There's No I In Marriage

I survived the first year of marriage. No lousy T-shirt would do this experience justice.

Everyone told me if we could make it through the wedding, we'd make it through the first year. If only the first year were as easy as planning a wedding -- which is no party at all.

We have had more fights in this past year than the two years before combined.

I hate the way he throws his dirty clothes next to the laundry basket, rather than in it. He hates the way I keep half-empty (I say half-full) water glasses next to the bed.

There are many differences that we didn't notice or that didn't bother us much -- at least as much -- before we got married. But the permanency our vows brought also highlighted the neverending nature of our annoying habits.

Those habits are ours alone, and no husband or wife will tell us to change them. At least, that's how the fights began.

We tried too hard this past year to hold onto our independence. I wanted to remain a social butterfly, he wanted his life to remain low-key and hassle-free, like in his bachelor days. We didn't want to give up a thing, because each of us felt saying "I do" was enough.

We entered this union committed to it, but we had spent the rest of our lives committed to ourselves first. We weren't about to let the other person get in the way of whatever we thought we were. I wanted to be his wife, but I wanted to define what that meant exactly.

In walked a new person who, for better or worse, shook things up forever. And forever is a hard concept to accept when the last thing I want is my husband to suggest I stayed out too late with my girlfriends.

Sadly, annulment and divorce were yelled about a few times over the past 12 months, and each time hurt more than the one before.

This past month, luckily, we finally learned that there is no room for "I" in marriage, no matter how you spell it.

Because when we became a team, we had to give up fighting for our individual demands. We had to learn to think like a unit, and that's been the biggest challenge.

Whatever I do, even if I think it's just for me, affects him. That new outfit I picked up could mean less money for our grocery bill. As a bachelorette, clothes were more important than food, but it was only my mouth I had to consider.

Whenever he does something that he did all the time before I came along, it matters to me now. He can't just throw off his pants when he gets home and watch whatever TV show he wants all night long.

He can try to do it, and often succeeds, but not without seeing my nose wrinkle or hearing me complain.

From bills to hygiene, we can still be ourselves but we have to always think of each other in all matters.

It seems like basic knowledge, but sometimes the simplest lessons are the hardest.

When we have spats about doing the dishes and paying the bills, I realize we aren't working together. We may each feel different burdens, but we are supposed to share them.

I have learned more than I'd ever imagine in the first year, but it's exciting to realize there is always more to learn about this man I fell in love with. We may not always get it right, but we'll figure it out together.

We will always have fights about unimportant stuff like household chores and important issues like when to start a family. But I'm glad that we have each other.

My friend recently gave me a pair of funny socks that say, "It's all about me." Those socks may have suited me just fine before I got married, but now they don't quite fit me anymore.

That's just fine by me -- I mean, by us.

Laura Lewis is an adventurous newlywed who has loved, lost and doesn't mind sharing. Her column appears every other Thursday.