When life starts feeling like logistics
Today (May 7th) marks 10 years of marriage.
But somehow, even crazier than that… we’ve actually been together for 17 years.
Seventeen.
Nearly half our lives.
And lately, I found myself thinking about that after hearing the premise behind Hilary Duff’s song Roommates. The idea immediately caught my attention because honestly? I understood it.
The exhaustion.
The passing each other in the kitchen.
The feeling of managing life more than actually living it together sometimes.
Especially in this season.
The 4AM wakeups.
Packing lunches at 6AM.
Work. Workouts squeezed into tiny pockets of time.
Sports schedules. Grocery lists. Bills. Responsibilities. Constant noise.
It’s so easy for marriage to slowly drift into logistics.
And when I first heard the concept of the song, I thought:
Finally. Someone is going to talk about what this season of marriage really feels like.
But when I listened, I left feeling strangely disappointed.
Not because I didn’t think what she was saying was true. I’m confident there are many married couples who (good or bad) resonated with that song.
But because I think there’s something deeper happening in marriages than simply “growing apart.”
Growing apart vs. growing pains
I think a lot of marriages aren’t experiencing growing apart nearly as much as they’re experiencing growing pains.
And there’s a difference.
Because growing pains imply movement. Stretching. Refining. Becoming.
Not the death of love—but the transformation of it.
The truth is, after 17 years together, our love does not look the same as it did when we were in our early twenties staying up all night talking about our future.
It can’t.
Back then, love was built in freedom and possibility.
Now it’s built in sacrifice.
In responsibility.
In showing up when we’re exhausted.
In choosing each other even when life feels impossibly loud.
And yes, if I’m honest, there are many moments where that “roommate” feeling creeps in.
Where conversations revolve around calendars and kids and who’s taking who where.
Where we collapse into bed at night too tired to even finish a conversation.
Where quality time takes intentionality instead of happening naturally.
But I don’t think those seasons mean love is failing.
I think they reveal what love is actually made of.
Love is..
Because butterflies are beautiful.
But covenant is sacred.
And maybe that’s the difference for us.
Our marriage was never meant to survive on chemistry alone. Feelings ebb and flow. Seasons change. People change.
It took some time, but we built this relationship with the understanding that it was never just the two of us holding it together.
The truth is, we are not still standing after 10 years because we mastered marriage perfectly. We are still standing because God has faithfully sustained what we could not sustain on our own.
Anyone can feel close when life is easy.
But there is something profoundly intimate about continuing to choose one another through the growing pains of building a life together.
Through the sleepless nights.
The financial stress.
The seasons of survival.
The misunderstandings.
The changes.
The pressure.
And somehow, by the grace of God, still being able to look at each other after all these years and say:
“I’m still here.”
The Daily Choosing
Not because marriage has always felt effortless.
But because real love was never meant to be built on feelings alone.
It’s built in the daily choosing.
The staying.
The forgiving.
The trying again tomorrow.
And thank God His mercies are new every morning—because marriage requires them.
There have been seasons where we’ve been exhausted, stretched thin, overwhelmed by responsibility, and unsure how to reconnect underneath the weight of real life.
But over and over again, God has met us there.
Not in perfection.
Not in performance.
But in grace.
“I am the vine; you are the branches… apart from Me you can do nothing.” — John 15:5
Same House, Same Heart
And maybe that’s one of the greatest gifts marriage gives us: the humbling reminder that we were never meant to carry love, family, and covenant in our own strength alone.
And maybe that’s what I wish more people understood about marriages.
The goal isn’t avoiding every season where you feel disconnected.
The goal is learning how to reconnect again and again and again.
To remember that underneath the exhaustion and routines and responsibilities… there is still a friendship. A history. A bond forged over years of becoming.
Ten years married.
Countless versions of ourselves.
And through every growing pain, every chaotic season, every beautiful one too…
same house.
same heart.
still choosing you.
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