Nagging, in my mind, equals everything that’s wrong with a marriage.
The day my husband called me a “nag,” I locked myself in my bedroom and cried. Because from the day we got married, I swore to myself that I would never, ever be the stereotypical nagging wife.
Growing up, I got the impression that nagging was something wives just “did.” I expected that most wives had to beg their husbands to do the simplest of tasks, like take out the garbage, pick up their socks, and “help” with the children.
I saw marriage depicted with the idea that wives rule the roost, so to speak, and husbands are there to pretty much drag their feet against whatever their wives ask them to do. (Not the prettiest of pictures, right?)
So I vowed my marriage would be different.
I'd be the type of wife who was content just doing her own thing, looked at marriage as a partnership with a man who was completely capable of sharing household responsibilities and never considered himself a hero for taking care of his own children.
And most of all? I would never, ever nag my man. Nagging, in my mind, equals everything that's wrong with a marriage.
Nagging represented a shift in power from two people who loved and committed their lives to each other to two people stuck in a cycle of resentment, sexless nights, and bitter fights.
Of course, like most things that come with growing up and growing wiser, I had things about halfway right. I soon realised marriage was a partnership, but throw in a few (or four) kids and there definitely was no such thing as 50/50 anymore.
Marriage is about survival when you're in the trenches of parenting. And like it or not, my husband and I have different standards about what a clean house and a stocked cupboard consist of. (And as for those socks on the floor? Yeah, that's definitely a stereotype that exists for a reason. Mostly because it's totally true.)