As I come upon my first anniversary, I have been reflecting back on our first year, and I have come to the conclusion that, marriage is the second hardest thing I have done in my life. Marriage is not dating, it is not living together, marriage is a whole different category of relationship. I thought it was just going to be a party and a piece of paper, but I was wrong, so very, very wrong.

Marriage is HARD. I know a lot of people are in the same sinking boat as I am and other people are on land, watching the rest of us try not to drown while trying to figure out this whole, “til death do you part” stuff.

Now, I DO NOT hate being married, nor do I regret it, but marriage has presented me with many challenges that I did not foresee.

Challenge #1: I’m an Asshole

For years I had absolutely no control over my life. I couldn’t decide what I wore, when I ate, when I used the bathroom, when I could watch television, I was even told when to wear my jacket, it was the end all, be all, of micromanagement.

Then, August 5, 2015, I was allowed to decide, most of my life, for myself. I ate when I wanted, said to hell with colder temperatures and wore t-shirts and flip flops, I never watch television anymore, I peed whenever I felt the need, I was learning how to become my own person, then I feel in love and I got married. It was no longer “me,” but “us.” I still hadn’t learned the finer points of me and now I had to maneuver not only myself, but the needs and wants of another person, whom I was constantly learning about.

As you can imagine, this adds a new level of stress to our marriage. Most 30-somethings have their stuff figured out, or at least of some kind of grip on who they are, I was not one of these people. Having never been in a serious, fully formed relationship before, romantic or otherwise, I did my best duck impression, calmly floating on the surface while furious treading water for dear life underneath.

I regularly have meltdowns, some are minor, some are embarrassingly epic. My hubs could probably write a psychology paper about me. While he has every right to throw his hands in the air and walk out, he doesn’t, his love is patient. He does this deep breath thing, that annoys the shit out of me, assesses the situation and then calmly wades through it, all while trying to understand the minefield of PTSD triggers I have laid out for him.

For years, my life was all about immediacy, 3 minutes to get from point A to B. Direct orders that must be completed immediately, men barking directions, alarms urgently ushering you from your chair into locked cell blocks. Speed walking a giant cement circle, at a pace that could make Olympian runners look like the jello line at the old folks home. Not my hubs, my husband has a very southern way about him, he’s slow. He takes his time, he’s analytical, he drives me insane. I try to be patient, to understand that I’m just not used to a slower pace but, many times, my patience is short lived, I get frustrated, angry, sometimes there is yelling, I am a crazy person.

His reaction, that freakin’ deep breath, as he absorbs all the crazy I rapid-fire throw at him. Sometimes there are hours of tense silence, initiated by me, then there are hugs, kisses and we move on, HE moves on. I am, still crazy.

Challenge #2: “ME”rriage

I do not know how to depend on anyone, how to let go and trust others to do what, I think, needs to be done. I have never had the chance, before now. I finally have control over my life, but in marriage, I must give some of that control to my husband, and I do not know how to do that, yet.

My learning process is ugly. I feel stupid, uneducated, left behind. I went from being a smart fish in a little pond, to being a stupid fish in fast moving rapids. I feel like, to continue this metaphor, I will be the first fish to drown.

All of my prison influenced issues damage my marriage, hurt my husband, and chip away at our relationship. I know that who am is not who my marriage needs me to be and it hurts.

In September, I had a miscarriage. I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I felt like a failure. I should have known. Previously, my doctor said I would probably never get pregnant, but I did, I had my chance and I destroyed it. I didn’t tell my husband. I didn’t know how, I did what I always do, I dealt with it alone, with only me in the equation, no one else could get hurt, right? Wrong. Eventually, I told my husband, the hurt on his face from being excluded from my life, OUR life, was excruciating. Lesson learned, this lesson hurt.

Challenge #3: Our Future

It is hard for me to visualize my future. After years of only seeing one thing, freedom, I have a hard time being able to visualize anything else new. I just take life day-by-day, because everything can change at the drop of a hat. We always seem to have something happen in our life. I am constantly losing or changing jobs, the hubs has an unpredictable ex-wife that likes to throw a wrench or two our way every couple of months. We always seem to have some astronomical medical bill in our laps. Just as we clean up one mess, here comes another.

Now, I realize we are not the only couple this happens to, everyone gets lobbed crap on a regular basis, but I’m new to this game of constant upheaval type stuff, and to be honest, I am not great about handling it. I have this nasty habit of thinking everything must be resolved NOW, right NOW. I can’t see beyond the end of the week, much less the end of the year. My husband always talks about the future, how we’ll be old together and how he wants to love me for the rest of my life. I love him for it, its calming for me, because I just can’t see it. I never thought I’d live to see 30, much less live long enough to grow old with a man who loves me unconditionally, but I’m sure as hell, for our marriage, going to try.

In October, my vision changed, I was pregnant again. I handed my hubs the stick and he laughed with happy disbelief. The future became clear, we started planning. Lists of names, the nursery, Pinterest boards galore. I gave up Mountain Dew and started eating stuff that was good for me. Everything was easy, I was ready, I could see it, the future, we were going to be parents. It was going to be amazing.

You can probably see where this is going.

During Thanksgiving lunch with my husband’s grandmother, I felt a snap and then searing cramps. Just like that, the future was gone. I know its not my fault, I know that, but that’s not how it feels. It feels like I am not meant to be a mother, that my future can only be told in week-long intervals. That I do not deserve to be that happy. As I sat in the ER that night, my husband by my side, I felt like I was back in prison, no control, worthless, broken, unhappy and alone.

Challenge #4: There will always be prison.

Prison does not define me, but it will never go away. As I write this, I am 38 years old and of my 38 years on earth, I have spent 45.6% of them incarcerated. How could prison not continue to influence my life. People are quick to throw out statements like, “I won’t let prison define me,” “I left that shit behind,” “You are not your time,” and other gems. Well good for you, but if you can experience something for almost half of your lifetime and have it not affect you in some way, I am pretty sure you’re a sociopath.

Not only does what I experienced while incarcerated affect my life, my marriage and my psyche, it affects how the world views me as well. As I have written about previously, I lose jobs, friends, and family over my past. Every loss affects me in some way. It doesn’t define me, but it does impact my life, mostly in hurtful and painful ways. My husband has lost because of my past as well. He says he loves me regardless, but I know he hurts too.

Marriage is not for sissies.

Marriage is hard and every day I learn something more about myself and my husband, as individuals and as a couple. Some of it I love and some I could really do without. But, we’re married, til death do us part, for better or worse.

Bottom line, my husband keeps our marriage strong. His patience, understanding and unconditional love are where he shines. I may never get him to clean out the closets, pare down his stupidly giant concert t-shirt collection or organize his desk, but that man will hold my hand through every kind of crazy I can dig up out of my damaged soul.

Prison does not define us, but it does affect us and together we will live each day overcoming the scars incarceration left on my body, my brain and my life. Together, with my institutional-influenced crazy and his love, we will create a second chance in a world that does not give them out willingly.

We will persevere and we will win.

Because, for better or worse, we are married, together, we’ve got this.