I'm mesmerized by spring. Flowers I thought were crushed and lifeless under the weight of months of snow come back to life. I'm most fascinated by crocuses, the earliest-blooming flowers. Their stems push through inches of frost and ice, braving the cold to broadcast their dedication and beauty. The first glimpse of green despite the freezing surroundings makes me stop in my tracks and admire something I forgot even existed.
I'm beginning to see how similar my marriage is to that delicate crocus. Like most relationships, my husband and I couldn't get enough of each other when we were dating. We stayed up much too late talking on the phone and spent the majority of our free time together. Our relationship went to an even deeper level after we got married. We laughed way too much. Had food fights. Shared our hearts and dreams. But then something happened.
Last winter, as the snow fell and life became barren, our marriage followed suit. I can't pinpoint what changed. Perhaps it came from years of issues we thought were resolved yet really stayed just below the surface, ready to jump back to the forefront whenever we got into a fight. Maybe it came as a result of the fact that I was working on a big project that demanded more of my time and energy. Maybe it was the seven-year itch I'd heard others warn me about. I can't say. All I know is that everything in our relationship changed and I didn't like it. More accurately, I didn't like my husband. I voiced my complaints. Loudly.1