I recently came across an article written by Dr. Elizabeth Klein on marriage. I don’t want to restate her argument, but she wrote about marriage as a kind of dying to self. I have always known that, at least in theory, but this time it really touched me.
We say it in our vows. We promise fidelity until death. We stand before God and commit our lives to another person. But reading her words made me think about my own marriage and the many years I have spent in it. It made me ask myself how often I have truly died to myself, and how often I have been trying to get something for myself instead.
There were seasons in my marriage where I was far more focused on being understood, appreciated, or affirmed than on serving. At the time, I would have described myself as strong-willed and determined. I believed I was doing what needed to be done. Independence was praised when I was growing up. Achievement, especially in line with education, was praised. Women were encouraged to prove they did not need anyone.
That message, although not literally stated to me, must have sunk in through osmosis.
I pursued education. I worked hard. I managed things. None of that is wrong in itself. But over time, I began to operate as though I did not really need my husband. I made decisions on my own. I justified them. I told myself that if I handled things properly, everything would function better.
It did not.
There was a short separation in our marriage. Only a few months, but long enough for me to see that I had contributed more to our distance than I wanted to admit. It was easier to look at what he was doing wrong than to examine my own contributions. Looking back, I can see that what I called equality had slowly become autonomy. I did not want to rely on him. And yet, by its nature, marriage asks two people to rely on one another.
Over time, I have come to understand more clearly what I wrote before: happiness comes from living according to the virtues, especially charity.
Charity is not a feeling. And just like every other compassionate movement, it is the steady decision to will the good of the other, as Thomas Aquinas defined love.
Willing the good of the other does not always feel natural. It often requires surrender.
We live in a culture that tells us our desires are central. If something does not feel aligned, we reconsider it. If you are a woman, you might even state, ‘My intuition spoke differently. If a relationship feels difficult, we analyze whether it is still serving us. Feelings matter. They tell us something about our internal state. But they cannot determine reality.
If I strongly desire to be taller, my desire does not change my height. If I decide I prefer winter to be summer, the season does not adjust itself to my preference. If I board a plane and land in France, insisting that I am still in Canada does not make it so. Reality remains what it is, regardless of how I feel about it.
Marriage has that same quality. The vow exists whether I feel satisfied or frustrated. It does not bend to my mood.
There were years when I evaluated my marriage according to how emotionally connected I felt or how understood I felt. When those feelings were low, I interpreted that as something fundamentally wrong. Now I can see that I was using my internal fluctuations as the measuring stick instead of the promise we had made before God.
I now realize I was using my own shifting emotions as the standard, rather than the vow we made before God. When I began to place Christ first again, I noticed something had changed in me. If God is first, then my husband is not meant to fulfill every longing I have. He is my spouse, not my saviour. That distinction relieved the pressure I had unknowingly placed on him (and myself) for years.
As that order became clearer, I found myself less critical. I stopped scanning for deficiencies. I began noticing what he was doing well. Our marriage did not suddenly become effortless, but my expectations became more reasonable.
If you have been a veteran subscriber to my emails, you will note that I often write about balancing logic and emotion.
Feelings deserve attention, but they need to be ordered. If every wave of disappointment leads me to question the foundation of the relationship, stability becomes impossible. A vow cannot survive if it is continually renegotiated through changing emotions.
This does not mean ignoring serious moral failings. Infidelity, dishonesty, abuse — these are real violations and must be addressed. But much of the unrest I see in marriages today stems from comparison, resentment, and unmet expectations that were never promised in the first place.
Pride has played a larger role in my own marriage than I would have liked to admit. Pride can look like competence. It can look like “I will take care of this.” It can look like certainty, but it more honestly displays control. Thus, pride resists surrender, and marriage requires surrender.
God is merciful. He knows how attached we are to our own will. That is why grace is not optional. Confession has been, for me, less about shame and more about reordering. I am reminded that I am not the standard by which everything else should be measured.
If someone is discouraged in their marriage right now, I would suggest beginning with a simple question: am I primarily concerned with what I am receiving, or with what I am offering?
I have had to ask myself that question often.
Dying to self does not mean erasing who we are. It means loosening our grip on the constant need to be affirmed. It means choosing unity over ego more often than pride would prefer. It means remembering that this life is short and that holiness is usually formed in very ordinary, daily decisions.
Marriage was never designed as a vehicle for self-fulfillment. It is a vocation. When I resist that, my body feels restless. When I accept it, even imperfectly, I can feel a calmness settle over me.
Not because everything changes overnight. But because I do.