I was raised by a U.S. Marine. I'm the oldest of four children and find leadership roles enjoyable. I'm the person you'd lean on if you needed a shoulder to cry on. I'm the friend you'd call if you wanted someone on your side. And I'm the mother of four who demands respect and tolerates nothing less. As you can imagine, when I was a newly married woman, I was a real peach. I challenged my husband regularly. I was the daughter of a hard-chargin' Marine after all. There wasn't a hill I wouldn't die on. I believed I was right on everything, so everything was up for a fight, at all costs.
"Why are you paying the bills that way?" "Why am I putting gas in the car again?" "Are you seriously wearing that shirt?" "We should leave for your parents' house earlier than that." "Why did you tell him no I just told him yes?" I'd challenge his answers on almost any of the above. On and on it went until one fateful evening.
After making some new friends, the four of us decided to go out for dinner together. My new friend challenged her husband on just about everything. No matter how inconsequential, whenever her husband spoke, she interrupted him. "Sweetheart, you're wrong, that's not what she said." "Why are you having lasagna? You told me you were in the mood for steak?" "The kids were five and three, not six and four."
This poor man was being nitpicked to death. And his wife was choosing ludicrous hills to die on.
I left the restaurant that evening trying hard to convince myself that my hills were different and much more important. Except I couldn't shake the feeling I was looking into a full-length mirror.1