When I first got married, I pictured my husband and me having endless conversations about everything. I’m a hardcore communicator who was happy to have a partner who talks just as much, if not more, than I do. I looked forward to our weekly heart-to-hearts and midnight check-ins. Since we were already talkers, I knew I would always be heard and validated.
But things didn’t pan out quite the way I hoped.
The truth is, all the deep conversations I fathomed haven’t been able to help my marriage through its most trying times. In fact, if I hear one more self-appointed relationship expert saying that communication is the bedrock of all great relationships, I might as well toss my phone in the water. I spent years practicing active listening, talking to my partner about my feelings, and never going to bed angry, but in the morning, it didn’t change much.
Frankly, after thirteen years, four kids, and a mortgage that keeps us up at night, it’s a total lie.
The “I” Statements Mythology
In my early marriage years, we spent a considerable amount of time trying to communicate using therapy-advised “I” statements. I would tell my husband, “I feel frustrated when you load the dishwasher so carelessly,” while deep down I wanted to say, “You are an idiot, and I hate how you load your dishwasher.” I felt like I had to baby his feelings to get my point across. We sat on our cozy couch most weekend nights and “held space for each other.”
Years later, we have found our own way of communicating. Now, if he loads the dishwasher in a way that irks me, I just stand behind him, gently poke his side, roll my eyes, and let out the loudest sigh, and he understands the problem before I even say it.
There is a specific kind of intimacy that comes from knowing how much of a goblin your partner actually is. I have contempt for the way he tells stories because he isn’t really funny and takes forever to get to the punchline, while he has contempt for the way I organize mail by piling it on top of itself and hoping it will eventually self-combust. We have accepted that we will carry these fundamental flaws until the universe dissolves.
When Communication Feels Like Constant Auditing
By leaning into contempt, we have surpassed the disappointment that often comes with marriage. I’m not disappointed he forgot the milk again; I expect it and have pre-packaged sarcasm ready for when he walks through the door. He laughs, refers to me as a “delightful shrew,” and we move on. His unchanging habits, like leaving socks on the floor and chewing too hard, no longer faze me.
We’ve endlessly heard the phrase “communication is king,” but we’ve found that finding the proper words to address every little thing feels like constant auditing. Contempt has given us a shortcut. We acknowledge that we can be annoying to each other, but we factored that reality into our 30-year plan. It’s like saying, “I see you and your nonsense, but I’m not going anywhere.”
To be clear: This isn’t the kind of contempt that inevitably breeds genuine disdain. I’m referring to the bond you form when you realize you’re both annoying but still exactly what the other wants. We communicate through loud sighs and pointed silences and remain completely happy with each other. Honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The Museum of Minor Grievances
The romantic ideal suggests we should grow together, refine each other, and evolve. To that, I say: Have you ever met a man over 30? He isn’t evolving out of his annoying driving habits.
A lasting relationship doesn’t come from the hope that your partner will change; it comes from the realization that he absolutely won’t. Strangely, there’s profound peace in finally admitting that you can’t change anyone. People only change for themselves, and only if they want to. Being married doesn’t magically make you neater, calmer, or more self-aware.
Once you stop trying to “fix” the person you live with, you unlock a higher level of intimacy, where affectionate mockery is not off the table.
We’ve turned his inability to find the ketchup — the bottle, at eye level, staring directly at him — into a family spectator sport. I don’t “communicate” my frustration about the kitchen counters anymore. When I do something he doesn’t like, we laugh, he calls me a brat, and we move on. We don’t have the bandwidth for a weekly State of the Union address over the laundry pile.
Letting It Go
Relationship “experts” would have us believe that every small issue is a symptom of a larger wound that needs to be debrided and stitched back together. For us, though, the best maintenance is learning when to ignore something and walk out of the room.
I’ve stopped trying to find the “root cause” of why he can’t load the dishwasher properly. The root cause is that he’s a human being, and human beings are inherently annoying to live with. By leaning into this mild, affectionate contempt, we’ve saved each other thousands in counseling and millions of hours of circular arguments.
I don’t need a perfect partner. I need the very specific, often exasperating one I have.
He may never find the ketchup, and after 13 years, he still can’t get to the punchline in under four minutes. But marriage isn’t about erasing quirks. It’s about tolerating them, laughing at them, and accepting them as permanent features of the person you love. Because those quirks aren’t going anywhere. Trying to “fix” them is exhausting, fruitless, and boring.
Besides, there’s something so satisfying about being called a delightful shrew by someone who genuinely means it as a compliment.
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