- Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
- Apr 21
Marriage tests us not in the grand moments, but in the everyday messes—when we’re tired, overwhelmed, and still choosing each other. From sleepless nights with a newborn to silent dinners after a long day, marriage tests us by asking, will you still show up, even now?
Falling in love is pure magic. It’s the part of the story where everything glows. The first dates, the sparks, the feeling that someone finally sees you—it’s euphoric. That beginning phase is full of curiosity and hope, untouched by life’s sharp edges. You wake up excited to see their name pop up on your phone, you replay conversations in your mind, and you begin to imagine a future wrapped around each other. It’s beautiful—and often deceptively simple.
But what we don’t talk about enough is what happens after the fairytale. When routines replace spontaneity, and obligations crowd out passion. The transition from dating to enduring partnership is quiet but seismic. It’s not a failure of love—it’s the beginning of real life. And real life, even with your soulmate, is hard.
The Myth of Easy Love
We’ve been conditioned by stories to believe that love should be easy if it’s right. Fairy tales, romantic comedies, and even Instagram captions subtly convince us that love is only valid when it feels effortless. But sustainable love? The kind that weathers seasons and storms? That kind of love demands energy, intention, and uncomfortable conversations.
Many couples hit a wall not because their love was a lie, but because they expected love to do the work for them. But love isn’t a cruise control button—it’s a practice. And when both partners are overwhelmed, distracted, or emotionally unavailable, that practice gets neglected. We start to mistake distance for incompatibility. We start to wonder: “Should it really be this hard?” The answer is: sometimes, yes. Love that deepens over decades is forged, not found.
The Baby Effect: How Parenthood Shakes the Foundation
No stage tests a marriage like the early years of parenthood. Suddenly, you’re not just partners—you’re co-parents, sleep-deprived teammates trying to keep a tiny human alive. You’re stretched thin in every direction. Conversations turn into diaper duty negotiations. Physical touch becomes practical—feeding, burping, changing—rather than romantic. And emotional bandwidth? Practically zero.
It’s not just exhaustion—it’s identity loss. You may no longer recognize the version of yourself you’ve become. Your partner may feel more like a coworker than a lover. And through it all, you may silently grieve the life you used to have—while also feeling immense guilt for feeling that way. These are real, raw experiences, and they’re more common than we admit.
Love after a baby requires deep patience and even deeper communication. It asks both partners to evolve—and to hold space for one another’s needs without keeping score. Because it’s not always 50/50. Some days, it’s 90/10. And that’s okay—if you both agree to take turns carrying the heavier load.
Why Keeping Love Alive Takes Effort
Passion isn’t self-sustaining—it requires fuel. In the early days, novelty keeps the flame burning. But once the newness wears off, love has to be fed through shared rituals, physical affection, emotional check-ins, and simply showing up. It’s far too easy to slide into coexisting, especially when you're juggling careers, children, aging parents, or financial stress.
Love is often drowned out by survival mode. We assume our partner knows we care, but affection becomes scarce. Conversations get reduced to logistics. Sex might feel distant, mechanical, or even forgotten. The truth is, the everyday demands of life—especially with children—quietly erode intimacy when we don’t actively protect it. Keeping love alive is not about grand romantic gestures—it’s about creating a million small moments of connection amid the chaos.
It Can’t Be One-Sided Work
Here’s the truth that can sting: love will not thrive if only one person is doing the work. One partner can’t carry the emotional weight of the relationship while the other coasts. Emotional labor, communication, vulnerability—these must be mutual investments. Otherwise, resentment begins to take root, and connection begins to unravel.
After a baby, the imbalance can feel even more extreme—especially if one parent becomes the default caregiver while the other stays immersed in work or other responsibilities. Even well-meaning couples can fall into harmful patterns where one partner feels abandoned, unseen, or taken for granted.
A strong relationship is not about who’s giving more or who’s more exhausted—it’s about shared ownership. Both partners need to lean in, take initiative, and actively support each other’s well-being. If only one person is fighting for the relationship, then the balance is already broken. Love demands partnership—not martyrdom.
The Reality of Two People Changing
Time changes people. Not all at once, and not always in obvious ways, but inevitably. You may find that your partner’s priorities shift, that their outlook matures, that the way they give or receive love evolves. Sometimes that change is sparked by trauma, growth, a new career, or becoming a parent. And sometimes, it’s you who changes, leaving your partner feeling confused or left behind.
The hardest part? Change doesn’t always happen in sync. One partner might be diving deep into self-discovery while the other is just trying to stay afloat. What worked five years ago—or before kids—might not work now, and it’s easy to feel like you’ve become strangers. But growth doesn’t have to be a threat to the relationship. It can be an invitation to re-meet each other. To stay curious. To fall in love with new versions of the person you once knew.
So… Why Do We Do It?
Despite the challenges, many of us still choose marriage—not because we’re clinging to tradition, but because we believe in the promise of being deeply known and loved through all versions of ourselves. There’s something sacred about shared history. About building a life with someone who’s seen you break down, who’s seen you unfiltered, and stayed anyway. That kind of connection, when nurtured, becomes a sanctuary.
Marriage can be a mirror that reflects not just your partner’s flaws, but your own. It forces you to confront your triggers, your defenses, your expectations. And in that process, it can help you grow in ways that solitude never could. The work is real—but so is the reward.
How Do You Keep the Flame Alive—Even After Kids?
It starts with presence. Not just being in the same room, but actually being with each other. Eye contact. Laughter. Gratitude spoken out loud. Ask questions you haven’t asked in years. Schedule dates, even if they’re at home with takeout. Kiss longer. Touch more. Be willing to say, “I miss us,” without assigning blame.
When conflict arises, fight for clarity, not control. Make it safe to be honest, even if the honesty is messy. Apologize when you’re wrong. Offer forgiveness even when it’s uncomfortable. And never stop checking in: “How are we doing?” “Are we okay?” These small acts are the stitching that holds the relationship together—especially when you’re busy keeping small humans alive.
One Last Question:
If you’re pouring everything into your marriage—but feel like you’re parenting alone, loving alone, or holding all the emotional weight… how long can one heart carry what was meant for two?
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