Every Woman's Marriage: Igniting the Joy and Passion You Both Desire (The Every Man Series) - Softcover

Shannon and Greg Ethridge have been married for sixteen years. Shannon is the best-selling author of a dozen books, including Every Woman’s Battle. A speaker, lay counselor, and advocate for sexual integrity, she has been featured on numerous radio and television broadcasts, including The 700 Club and Focus on the Family. Greg is a certified public accountant and avid horticulturalist. The couple lives with their two children in a log cabin in east Texas.

 
Chapter One
 
desperate housewives, desperate husbands
 
 
“You just don’t meet my emotional needs!”
 
After seven years of marriage, I was actually thinking of leaving Greg and my two young children in pursuit of the “love” I felt entitled to but didn’t feel I was getting in our relationship. I had no idea where I would go or how I would make it on my own, but I wasn’t sure I could survive a lifeless marriage. I felt like I was nothing more than a maid, cook, nanny, and occasional outlet for sexual tension, positions for which I was sadly underpaid.
 
I couldn’t imagine how my heart had grown so cold toward my husband. We met on April 21, 1989, when I visited a local church’s singles group for a game night. Although I don’t believe in love at first sight, Greg definitely caught my attention that evening as he stood head and shoulders above all the other single guys (literally, since he’s six foot seven). Every time we had to pair off with a partner for another game, I hoped Greg and I would wind up together, but no such luck. However, things did begin to warm up between us as we got to know each other over the next several weeks, and we began dating exclusively that summer. Every morning I walked through the neighborhood praying, Lord, I want to marry whomever You want me to, but if You are looking for my input, I’d like it to be Greg!
 
I soon felt 110 percent sure that Greg was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. By Thanksgiving I was desperate for him to pop the question, and he finally did just before Christmas. He said, “You plan the wedding, and I’ll plan the honeymoon.” That sounded great to me.
 
We married on April 21, 1990, exactly one year after we had met. Even my dad knew Greg was definitely the one for me. He said to me on the way down the aisle, “Don’t you even think about changing your mind, or I may have to put a shotgun to your back!” The thought of backing out never even entered my mind. This was too good to be true, and I wasn’t about to mess it up.
 
However, before the honeymoon was over, feelings of discontent reared their ugly heads. Greg had planned a trip to Walt Disney World for five days, followed by a two-day weekend in Clearwater Beach, Florida. The first morning we woke up in Orlando, I was completely wiped out from all the wedding festivities and traveling. I just wanted to leave the shades down, the covers up, and enjoy a few extra hours of sleep. However, I was awakened when Greg sat down on the edge of the bed, showered, shaved, dressed, and ready to go by 7:00 a.m. “Come on! Get up! Let’s go have breakfast with Mickey!” he coaxed.
 
I gave in and dragged myself into the shower at that ungodly time of the morning. But after two hours of following Greg all over Epcot Center, his long legs trotting from ride to ride and my squattier legs galloping to keep up, I threatened to go back to the hotel room without him. He tried to slow down, fighting back his enthusiasm, and I tried to calm down, fighting my urge to complain about his choice of honeymoon spots. Although it was fun and we made some great memories, sprinting all over Walt Disney World was not my idea of a relaxing, romantic honeymoon. All that week I looked forward to lying on the beaches of Clearwater and just vegetating in the sun together as husband and wife.
 
But there would be no basking in the sun that weekend. We arrived at Clearwater Beach in the midst of a windstorm and a cold front that brought temperatures in the low fifties. Thinking that we’d not be spending much time indoors, Greg had booked a dumpy little hotel room, but we couldn’t get out much since we only brought warm-weather clothes. We mostly watched movies and ate leftover pizza. The ambiance (or lack thereof), exhaustion, and disappointment eventually got the best of me. I don’t remember what was said, only how we said it. Greg and I had our first major fight before we even returned from our honeymoon. I couldn’t believe that he had failed to check the weather before we came and that he hadn’t even consulted with me about how I envisioned spending our honeymoon. He, on the other hand, couldn’t believe that I was insensitive enough to get so angry with him when all he had wanted was to surprise and delight me.
 
Of course, I wasn’t going to let one little argument ruin the marriage. Greg was a committed Christian and a leader in the youth group, which inspired me to  begin working with youth as well. He was fun and adventurous, and he took me on several group trips to go skiing, backpacking, and scuba diving. He was intelligent and financially stable, a graduate of Southern Methodist University and a certified public accountant. He was extremely laid back and had such a reputation of being a nice guy that no one ever got mad at him. No one, that is, except me.
 
Seven years and two children later I was constantly badgering Greg for not initiating romance anymore, for being too laid back. I had a long list of complaints: He never called me up for a date or offered to take me out to dinner. He didn’t send cards or bring me flowers. I was weary of having to hint around for my emotional needs to be met, and I felt it didn’t count if he didn’t come up with the idea of how to do so himself. I was sick and tired of always picking up LEGOs and Tinkertoys, wiping children’s noses and behinds, cleaning Goldfish and Cheerios out of the minivan seats, and feeling as if there had to be more to life.
 
With each passing day, I slipped deeper into depression. In hindsight, I realize that my unhappiness wasn’t about what my husband was or wasn’t doing; rather, it was about how I felt about myself. I needed Greg to affirm me, to make me feel beautiful, and to convince me that I was desirable, because I didn’t know how to feel any of these things on my own. But at the time, I felt sure that he was to blame.
 
I am not the first or only wife to feel this way. In fact, I’ve heard from many women who feel deep dissatisfaction with their husbands and their marriages.
 
STORIES OF DISCONTENT
Married fourteen years, Ramona thought she had wed Mr. Right, but feelings of fear, bitterness, and rejection surfaced as she and her husband struggled to understand each other. He is rarely home, leaving her to raise four young children on her own much of the time. There’s been little romance or time for one another. He’s consumed with his job and their financial status, and she is consumed with the kids and her work, which she admits is really just an outlet to get her emotional needs met by others. Their church obligations and kids’ sports and extracurricular activities also take up an enormous amount of time and energy. Feeling overwhelmed by the lack of joy and passion in their relationship, Ramona says:
 
My husband seems unable to express how much I mean to him and says
it’s because of the way he was raised and that men aren’t good at that
stuff. I have felt lonely, cheated, and empty, and when other men begin
to compliment me, I feel I am falling for them hook, line, and sinker.
I’ve been guilty of emotional affairs but feel that God wants me to be
strong and stay in this marriage. I’ve tried to romance my husband and
captivate him, but it always seems we are worlds apart. I am tired of trying
to be supermom, wife, and spiritual leader in this family. When is he
going to step up to the plate and take over?
 
Of course, disillusionment can set in even before you become overwhelmed with raising children. After only one year of marriage, it’s clear that Claire’s reality isn’t measuring up to her expectations. She laments:
 
We’re usually either fighting or not talking much at all. The word
divorce isn’t in our vocabularies, but I frequently have thoughts about
what my life could be like after my husband dies. I have a mental list
of men I’d date. It’s pretty long. They have all met different needs at
different times. Then I think of how wonderful it would be to be single
again. I’d be better off without his college debt and dirty socks. But I
married him for a reason. What was it?
 
Ironically, Claire also recalls that she was miserable as a single woman and thought that getting married would solve all her problems. As her situation illustrates, getting rid of your single status only exchanges one set of problems for another, more complex set of problems.
 
Some women hold on to the hope that their unhappiness will eventually disappear and that life will somehow “get better.” As Helen testifies, such hopes for a more fulfilling relationship down the road are often dashed:
 
It seems that every season of our marriage brings a new hope that things
will surely get better right around the corner. We’ll be happier when we
can afford a house...when we have children of our own...when our
children are out of diapers...when my husband finally gets that promotion
that will allow me to be a stay-at-home wife and mother...
when our children leave for college...when we don’t have to pay for college
anymore...when my husband and I retire. I’ve been waiting for a
brighter tomorrow almost every day of the past twenty-seven years, and
frankly, I wonder if we’ll ever have the marriage I’ve always longed for.
 
Some women are so unhappy, they consider pushing the Eject button and leaving to find another man. That was the case with this woman, who signed her letter to an advice column “In Relationship Hell”:
 
Three years...