Sometimes, I find myself feeling frustrated with my partner, even whispering it under my breath after stumbling over his shoes in the hallway or while trying to ignore his loud snoring as I lie down for the night. Is it too much to ask for some consistency in his breathing? I could drift off to sleep if only his snoring had a regular rhythm.
At dinner, I often glance at him and wonder how I overlooked those annoying smacking sounds he makes while eating during our dating days. Did he put in more effort to impress me back then? Can’t he hear himself?
Occasionally, during our minor squabbles that escalate into real arguments—when I’m certain I’m right and he’s being unreasonable—I find myself daydreaming about what life would be like on my own. A life where my opinions are the only ones that count, where I wouldn’t have to deal with his receipts scattered around the house or turn the car around because he forgot his wallet yet again. I imagine a world where I wouldn’t have to think about him, compromise, wait, or cook for him.
I wonder if I might have been better suited to a different kind of man—one who notices the little details, who cares about cleaning up after himself, or who sees a mess on the counter. There was that neat-freak boyfriend from college; I sometimes think about how different my life might have been with him. Instead of me nagging, he would probably be the one reminding me to tidy up. I visualize that alternate universe and ponder how harmonious my home life would be if I had married someone who shared my values about cleanliness. My space would be pristine, and my senses would be at peace.
But here I am, in this reality, with my partner, the one I chose. Sometimes, I catch him staring at me, and I roll my eyes, feigning annoyance. “What? Why are you looking at me?” I ask. “You’re beautiful,” he replies, and though I shrug it off, it genuinely warms my heart.
As we prepare for bed, I grimace at my reflection. Stepping onto the scale, I sigh. “Stop it, you’re perfect just the way you are,” he says around his toothbrush, splattering toothpaste on the counter.
I have a peculiar way of eating pistachios: I lick all the salt off, crack open the shell with my teeth, and then suck the nut some more. It’s a disgusting habit, and sometimes I belch as loudly as I can, rating my burps on a scale of 1 to 10 based on volume and duration. I may stink up the bathroom, leave my used underwear soaking in the sink, and go days without showering. My hair can get greasy, and I detest bras, so I often go without one at home. My body has changed over the years, and yet my partner often reminds me how perfect he thinks I am. He praises my abilities as a mother, a cook, and even as a decorator (even though I’m not). He admires my writing, saying, “I could never write a book; that’s just incredible.” He makes me feel unique and valued, seeing all the good in me while seemingly overlooking my flaws. Why doesn’t he notice my imperfections?
There are partners who criticize their significant others, suggesting they could lose a few pounds or should wear more makeup. Not him. He accepts me wholly and unconditionally, hardly able to hold a grudge for more than a few minutes.
I could find someone who chews quietly, who remembers to pick up his socks, or who squeezes the toothpaste from the bottom (for crying out loud). I might even find someone who snores gently or not at all.
But I could search forever and never discover anyone who loves me as selflessly as my partner does. I might find someone who seems more deserving of that love, but they wouldn’t love me. I’m not easy to love, riddled with imperfections, yet he loves me anyway.
He often tells me he’s lucky to have me, puzzled about what he did to deserve me. He’s got it all backwards. He could have chosen anyone to love this much—someone who wouldn’t mind his wet chewing sounds. But for reasons I can’t quite grasp, he chose me and continues to do so every single day, as if loving unconditionally comes as naturally to him as breathing.
In truth, he is not the lucky one.
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In summary, while there may be moments of frustration in my relationship, I see my partner’s unwavering love and acceptance as a blessing. He perceives me in a light that I often fail to see myself, proving that love can be profound and unconditional.