Lessons from a 40-Year Marriage

“If you live to be a hundred, I hope I live to be a hundred minus one day, so that I never have to live a day without you.” —Winnie the Pooh

I wasn’t supposed to celebrate a 40-year wedding anniversary.

At least, not according to the odds.

I’m a child of divorce.

I became aware that something was wrong in my parents’ marriage when I was about eight years old. My father moved in and out of the house several times before they finally divorced when I was sixteen.

By December, it was official.

By the end of the year, they had both remarried.

My siblings and I were left to figure things out as best we could.

The research on divorce and children is sobering. Children of divorced parents often struggle more academically, socially, emotionally, and relationally as adults.

Academically, I did fine.

The rest? Pretty much the poster child.

I’ve joked before that the song Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places pretty much defined my teens and early twenties.

And honestly? That’s not much of an exaggeration.

So when my husband and I celebrated our 40th anniversary last weekend, I found myself reflecting on a question I’ve been asked many times over the years:

How did we make it?

The first part of the answer is simple.

I chose well.

Although, to be completely accurate, my oldest sister chose him for me.

He was her first husband’s best friend. She met him while she was in law school in Colorado. Since I was living in Los Angeles and he was a born-and-raised North Carolina boy, we likely never would have crossed paths without her life taking the turns that it did.

But when we met?

I noticed him immediately.

He had a great laugh.

The kindest eyes I’d ever seen.

And yes…really nice legs.

But what mattered most had nothing to do with appearances.

He made me feel safe.

He made me feel seen.

Those were not small things for me.

Growing up, I didn’t always experience either one consistently.

And for reasons I still don’t entirely understand, he absolutely adored me.

That part confused my mother to no end.

Now, people sometimes assume our marriage has been successful because I eventually became a marriage and relationship specialist.

Not true.

We were fifteen years into our marriage before I started down that path.

Did my professional knowledge help?

Of course.

But it wasn’t the reason our marriage worked.

The truth is, we had already built many of the habits and mindsets that I later discovered research says healthy, thriving marriages require.

We put each other—and our marriage—ahead of everything else.

Not perfectly.

Intentionally.

We didn’t just love each other.

We genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

There has always been mutual respect.

Mutual support.

And one belief that has made an enormous difference:

We assume good intentions.

That matters more than most people realize.

When you believe your partner is fundamentally well-intentioned, disagreements look different.

You’re less likely to interpret every misunderstanding as disrespect.

Less likely to turn miscommunication into a character assassination.

More likely to approach conflict with curiosity instead of certainty.

That doesn’t mean we’ve never hurt each other.

We’re human.

But we don’t stay stuck there.

We acknowledge.

We apologize.

We repair.

And we move forward—together.

Over the years, I’ve learned that these are not accidental qualities in strong marriages.

They are foundational.

People sometimes look at me like I’ve lost my mind when I say marriage doesn’t have to be hard.

I understand why.

Many people are carrying around marriages that feel exhausting, lonely, tense, or disconnected.

So when they hear someone say marriage can feel easier, it sounds unrealistic.

What I mean is this:

Marriage doesn’t have to feel like constant struggle.

It doesn’t have to be an endless cycle of conflict, resentment, walking on eggshells, or emotional distance.

That doesn’t mean marriage is effortless.

Life still happens.

Stress happens.

Misunderstandings happen.

But a healthy marriage gives you a partner to face those things with—not battle against.

Did I get lucky?

Absolutely.

I got lucky in who I chose.

And then together, we put in the effort, intention, and commitment required to make our marriage last.

Forty years later, I can tell you this:

Strong marriages aren’t found.

They’re built.

One conversation.

One repair.

One choice at a time.

You can build that too.

You’ve got this. But if you don’t, I’ve got you. If your marriage feels harder than it needs to and you’d like help creating more ease, connection, and partnership, contact me and type the word EASE.

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