At the top of the list of ‘Shit I cannot stand‘ is the masses attempting to convince me that true happiness is marrying your best friend.
Listen, had I married my best friend he’d have great tits, a minor Starbucks addiction and 10,000 meaningless texts from me on a daily basis that are heavy on the memes. He would go for pedi’s with me every two weeks, he would take me dancing, make every happy hour and he would read my books (with feedback). He would sit for hours and listen to me talk about absolutely nothing and he’d like it.
And before the ‘experts’ weigh in on the fact that I have no way of speaking for the entire married/committed population this is me telling you, I’m not.
I’m speaking for myself and women like me who did not marry their best friend and are sick of being led to believe we’ve committed a crime.
When I hear ‘he’s my best friend’, I’m the asshole when I raise my hand and say, yeah ‘well mines not.’ For the life of me I cannot understand why this is met with weird looks. As if by not doing this I’m somehow less… That we aren’t as committed. That we’re frauds.
So what that we run in completely different directions, intersecting often but not constantly? Neither one of us needs to be in the others presence 24/7. You could straight up ask him what he thought about spending all of his free time with me and you know what? He wouldn’t answer you with words. You’d know by the look of horror on his face.
For us, being together too much is a bad thing. (Especially when I’m drinking) We need our apart time and you know what? It’s healthy and it’s OKAY.
He’s fun, I’m fun on crack and an empty stomach.
He’s quiet, I’m not.
He likes sports, I like chaos.
He hates concerts, I hate Two and half men. (Fucking awful)
While we both hate most people, he’s good at playing it off. I’m not.
We like being apart. We like this a lot.
We like what comes after we’ve been apart. We like this a lot more.
We have mutual friends, we have separate friends. We have lives.
I like rap and metal and he likes… it doesn’t matter because his taste in music sucks. But he thinks mine does too so it works.
I don’t watch TV. If he had the ability, he’d become a TV.
He has his crew, I have mine.
For me, my husband doesn’t need to be my best friend nor do I want him to be my best friend because my girlfriends give me something my husband never will and quite frankly, he shouldn’t have to.
We share a commonality as women that is powerful, hilarious, unbreakable, therapeutic and sometimes felonious but that’s not the point. While he is many things to me, he is not my sister. When I need to vent about women shit or the mysterious black hair on my chin and oh yes, even about him, my girlfriends provide this for me. I’m not putting every single emotion I own in his lap because the weight would be too much for him. This I learned the hard way. Not his fault either. It’s just that I am a handful and to deal with me he needs more hands. Hence, the sisters.
Again, if you and your hubs have this, rock-the-fuck-on. But understand that I don’t have this and I don’t want this. I’m not the easiest woman to be married to. I am impulsive, I bore easily, I cannot sit still, I am impulsive, I get pissed easily, I am impulsive, I repeat myself, I stew, I sometimes need to fly and I need him there when I’m ready to come back down. And he’s always there and for a solid half hour he listens to me talk about it but I know when he’s done. I respect that he’s done and when we reach that point I phone a sister.
My friends and I fill a gap for each other that men, (at least ours) cannot. And that’s OKAY. Being my best friend is a full time fucking job with shit pay.
We have enough daily shit to sift through without my nagging that he doesn’t get me or that he should want to go see Rihanna when I already know he hates concerts. When he says, take one of the girls it’s not a brush off, it’s him loving me enough to know I’d have a ball with or without him. Only in this, his suffering doesn’t begin until I get home and I recap the entire night.
And I do, recap that is.
It is not his responsibility to be my everything all the time. It’s not mine to be his either. To be each others everything is too much pressure.
This is our balance and over the years I have heard so much I’ve stopped counting, “I don’t see how you two work. You’re so different.”
Different is good and anyone that tells you otherwise is full of shit.
We make beautiful memories together, we laugh, we share and we bond in our own way. We rarely tell each other no and I excel at giving him reason to say no but he doesn’t. Because he gets me, he knows what I need, what he can provide and he sees how important sisters are to me. Sisters are important to our marriage just like brothers are important to our marriage.
He is my husband.
I am his wife.
We are not best friends.
We are mates.
We are connected.
We are balanced.
My husband and I chose to marry, to commit but even if we hadn’t made it legal but chose to stay together it doesn’t make what we have less valid. My sisters and I chose to be friends, to fulfill each other in meaningful ways. Like my husband, we are choosing to grow old together, make memories and laugh. To have a husband who understands this, to have sisters who need this like I do, brings me riches beyond measure. For me, it’s the very best of both worlds.
Two healthy loving relationships that bring me a peace and balance where both compliment each other perfectly. He loves my friends, my friends love him. They all love me. I’ve been with him nearly twenty years and at forty that is half my life. So when I’m told that happiness is marrying your best friend I roll my eyes because what works for one doesn’t work for all. And quite frankly I’m tired of the term best friend being applied to every solid relationship I have. I don’t have best friends, I have relationships. But I only have one husband and that part of my life is cared for in an entirely different way than the other. He gets a part of me they don’t. A part exclusively for him. He makes me better, he drives me nuts and he’s who I fall asleep with every night. On a night when we’re apart he is on my mind before I crash and I think of him when I wake up.
But make no mistake, in the beginning I wanted him to be my best friend, thought he was too. That was an uphill battle for both of us when neither could get it right and spent more time fighting then enjoying our life. The day I realized we weren’t best friends felt like a physical blow to my heart. I had failed him, screwed us up.
When what I needed was perspective and to think for myself, about what worked best for us. Following others examples was killing us especially when I never agreed with it in the first place! Because all I’ve ever heard was, you marry your best friend.
Someone made it a rule and it stuck.
Yes well, fuck the rules, listen to each other, argue about it and make adjustments as needed. When I took the weight from his lap and divvied it up between sisters we both flourished. Odd things started to happen like; I stopped being resentful, giving him grief for not understanding what I needed and expecting him to read my mind. Because he was already providing for me. What was missing was what I needed from my sisters and holy shit am I lucky I figured that out.
This is our balance.
This is something beyond best friends.
To this day he is the only man I see.
So I did not marry my best friend.
I married the man of my fucking dreams.
Hugs -n- shit,