What If Marriage Isn't Supposed to Make You Happy?

As Jermaine and I close out the month celebrating 25 years of marriage, I've been thinking about something that might sound a little controversial.

What if marriage isn't supposed to make you happy?

Now, before anyone starts worrying about us, let me explain.

I absolutely believe marriage should have happiness.

We've had a lot of it.

We've laughed until we couldn't breathe. We've traveled, raised four children, built businesses, celebrated victories, created traditions and shared more ordinary moments than we could ever count.

I love being married to Jermaine.

But after 25 years, I don't believe my happiness is Jermaine's responsibility.

And his happiness isn't mine.

If happiness had been our only measure of whether our marriage was working, we probably would have misunderstood some of its most important seasons.

Because sometimes marriage has made me uncomfortable.

It has challenged me.

It has exposed things in me that I probably wouldn't have confronted on my own.

My impatience.

My expectations.

My communication.

My need to be understood before trying to understand.

The temptation to keep score.

The tendency to focus on what Jermaine needs to change while conveniently overlooking what God may be trying to change in me.

That's not always fun.

But it has been necessary.

Marriage has been one of my greatest mirrors.

When someone lives close enough to you for 25 years, they eventually bump into the parts of you everyone else gets to avoid.

And you bump into theirs.

That's when it becomes easy to think:

"Why does he keep doing this?"

"Why can't she just understand?"

"Why can't they be more like..."

But we're learning to ask a different question:

"What is this revealing in me?"

Sometimes the answer is something I need to communicate.

Sometimes it's a boundary.

Sometimes Jermaine really does need to change something.

And sometimes...

It's me.

Marriage has also taught us to remember that we're not just married to behaviors.

We're married to people with stories.

Jermaine has wounds.

I have wounds.

We both walked into this marriage with experiences, fears, expectations and ways of protecting ourselves that existed long before we said, "I do."

That doesn't excuse hurtful behavior.

But it does make room for compassion.

Instead of always asking,

"Why are you doing this to me?"

we're learning that sometimes the better question is,

"What's happening with you?"

There's a big difference.

One assumes intention.

The other makes room for understanding.

Maybe marriage is designed for something deeper.

Our faith has taught us to look at marriage differently over the years.

I don't believe God gave Jermaine to me simply to keep me happy.

I believe God has also used our marriage to grow me.

To teach me patience because I've needed patience.

Grace because I've needed grace.

Forgiveness because I've needed to forgive—and be forgiven.

Compassion because the person standing across from me isn't simply my husband.

He's a human being who is still growing too.

And perhaps one of the greatest gifts of marriage is having someone close enough to see who you are, who you've been, and who you're still becoming—and choosing to keep growing alongside you.

25 Years in 25 Lessons

Lesson #4: Don't measure your marriage only by how happy it makes you. Pay attention to who it's helping you become.

Happiness matters.

Joy matters.

Laughter matters.

But so do growth, character, forgiveness, accountability, grace and the willingness to become better people together.

Twenty-five years later, we're still working on all of it.

Sunday Reflection

The next time you're frustrated with someone you love, before asking what they need to change, try asking:

"Is there anything this moment is revealing about me?"

The answer may not always be comfortable.

But sometimes the uncomfortable places are exactly where growth begins.

Until Next Sunday

This month we've shared more about our marriage than we normally do.

Not because we've figured it all out.

We haven't.

We've simply lived enough life together to know that a strong marriage isn't one long happily-ever-after.

It's two imperfect people learning.

Changing.

Forgiving.

Laughing.

Starting over when necessary.

And continuing to choose one another along the way.

Twenty-five years ago, we said "I do."

Twenty-five years later, we're learning that sometimes marriage asks us to say it again in a thousand different ways.

And we still do.

Until next Sunday,

Catron & Jermaine Turner
JPix Studio

Twenty-five years. Countless lessons. Still learning.

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