This One Goes to Eleven

It was a weird summer.

In my last blog called “The Empty Your Bucket List,” I set the intention to slow down; to step away from the grinding pace and endless To-Do lists that ruled my life. I stayed true to my word.

We lazed about in the hammock,


Collected shells on the beach,


and watched a movie under the stars.


I expected to feel peaceful and content. But I didn’t.  Because this summer I learned that when you empty your bucket, your are forced to see what is inside. Your life spills out onto the pavement and you examine the contents with a magnifying glass.

Nothing bad really happened. Ok, a little something happened. But it was far from catastrophic. It wasn’t even a big deal. But somehow this non-event caused the tectonic plates of my marriage to shift, and the walls of our new and shakily built life in PA to fall down around us.

July 4th was our 10th wedding anniversary.

Phil and I said no gifts. “Let’s save it for the money pit house,” we agreed. The dining room ceiling was buckling from water damage caused by an unidentified leak, and a dark, amoeba shaped water stain was spreading across the wall of the mud room.

I felt good about the decision to conserve; proud, even. This is what people married a decade do, I thought. They make responsible choices. Couples married for ten years forgo gifts and fancy dinners to save for a downstairs bathroom.

It was raining on July 4th.  I went for a run and then after my shower – wearing a robe and detox-face mask – curled back in bed with a book while the girls watched Lady and the Tramp. I couldn’t remember the last time I allowed myself this simple pleasure. I was relieved we had opted to keep the day low-key.

But Phil doesn’t follow the rules.

Typically, I love this about him – his refusal to conform, his resistance to being told what to do. But this summer was different. I needed us to be a united front, to show the girls that we can build a life anywhere as long as we work together. I needed us to say what we mean and mean what we say.

I was two pages into my book when he came into the bedroom and unceremoniously handed me a small box.

Inside was a ring. An expensive, sparkly ring that was much flashier than anything I would choose myself. I looked up and gave him what I intended to be a quizzical look, but my face was paralyzed by my blue detox mask.

“But,” I mumbled, the clay cracking on my face, “how can we afford this?”

“I know we said no gifts,” he said, his voice fast and nervous. “But then I felt bad and….anyway, try it on.”

I did. It was two sizes too big. “It’s just a loaner,” he assured me.

“They loaned you a ring? So I can wear it to the Oscars?” I was joking…but not really.

“I figured you could go back on your own and pick something you want.”

What I want?

What I want is a downstairs powder room so Phoebe will stop peeing on the steps. What I want is to understand how we don’t have the money for the soft toilet paper but we have money for diamonds. What I want is for my husband to know that I hate surprises, and that all I want is feel safe and settled. I want him to say, “Hey, this is all going to work out. The house, you, me, the girls….we are going to be ok.” What I want is to read my damn book.

But I couldn’t say these things. The words were caught somewhere deep inside, tangled up with a million other conflicting emotions. I wanted to love the ring, because I love the man that gave it to me.  Shouldn’t that be enough?

But all that ran through my mind was how can we afford this but not a powder room? Does he think I’m dumb? AM I dumb?

But I didn’t say this, because I don’t make money and he does. I didn’t say anything because my lack of involvement in our finances is embarrassing. I didn’t say anything, because I was stunned and am not quick on my feet when it comes to emotional processing. My typical strategy is push things down until they inevitably come back up. I call it Soul Puke.

I told him to take it back, that we couldn’t afford it. So, he did. Then we tried to let it go. Move on.

But we couldn’t move on. The ring went back to the jeweler, but it’s memory remained – a pink elephant that followed us around and slept in the center of our bed each night.

You, my dear reader, may be thinking: “What’s the big deal?”

An expensive -albeit poorly chosen – anniversary gift is a First World Problem at its finest, and that makes this hard to write, because I feel ridiculous giving it such weighty significance.

But the ring triggered something in me; it opened up some trap door in my soul and out came this flood of hurt and doubt: Does he see me as some Real Housewife? Was this some kind of consolation prize for moving? I said I wanted to save money for a writing retreat – was he not listening? Or is the money not mine because I don’t earn the paycheck? Does he not take me seriously? Does he see me as someone who can be appeased or distracted with something big and flashy? What will he give me for Christmas – new boobs?

All this – over a ring?? Ahhh…but it’s never about the ring, is it?

Maybe this is just how marriage works. Since our swift but bittersweet move from Scituate last February, Phil and I had been standing on the hairy edge of this marital canyon, and all it took was one misstep to send us plummeting into an abyss of fear.

Fear of what?

Fear of not knowing each other anymore. Fear of moving in different directions. Fear of having made a mistake, or a series of mistakes. Fear that we shouldn’t have gotten married when we did – that we weren’t ready. Fear that we wasted a lot of time and money on couples counseling.

But I think the deepest fear was that maybe the person we married was not the person we thought. Or that maybe we married the possibility of who the other person might become, rather than who they are actually are. And to cover this up we created roles to hide behind, roles that no longer fit.

And when we outgrow these roles, do we outgrow each other?

A few days after the Ring Incident, I was cleaning out the linen closet and found a package of old blue surgical pads, and I cried. In that moment I realized that – in addition to the ‘normal’ craziness of life – the first decade of our marriage was built around crisis: hospitalizations, surgeries, endless medical tests and appointments. After one of my surgeries about six years ago, Phil (who could have been a male nurse) had to straight catheterize me for TWO WEEKS. Not the kind of vag-action he was hoping for when we said our “I do’s.”

What if the constant crisis was the only thing keeping us together? Did we build a marriage based on changing houses and catheters? If you take those things away, is there nothing left?

This thought rocked me to the core. I went from emptying my bucket to wanting to drown myself in a bucket. Or drink wine from a bucket. I was not in a good place. I watched Katherine Heigel movies.

Last year, on our 9th anniversary, I had daydreamed about our 10th. I envisioned a magical summer, with us renewing our vows on the beach in Scituate. But instead I was hiding in my room under the guise of folding laundry, zoning out to reality TV, and over-identifying with the problems of Derek, the gay boyfriend character on Million Dollar Listing NYC. The well of sadness felt bottomless, like my feet would never find the ground.

But eventually, they did.

I read an essay called “For Better and Worse” by Lynn Darling. Her words shot through my heart like a cupid’s arrow, piercing the exact spot I had been trying so desperately to access. In the essay she describes the meltdown she has when her husband gave her towels for Valentine’s Day, and the perspective she has gained years later. She writes:

I smile now when I remember this story, set back in the phase of life when marriage is still a mirror, reflecting back only one’s carefully constructed, easily shattered conceit. Now my husband gives me bath towels every Valentine’s Day, and every Valentine’s Day I laugh. It has become part of our mythology. But the laughter is its own edgy commentary on how things have changed, how we have changed each other, how the two people who smile at this joke are indelibly stained with each other’s expectations and disappointments.

I love the concept of couples having their own “mythology.” Perhaps our marriage is like the movie Benjamin Button – the one when Brad Pitt ages in reverse. Phil and I have the geriatric stuff down cold. We are DOWN with bodily functions and post-op care.

Now we just have to figure out the stuff that typically comes first for couples – like romance and equality and making a budget. And if there is any truth to my Benjamin Button theory, the honeymoon is yet to come. Maybe 40 years from now, when other couples our age are changing each other’s diapers, Phil and I will be doing body shots at the Atlantis pool bar.

With this guy, anything is possible.


So maybe our 10th year as a married couple was not what I had envisioned. I have the choice to look at that as a failure or as an opportunity. We can lament the decade spent in crisis, or celebrate all that we were able to survive together. But more importantly, we can choose to start the next decade with a sense of newness and possibility.

Phil and I went back to our couple’s counselor and set the intention to do just that.

“What’s the big deal about the number “10,” anyway?” I said to Phil as we left the counselor’s office.

“This one goes to eleven,” Phil said in a British accent, quoting a line from one of our favorite movies This is Spinal Tap.

these go to 11

I laughed the kind of laugh I reserve strictly for Phil: half silent, half snort.

We are going to be ok.

Because This One Goes to Eleven.

22 thoughts on “This One Goes to Eleven

  1. Today is my 10th anniversary. This was a really lovely piece of writing that really spoke to me today, so thank you. My husband and I went through a period like this last year around our 9th anniversary, so I can definitely relate.

  2. I love this piece more than I can say. My husband gave me a blender for Christmas the first year of our marriage – a joint gift from my MIL even! – and yet I was unbelievably sad when the carafe to that blender broke this summer after 14 years of almost daily use.

  3. Jessie –

    I so love your blog…. I laugh and I’m so often brought to tears because your stories completely resonate with me. You never hide behind your words. I feel so much closer to you than what we are in actuality (when I see you next don’t be surprised if I act as if I know what you had for breakfast that morning) because when I read your blog, I feel as if you are one of my most deepest confidants and dearest friends. I’m always grateful that you share your inner most thoughts with ‘me’ (you don’t send your blog to anyone else, right?) 🙂

    Just wanted to send a quick thank you. I always look forward to seeing your latest piece waiting in my in-box. I love them all. By the way, we are making some changes on our NEPA Family Magazine website. Rather than having a typical blog page where individuals blog for us… We will soon provide links on our page to our most favorite blogs. Yours of course is on the absolute top of my list.

    Hope to see you guys in the not so distant future!

    Thanks, Jessie xo Kim

    • Thank you Kim, for this beautiful note! I love that the blog allows me to connect with long lost friends like you. And a shout out for the blog on your website would be AWESOME! Keep me posted;) Hope you guys are well. xoxo

  4. LOVE THIS! Greg and I will be celebrating our tenth in January. We aren’t big gift people, at all. In fact, he’s never bought me a card! What he does, which I have learned to love, is to take cards that I have saved, either blank, or one that I have given him or someone else has given to me, and he crosses out the name and message and writes his name and message. It cracks me up every time and, every time, I am surprised! Yesterday, he bought me an electric tea pot, so that when we travel, I will always be able to have my nightly tea. It’s the little things like that that keep me hanging around. You are amazing, and if Phil does offer boobs next year, make sure that they are huge!

  5. I love this. I love you two. Your candor and your truth-telling and your humor, as always, gets me somewhere deep inside. And yes to the mythology. Let’s all remember that even bath towels and detox face masks can be a part of mythology. xox

  6. I love you and Phil….you’re good people….people I want to be in my life. Looking back on the last 39 years of our marriage, I think of those “images” I had in my mind. Situations that were supposed to play out the way I imagined them to…but they took another path. At the time, I thought things were going to end up terribly. In reality, these situations ended up being “our story”. A story of how we survived tough times, happy times, difficult things… It makes you stronger as a couple. The guys never play out the way you think they will play out, but eventually you’ll see they are the people you love the most! xxxooo

  7. Has anyone told you lately? You are a gifted writer, Jessie. I love your voice, your candor, and most of all, your unpretentiousness. Don’t you ever change: you are a work of heart. Wishing you and your darlings every good thing. xoxo

  8. Jessie, I so enjoy your blog. You let it all out with words put together in a somewhat magical way. All best wishes to you and the family!

  9. Jess – I love this. Matt and I have had some major ups and downs in our early days between his work and my illness, and so it’s beautiful to hear the resolve to survive together for better or for worse. xo

    • I know, it’s so hard sometimes Cindy. I found that the hardest part was closing all the exits – meaning, making the decision that we were In It To Win It. Once I made that definitive choice, and stopped fantasizing about running away to an island, things got easier. Well maybe not easier necessarily….but less…hysterical:) Faith & Resilience. Love you girl xoxo

  10. Jessica- so well written! Very thought provoking! You really have a pulse on this thing we call life. I went to high school with Phil, and I can only assume how highly he thinks of you! Good luck!!

  11. I stumbled upon this piece, Jessie, and really loved it. My husband and I will celebrate our 10th anniversary this year, too, and there is a piece at the end of your essay that really struck me, about doing things in reverse. Although we are only in our late 30s, during the course of our relationship my husband and I have both weathered the loss of our mothers, and have entered the care-taking roles for our fathers. While our friends are leaving their children with their able-bodied parents for the weekend we are learning about estate law and taxes and how to navigate the healthcare system. Anyway, we’ve often said that, when many of our peers are going through this in 20 years we’ll be doing something else. And while this has been a stressful, often lonely time, it is helpful to go through it with someone else.

    • Thanks for commenting Elizabeth! Yes life hands you some unexpected curve balls sometimes, huh? So sorry to hear about the loss of your mothers. And yes, I agree – it is a blessing to not have to go it alone. xoxo

  12. Your writing speaks my truth which means it crosses gender lines. I’m a stay-at-home dad who has dealt with similar issues. Thank you for writing, and particularly with your comment above about “closing all the exits.” So true!

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