I wasn’t quite sure what I expected to change after marrying Ethan. I thought that by adopting the last name Carter, I would seamlessly integrate into his life, and he would fit into mine. What I didn’t foresee was that my beliefs, traditions, and even my preferences would be put to the test. Why? Because my union wasn’t just with Ethan; it also involved becoming part of his family.
Joining a family through marriage is akin to embarking on a journey. You’ll encounter customs you cherish that broaden your perspective, and you’ll create cherished memories to revisit time and again. You must learn to adapt and let go of the need to control every aspect. Yet, there will be times when the longing for the familiarity of your own traditions feels overwhelming. You might find yourself in a childlike dispute with your spouse: “I just want things to stay the same, but with you alongside me.”
These realizations didn’t dawn on me until after our engagement. The first inkling of change emerged when Ethan’s family pushed back against the idea of a non-religious wedding. Before Pinterest was a thing, I had a vision for our wedding: a romantic outdoor setting with rustic elements like hay bales, twinkling lights, and wildflowers.
“I envision something outdoors, very rustic,” I expressed with enthusiasm.
My future mother-in-law, a petite woman with a penchant for floral arrangements and ceremonial traditions, asked, “Wouldn’t you prefer a church setting?”
I replied, “No, I’d really like to get married outside. I don’t attend church, so being inside one feels odd.”
She fell silent. I didn’t realize that “Wouldn’t you want to…” was her way of saying, “I hope you’ll consider…” I wasn’t about to compromise my vision for someone else’s contentment. It should be acceptable to embrace your preferences, but marriage can complicate that.
After we tied the knot and began raising kids, I made a point to teach our daughters the correct anatomical terms. I wanted them to be comfortable using the word “vagina” instead of euphemisms. One day, my daughter Lily shared a story with Ethan’s dad, a gentle giant who works as an ultrasound technician, about her trip to the water park.
“We went on slides, and it was so fun! It’s interesting how pee feels warm after swimming. Does yours feel that way? Oh, and my vagina felt burny for a few days after,” she said before running off to play.
He turned to me, mouthing the word “vagina,” and asked, “She calls it that?”
I was taken aback. “Of course, it’s the correct term!” I replied.
“I know, but don’t you think she’s a tad young for that?”
“How can you be too young to know the names of your body parts?” I countered, feeling defensive.
He shrugged, indicating that while we could make our own choices, he wouldn’t necessarily do the same. This made me ponder how often our parenting decisions would be scrutinized. The answer? Quite a bit, from opting not to remove a small birthmark on Lily’s forehead to breast-feeding for two years each.
I come from a family that valued spirited debates over dessert and trips over togetherness. In contrast, Ethan’s family prefers to maintain a peaceful façade, often avoiding confrontation. This difference likely explains why our holidays were typically quiet affairs, often just the four of us with occasional visits from my grandparents. We didn’t exchange family newsletters or photos.
In cultural terms, Ethan’s family was akin to a heartwarming Hallmark movie, while mine was more like an edgy Netflix series.
Thanksgiving holds a special significance for Ethan’s mother, as do Easter and Christmas. Each holiday is preceded by lengthy discussions about dish assignments and start times. While my mother-in-law has mellowed over the years, there remains an underlying expectation that we should conform to tradition.
One holiday, she proposed a 1 p.m. meal.
“That’s when the girls nap,” I mentioned to Ethan. He nodded in agreement. We were deeply entrenched in the new parent phase, focused solely on our children’s needs, while she remained dedicated to upholding family customs.
It felt like a battle between two matriarchs—one ship sunk by nap schedules, the other by centerpieces and rituals. Regardless of when we arrived, it always seemed like we were late (“I hope the turkey hasn’t dried out”), or the items we brought were unnecessary (“I went ahead and made that”).
Inevitably, she would ask, “Would you like seconds?”
“No, thank you,” I’d respond.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like more mashed potatoes? Another roll?”
I’d shake my head, feeling petty for not wanting to indulge. Shouldn’t I be able to enjoy just a bit of everything? Yet, why should I feel obligated? Ah, marriage.
I wish someone had warned me about the family dynamics intertwined with marriage. It’s not our fault, but it is our responsibility.
We marry into the gatherings and the not-so-talked-about issues, the family history, and the traditions that have always been. What we were and what we become can’t coexist in the same moment, so we must learn a new dialect and navigate various cultural landscapes.
The essence of “happily ever after” is finding solace in the arms of the person we chose to marry, feeling a sense of belonging despite the chaos and differences we encounter.
For those exploring the world of home insemination, check out our post on the Cryobaby At-Home Insemination Kit, which offers great insights. Additionally, for further information on humidity’s effects on the process, click here. For a thorough understanding of assisted reproductive technology, visit the CDC’s resource.
In summary, marrying ‘the one’ means embracing their family and its unique traditions, which can both enrich and challenge your life together. Balancing your own preferences with the expectations of your in-laws is a part of the journey, reminding us that love often requires patience and compromise.