November always brings me back to gratitude, not just the kind we post about, but the kind that’s forged in the fire. The gratitude that shows up after the hard thing, when you realize the breaking wasn’t an ending, but an opening.
After 25 years, John and I almost decided to call it quits, for real and for good.
Let me tell you what happened. John and I have been married for 25 years, together for nearly 27. I’ve been with this man since I was 24 years old, more than half my life. We’ve done the deal. Loved hard, fought hard. Bought a house. Raised kids. Got a cat. Lived through deaths. And yes, we’ve hurt each other.
Like every couple, we came into this relationship with very different ideas about how to love and be loved. And while we’re best friends, we sometimes miss the mark on making each other feel important, valued, and seen.
We’re both natural leaders, independent, opinionated, and entrepreneurial, with different triggers, rhythms, and values. And while we agree on most things, sometimes we hit each other’s old wounds. We sure activate them, but not on purpose.
Our emotional cycle usually goes like this:
I ask John to do something. He says he will, and he means it, but it doesn’t always happen. I feel unseen and ask again. He repeats the same pattern. I pile on another request. He says yes again, means it, and still doesn’t follow through. Rinse and repeat.
Eventually, he explodes. He gets big, then quiet, and pulls away. Looks for apartments. Talks about divorce. Not because he doesn’t love me but because he never wants to feel restricted, small, or disrespected again. For him, it can echo old wounds from his childhood.
For me, it feels like being with my alcoholic dad, unpredictable, unreliable, full of broken promises. I feel abandoned and like I don’t matter. I make it about respect and integrity.
My dad has been in recovery for many years now and no longer acts that way. I’m deeply grateful for the healing and forgiveness that’s taken place there. And this isn’t about blame toward our fathers, they did the best they could. But the imprints remain, and sometimes, without meaning to, we rub up against them.
It leaves me feeling unwanted, unconsidered, and disregarded. It leaves him feeling bulldozed, nitpicked, and unimportant. And yet, beneath all of that, we both want the same thing: love. To build each other up. To feel safe, seen, and chosen. Even after all the inner work we’ve done, we still miss each other sometimes. Because it’s hard, living in this human condition.
This time, when divorce came up again, I really thought it might happen. I didn’t want it to, but I didn’t know how we’d make it through. It was the same wound, circling again.
And then, in the middle of the tears and silence, we looked at each other and said, If we can figure this out, we can get through anything. If we can change this long-standing pattern, we’ll both gain freedom. And then, think what we can do.
That moment cracked something open in both of us. So what do you do when the same fight keeps breaking your heart? When you’re flooded with feelings you can’t fix in the moment? When love feels like too much and not enough, all at once?
Here’s what I learned:
- Wait until you come down from your trauma response before making big decisions.
If you don’t, you’ll be reacting from your wounded self, not your wisest one. - Stop telling yourself the scary story.
When you spiral into “what ifs,” you recreate the trauma and keep yourself stuck inside it. - Take an honest inventory.
What do you need to see about yourself, not your partner? What might be true about your part in the pattern? - Look for the helpers.
Like Mr. Rogers said, they’re everywhere. We found a couples therapist who specializes in family systems and trauma responses. That step changed everything. - Take responsibility for your triggers.
Your reactions are yours to heal. If you don’t figure them out here, you’ll take them with you. - Sit in your pain.
It’s there for a reason. What we don’t face, repeats. - Bring God into it.
When I finally stopped trying to control the outcome and prayed for clarity, peace came, not immediately, but deeply. Grace doesn’t erase the pain; it holds you through it.
Today, I’m grateful for the pain we didn’t sweep under the rug. For the moment we chose to stay in the hard conversation instead of running from it. For the courage to look at each other and say, let’s keep trying.
John and I didn’t end. We’re still here, tender, humble, learning again how to listen and love.
This Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for the kind of love that doesn’t just survive the storms, it grows through them. The kind that asks us to stay curious instead of certain. To soften instead of shut down. To choose grace over being right.
Maybe you’ve had a year like that too, one that’s stretched you, broken you open, and reminded you that love isn’t always easy, but it’s worth the work.
So this season, my hope for both of us is simple:
That we find gratitude not just for what’s good, but for what’s growing. That we see the sacred in the struggle. And that we remember, healing love, real love, is built in the moments we decide to begin again.
Because sometimes, the deepest gratitude doesn’t come from what we gain, it comes from what we stay for. From choosing to look again. To love again. To believe that repair is still possible.
This year, I’m giving thanks for the love that stretched me enough to grow me. And for the God who never stops showing me that even in the breaking, there’s beauty being born.
With love,
Gretchen
