Age: The Six-Year Gap
So I think I’ve unofficially started a theme of “Serious Saturdays” (that’s not gonna be a thing, I promise) because I feel less vulnerable to the lurking big-girl blogs on the weekends to talk real shit. Also, that’s an engagement photo that somehow got lost in the gigantic CD of photos we got back from our awesome photographer.
I am 22. Isaiah is 28. I’ve thought about the difference in our age. I’ve thought about my maturity in relation to marriage and in comparison with other people my age. I read “Age & the Likelihood of Divorce” a while ago on Brave Bride and wrote out a post-long comment before deciding to just write my own post on the matter.
As Sarah commented in that same post, I feel as though my maturity has been defined by events in my life rather than how many years I’ve existed.
I have started explaining these points and want to explain more about this later in the week, however, for the time being, a neatly organized, non-elaborated bullet point list:
- My father is an alcoholic.
- Sexual abuse (like far too many women out there).
- My mom’s penchant for motivation and ambition instilled in me throughout my life.
- My single-hiatus.
- The divorces I’ve seen (I started analyzing marriages at a really young age).
- A bazillion other life experiences that happened to me far too young and got me thinking.
First, I should tell you that I used to read Nancy Drew novels to my mom when I was five. I am an only child. My mom is an exceptional human being who pushed me to be the best I could be. Having said that…I was reading my mom’s “save-this-relationship” books she left laying around at around seven, I was in therapy and Al-Anon from nine and up and I never cried over my parents’ divorce so I could appear strong to my family. I decided at 12, when my folks split, that I would be more mature. That I wouldn’t need too much. I wouldn’t be a big pain (I was, but I can’t imagine how much more I would have been if I hadn’t been trying (ha)).
Anyways, I tell you those things only to tell you this. Age is so relative. I’ll be 23 when we get married. The reasons I don’t feel too young include: The experiences I’ve been through and the fact that I think deliberately and take time to discuss concerns about marriage together with Isaiah.
On top of that..our five and a half year age difference might seem like a bit, but it’s not so drastic that we can’t relate. I help Isaiah with his recent voyage into blogging and social media. He helps me understand what the hell people are talking about when they say, “When someone asks you if you’re a god, you say yes!” by forcibly sitting me down to watch the epically 80’s film Ghostbusters. I know, I know. Take it easy..breathe..and let your blood pressure come back down before you comment all-up-in-my-face.
So we ground each other. We help each other in completely opposite ways. I help Isaiah understand the Web 2.0 job hunting process and I spend whole, 8-hour days applying him for jobs and I make his resumes and I help him understand his finances and the importance of saving and credit. He helps me with the day-to-day everything and he keeps me calm and talking about things rather than letting everything stew. He calls me out when I’m being a bitch. He keeps me inspired and he helps me with the “manly stuff” — if I can be so stereotypical. He helps keep me up on the latest in technology and design. He keeps me moving. He brought me to this level, where I feel mature enough to understand what forever means and make a commitment based on that understanding.
And I wouldn’t be ready but for him.