies from the other side. It’s something I have now.

Is it a romance like the movies?

No; but also, yes. I suppose depends on the movie.

A good romance should ignite something within you: desire, longing, joy, happiness–but most of all, a fire or a burning sensation in the depths of your being. Moreover, when you partner a good romance with a good marriage, the flame burns not for a different life, but for your life. You remember the youthful, yet unquenchable love. The passion. The lack of self restraint and logic. At the heart of it all, you just wanted to be with them. All the time, in every space.

My husband and I’s love for one another was like a freight train, and there was nothing that could stop its force.

Dating him was one of the most exhilarating seasons of my life. We were young, yes, but our love was real and authentic; and last night, after finishing a TV series that, for us, was an enticing romance, my husband turned to me and said that he doesn’t regret any of it. Neither do I.

Our love for each other has changed, of course. The first time I held my husband’s hand it felt like electricity. Now, it feels different. It feels like oneness. Peace. Security. Calm. Your love changes and grows into something unique. Marriage is a form of art. You create something new, unique, beautiful and good.

My husband and I have built a life together. That life now includes two little boys; and on the other side of having our second son, I feel as though something new has been unlocked within me. In many ways I feel like an altogether different person. My emotions feel especially more raw and authentic. When I feel sad, I really, really, feel sad. It’s uncomfortable and new for me.

At the same time, it also feels vaguely familiar. I feel like a child again. I feel like my younger, sensitive, insecure self; and often, I feel like I’m merely a little child pretending to parent my two children.

For a lot of my life, I hid behind the security of being right. I was a debater. I remember my late grade six teacher saying that I would make a good lawyer. Being smart, knowing the answer–it brought me a lot of security. Beneath that, though, was just a little girl who didn’t know who she was.

Putting on a front that you have it all figured out, or living in fear because you don’t, but you still think that somehow having the answer all the time is the only way to have some sense of wholeness or security–gosh, that is an exhausting and terrifying place to life. It’s also very lonely; no one has all the answers, and no one has it all figured out. You’re trying to be someone you’ll never be, and do something you’ll never achieve. You’re pretending to exist in a space where nobody exists. It takes an incredible amount of energy, and has no reward. In my experience, all it results in is an incredible amount of anxiety,

My husband and I did not have it all together when we got married. But we were honest with each other. That honesty created a sense of safety for our love to grow. And we really did love each other (still do). Marrying him was easy. (being with him still is).

If anything, it’s life that’s hard on us. It’s being an adult that’s hard.

Are any of us truly adults? Do we ever grow up? Or are we all just children who learn to hide? Do we just get really good at dress up?

I’ve lost myself and found myself as a wife and a mother. For so long, I thought that finding myself meant growing older, and maybe it still does. But right now, I feel like all I’ve found is a little girl. I just keep coming back to her. I can’t escape her. I’ve spent a lot of time ignoring her existence; but now that isn’t working, and I’ve realized that I’ve actually been despising that little girl.

I really don’t think hatred gets us anywhere good. So now I’m trying something new. I’m trying to befriend her. And, just maybe, when I accept and love that little girl, she will fade and I will merely be the woman that I am now. Maybe she will no longer haunt and control me. Maybe she will finally find rest.

My husband befriended that little girl. He saw her before I could. He has been a shelter for her wounds.

We were just kids when we fell in love, right?

I wonder if maybe that’s what keeps marriage alive. Friendship and not growing up, even though we grow old. Unclothing ourselves and finding our wonder filled child within. Knowing that the woman and men that we are, mature as we may seem, carry with us a sense of childlike vulnerability.

To be mature without, gloom. Thomas Aquinas prays this. It has always stuck with me. I hope that our marriage will mature without gloom. That life won’t harden us and make us bitter or full of despair and lifelessness. That though we take on responsibility, and become the adults we need to be, and a shelter for our boys, that we continue to be kids, and have fun, and enjoy each other’s company forever.

I hope that we continue to find that romance and flame that burns for intimacy and excitement and fun. I hope we continue to love each other with honesty and safety and creativity, and make space for us to find ourselves and our place in the universe. That we find truth, goodness, and beauty within the walls of our home. That we always feed that unquenchable flame within.

Gosh, how do I conclude?

I love my husband. He makes me feel alive. He makes me love life. Marriage with him, is the best romance genre I could ever ask for.