Scared Of Marriage Quotes

Males will always try to control the females who scare them. Marriage and breeding are their go-to methods.

I’m not laughing.” I was actually crying. “And please don’t laugh at me now, but I think the reason it’s so hard for me to get over this guy is because I seriously believed David was my soul mate. ”He probably was. Your problem is you don’t understand what that word means. People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. And thank God for it. Your problem is, you just can’t let this one go. It’s over, Groceries. David’s purpose was to shake you up, drive you out of your marriage that you needed to leave, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light could get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you had to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master and beat it. That was his job, and he did great, but now it’s over. Problem is, you can’t accept that his relationship had a real short shelf life. You’re like a dog at the dump, baby – you’re just lickin’ at the empty tin can, trying to get more nutrition out of it. And if you’re not careful, that can’s gonna get stuck on your snout forever and make your life miserable. So drop it.“But I love him.” “So love him.” “But I miss him.” “So miss him. Send him some love and light every time you think about him, then drop it. You’re just afraid to let go of the last bits of David because then you’ll be really alone, and Liz Gilbert is scared to death of what will happen if she’s really alone. But here’s what you gotta understand, Groceries. If you clear out all that space in your mind that you’re using right now to obsess about this guy, you’ll have a vacuum there, an open spot – a doorway. And guess what the universe will do with the doorway? It will rush in – God will rush in – and fill you with more love than you ever dreamed. So stop using David to block that door. Let it go.

Satan will tempt you with many things in life, but the most powerful is the temptation to be grateful for what you have, when it is not the best life God had to offer you.

I didn't want to tell you I'd been scared, much less why. I guess that was stupid." "It was." "Aren't you supposed to say something like 'no, it wasn't. Blah, blah, support, stroke, let me get you some chocolate'?" "You haven't red the marriage handbook's footnotes. It's another woman who does that sort of thing. I believe I'm allowed to be more blunt, then ask if you'd like a quick shag." "Shag yourself

Why should I keep myself so safe?” he asked her, but he was almost asking himself. What is there in my life worth preserving? With a good wife back there in the mountains, serviceable as an old spoon, dry in the heart from having been scared of marriage since she was six? With three children so shy of their father, the Prince of the Arjikis, that they will hardly come near him? With a careworn clan moving here, moving there, going through th same disputes, herding the same herds, as thy have done for five hundred years? And me, with a shallow and undirected mind, no artfulness in word or habit, no especial kindness toward the world? What is there that makes my life worth preserving? “I love you,” said Elphaba. “So that’s that then, and that’s it,” he answered her and himself. “And I love you. So I promise to be careful.

Bertrand Russell wrote that ‘To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three-parts dead’. Maybe that was her problem. Maybe she was just scared of living. But Bertrand Russell had more marriages and affairs than hot dinners, so perhaps he was no one to give advice.

He says again that he will not hurt her, she must not be scared, he will not hurt her, he will not, he promises, the words whispered in his new rasping voice. And then he hurts her anyway. The pain is startling, and curious in its specificity

Life was good. Everything was going right. It was almost scaring him because usually when things were going this well it was the calm before the storm hit.

Never mistake the uncomfortable feeling of insecurity and the fear of the unknown with the Holy Ghost’s promptings. Sometimes those feelings are simply Satan keeping you stuck where you are because he knows you will have a half-life there. He knows that you will spend half of your life disconnected, discontented and convincing your mind of what its heart will never accept. He knows when you have settled, gave up and didn’t try. Inaction is his greatest weapon, while regret is his second.

One thing I know is that it is a bad idea to marry someone who had bad parents. If they hated their mother, if they were hated by their mother or father, your marriage will pay for it in ways both obvious and subtle. When the chips are down, when someone is sick or loses their job or gets scared, the old patterns will kick in and he will treat you the way he treated his mother or the way she treated him.

What you are as a single person, you will be as a married person, only to a greater degree. Any negative character trait will be intensified in a marriage relationship, because you will feel free to let your guard down -- that person has committed himself to you and you no longer have to worry about scaring him off.

In Plaster I shall never get out of this! There are two of me now: This new absolutely white person and the old yellow one, And the white person is certainly the superior one. She doesn't need food, she is one of the real saints. 
At the beginning I hated her, she had no personality -- She lay in bed with me like a dead body 
And I was scared, because she was shaped just the way I was 
 Only much whiter and unbreakable and with no complaints. I couldn't sleep for a week, she was so cold. I blamed her for everything, but she didn't answer. 
I couldn't understand her stupid behavior! 
When I hit her she held still, like a true pacifist. 
Then I realized what she wanted was for me to love her: She began to warm up, and I saw her advantages. 

Without me, she wouldn't exist, so of course she was grateful. 
I gave her a soul, I bloomed out of her as a rose 
Blooms out of a vase of not very valuable porcelain, And it was I who attracted everybody's attention, 
Not her whiteness and beauty, as I had at first supposed. 
I patronized her a little, and she lapped it up -- 
You could tell almost at once she had a slave mentality. 

I didn't mind her waiting on me, and she adored it. 
In the morning she woke me early, reflecting the sun 
From her amazingly white torso, and I couldn't help but notice 
Her tidiness and her calmness and her patience: She humored my weakness like the best of nurses, 
Holding my bones in place so they would mend properly. In time our relationship grew more intense. 

She stopped fitting me so closely and seemed offish. 
I felt her criticizing me in spite of herself, 
As if my habits offended her in some way. She let in the drafts and became more and more absent-minded. 
And my skin itched and flaked away in soft pieces 
Simply because she looked after me so badly. Then I saw what the trouble was: she thought she was immortal. She wanted to leave me, she thought she was superior, 
And I'd been keeping her in the dark, and she was resentful -- Wasting her days waiting on a half-corpse! 
And secretly she began to hope I'd die. Then she could cover my mouth and eyes, cover me entirely, 
And wear my painted face the way a mummy-case Wears the face of a pharaoh, though it's made of mud and water. 

I wasn't in any position to get rid of her. She'd supported me for so long I was quite limp -- I had forgotten how to walk or sit, So I was careful not to upset her in any way 
Or brag ahead of time how I'd avenge myself. Living with her was like living with my own coffin: Yet I still depended on her, though I did it regretfully. I used to think we might make a go of it together -- 
After all, it was a kind of marriage, being so close. 
Now I see it must be one or the other of us. She may be a saint, and I may be ugly and hairy, 
But she'll soon find out that that doesn't matter a bit. I'm collecting my strength; one day I shall manage without her, 
And she'll perish with emptiness then, and begin to miss me. --written 26 Feburary 1961

Without deception, sexual attraction isn’t possible. Men deceive women in many ways, and women deceive men on a whole different, god-like level. It’s not just makeup. It’s something far much greater. Many women try to play dumb, lest the man get scared of their intellectual abilities. Many women fake flexibility when it comes to opinions, as they know many men aren’t accepting of a highly opinionated woman. It’s a multitude of things with women. Whereas with men, things are quite simple. They just have to portray that they are the most sorted out guys, will be good providers, and know what they are doing in their lives. Putting it in a nutshell, both men and women deceive each other. But after a few months of marriage, the veil of deception is lifted. The woman who once seemed timid suddenly begins to voice her concerns. The woman who once seemed flexible suddenly begins to assert her unpopular opinions and impose her will. Men disappoint too. The woman realizes her guy isn’t as sorted out as he pretended to be. All in all, only when people start living together do they come to know of their partners for real. No wonder why so many love marriages end up in divorce within a year.

We're getting a marriage license and I will marry you right then and there in front of the judge. That doesn't scare me. Diapers scare me. But spending my life with you doesn't scare me. Not one bit.

The gist of it was that there were two types of men who absconded from their marriages: the naughty and the needy. The naughty absconder was a simple dick-driven creature who just couldn't help himself. However much he might love his family, it always came second to his main object in life, namely, chasing women. The needy absconder was basically insecure and forever trying to prove to himself how much everybody loved him. His family was, in effect, one big love machine that needed his constant control and attention. When his kids grew older and got lives of their own and didn't need him so much, he suddenly got scared and felt old and useless. So he ran off to look for a new love machine someplace else.

Everyone knows that part of the spirit descends to the afterworld, while part of it remains with the family, but we have a special belief about the spirit of a young woman who has died before her marriage that goes contrary to this. She comes back to prey upon other unmarried girls--not to scare them but to take them to the afterworld with her so she might have company.

There are lots of real reasons to decide to leave something or someone, but there are lots of other reasons that are less valid and less real and less about a relationship than our own minds: Fear (of screwing up, of being left, of not being good enough), restlessness, resistance to growing up, PMS, not knowing how to live without drama, fearing that you're getting happy, and happiness is boring. The thing that scared me the most was the knowledge that if I stayed, something was going to change, and that something was probably me. I didn't know what changed me would look like, or if I would like her more or less than I already did. Would I still recognize myself? Would I still be myself?

Her lips remind me of kite strings and I find myself thinking about panda bears. Panda bears do not fly kites, I tell myself. 'I thought you were dead,' she says. Maybe if you taped a kite to a panda paw and scared the panda so that it started running, the kite might start to lift off.

Yes," she said, but she seemed confused. "I never thought you did it. I know who I married." "Georgia," I said. "I know who I married, too. You're in me. When I touch you, your flesh communicates with my bones. You think I can't feel how sad you are?" "I'm scared," she said, her fingers transmitting a miserable willingness. "It's hard to start over.

Ah, God, Lys" he breathed, and she opened her eyes to look up at him. She was the love of his heart, his true partner in both work and life, and the idea of losing her to the violence of the world they lived in scared the living shit out of him. But her smile lit her eyes, her face, and he pushed the darkness away and let himself grin back at her like the damn fool that he was. This moment-now-was perfect, and he wasn't going to let his fears interfere.

I began to see her mind like an old television set, one with a dial you had to change the channels. She'd gotten stuck between channels and all that was broadcasting in her mind was crackling white noise which drove her mad and scared me to death. The medicine was like turning down the volume. The channles might still be stuck but at least the set was no longer spewing the deafening static. The volume had to be lowered until the channels could work again

The last one's hard. Marriage is always a balancing act, and it's never a good idea for one partner to get too big a head, but I'm afraid that's what's going to happen here. People write a lot of things about Eric Dillon's talent, and most of it's true. But nobody writes about the important things. The fact that he's a wonderful father and the best husband a woman could have. That fact that he cares about other people so much that he sometimes scares me. That doesn't mean he's perfect, of course. It's hard living with a man who's prettier than all of your girlfriends put together. But if it weren't for Eric Dillon, I wouldn't be here tonight. He loved me when I wasn't lovable, and I guess when it comes right down to it, that's pretty much what family is all about. Thank you, sweetheart.

Sounds like a plan. I owe Tammy a big thank-you.” Ty sighed. “I think I’m too old for this bachelor party crap.” “We’ll be planning yours soon enough.” That was so not appealing, Ty was almost scared. “Let’s just go fishing and call it good.” “Done.

A wrecked marriage scares everyone. It’s like a rock tossed into a still blue pond; the ripples go on and on.

Okay, okay. I can do this, I can do this just breathe. Mentally I prepared myself but it didn't help with the feeling of jumping off a cliff deep in my belly.

Neither TC nor I would choose to spend our lives living in fear of those who might hurt us. Fear doesn't keep people safe, we've always seemed to implicitly agree. It keeps them small and scared.

It was too familiar to Cody. He placed his arms around his wife trying somehow to shelter her from the reality she was facing. There was another reason for his closeness; his desperation to show her he was not one of them, that the tribes of cruel men did not recognize him as one of their own, and to show his wife that his promise to create a safe place for her was a promise she need not fear would be broken. In the innermost part of him, from the secret child that lives within all men, was a scared cry, “Please don’t think I’m bad too.” From the other innermost part of him, the secret animal that prowls in some men was a raging wolf ready to kill. The battle line within the man had been drawn. The boundaries of faith rose up around the rage, warning the soul against righteous anger morphing to blood lust.

What's the use of crying, and retching, and belching, all day long, like your lady downstairs? Life has its sad side, and we must take the rough with the smooth. Why, maids have died on their marriage eve, or, what's worse, bringing their first baby into the world, and the world's wagged on all the same. Life's sad enough, in all conscience, but there's nothing to be frightened about in it or to turn one's stomach. I was country-bred, and as my old granny used to say, "There's no clock like the sun and no calendar like the stars." And why? Because it gets one used to the look of Time. There's no bogey from over the hills that scares one like Time. But when one's been used all one's life to seeing him naked, as it were, instead of shut up in a clock, like he is in Lud, one learns that he is as quiet and peaceful as an old ox dragging the plough. And to watch Time teaches one to sing. They say the fruit from over the hills makes one sing. I've never tasted so much as a sherd of it, but for all that I can sing.

Getting married had been all his idea, but he hadn't told her how very afraid of it he was. He seemed to need to force his way through it anyway, as he did with everything that scared him terribly. He was afraid of marriage and he was afraid of being alone, too.

I don't have all of the answers to the world. I don't know everything about life and marriage and happiness. But I do know what love is. And I do know that when love is real, and when love is in its strongest form, it is the most powerful thing on this earth. It kills, saves lives, heals wounds, and most of all, brings hope. That is what you have done for me, Lily. You have brought me hope. When I look into your eyes, I know that no matter what may happen to me, as long as I can see those eyes staring back at me, then I'll be fine. Somehow I'll make it through. Somehow I'll find a way to survive for you. And that's what I want to feel for the rest of my time here on Earth, however short or long that may be. I want to wake up every morning and see your shining face staring back at me. But I also want to protect you. I want to protect you from anything that may hurt you. I want to be there when you cry to dry your tears. When you feel lonely, I want to give you a kiss. When you are scared, to embrace you. And when you are happy, to share a laugh with you. I don't know what's in store for us, but I do know that true love outlasts everything. It outlasts doubt, hate, war, misfortune, and most of all death. I vow to you to always be beside you. Not only in this life, but the next. Because that's when love becomes real. That's when love becomes unchained from anything in this life. I know that when I die, the first thing that I will see will be your eyes. That is how I will know that I made it to Heaven. Because you and I will still be together, forever." -James Potter

It’s not helpful for your connection with your husband to discuss with him your hurt or scared feelings about him, but your feelings do deserve airtime. So make sure to honor and express those feelings somewhere else. The more you preserve the intimacy in your marriage by avoiding comments that are disrespectful to or critical of your husband, the less you’re going to have those hurtful moments. You’ll be too busy laughing together and holding hands.

Obviously, to be in the fear of the Lord is not to be scared of the Lord, even though the Hebrew word has overtones of respect and awe. “Fear” in the Bible means to be overwhelmed, to be controlled by something. To fear the Lord is to be overwhelmed with wonder before the greatness of God and his love. It means that, because of his bright holiness and magnificent love, you find him “fearfully beautiful.” That is why the more we experience God’s grace and forgiveness, the more we experience a trembling awe and wonder before the greatness of all that he is and has done for us. Fearing him means bowing before him out of amazement at his glory and beauty.

Among us English-speaking peoples especially do the praises of poverty need once more to be boldly sung. We have grown literally afraid to be poor. We despise any one who elects to be poor in order to simplify and save his inner life. If he does not join the general scramble and pant with the money-making street, we deem him spiritless and lacking in ambition. We have lost the power even of imagining what the ancient idealization of poverty could have meant: the liberation from material attachments, the unbribed soul, the manlier indifference, the paying our way by what we are or do and not by what we have, the right to fling away our life at any moment irresponsibly—the more athletic trim, in short, the moral fighting shape. When we of the so-called better classes are scared as men were never scared in history at material ugliness and hardship; when we put off marriage until our house can be artistic, and quake at the thought of having a child without a bank-account and doomed to manual labor, it is time for thinking men to protest against so unmanly and irreligious a state of opinion. It is true that so far as wealth gives time for ideal ends and exercise to ideal energies, wealth is better than poverty and ought to be chosen. But wealth does this in only a portion of the actual cases. Elsewhere the desire to gain wealth and the fear to lose it are our chief breeders of cowardice and propagators of corruption. There are thousands of conjunctures in which a wealth-bound man must be a slave, whilst a man for whom poverty has no terrors becomes a freeman. Think of the strength which personal indifference to poverty would give us if we were devoted to unpopular causes. We need no longer hold our tongues or fear to vote the revolutionary or reformatory ticket. Our stocks might fall, our hopes of promotion vanish, our salaries stop, our club doors close in our faces; yet, while we lived, we would imperturbably bear witness to the spirit, and our example would help to set free our generation. The cause would need its funds, but we its servants would be potent in proportion as we personally were contented with our poverty. I recommend this matter to your serious pondering, for it is certain that the prevalent fear of poverty among the educated classes is the worst moral disease from which our civilization suffers.

The scars of torture, forced conversion and forced marriages of minority girls are the scares that will never heal.

Jesiba tsked. “Males will always try to control the females who scare them. Marriage and breeding are their go-to methods.

FIGARO. Scared? Nonsense! That’s no way to think, Madame. If you give in to the fear of consequences, you’re already living with the consequences of fear.

Cleaning up after themselves was a low priority for Margo and my mother. They had both recovered from cancer scares, failed marriages, and lost hope; in their opinion, dirt could wait.

BRADBURY: Well, if you love people you criticize them, and if you don’t love them you don’t criticize them, you let them go to hell, don’t you? To help any kind of friendship, your marriage, your children, you criticize because you love. And this works the same way. With your friends--let’s say in writing--if you don’t offer criticism to them and scare them on occasion… In other words you say to a new writer, for gods sake write, because if you don’t you will disappear. The world doesn’t give a damn about you unless you do something. Those are the rules; I didn’t make them. If you are lazy, if you don’t get the work that you love done, the world won’t care if you die tomorrow and go into the grave and are gone and forgotten forever.

I swear, I think my brother only let me move in so he'd have a live-in maid. He's too scared of marriage to get a wife, so his sister was the next best thing. I realize that comment could be taken wrong by certain folks seeing as though we're from Arkansas. But it’s not that way. I love him and he loves me. In a take a bullet for each other kinda way, not the marrying kind.

She was uncertain about taking his hand in marriage after he’d revealed to her that his deceased father was a big-time hustler, and his twin brother had taken over the family empire. She was scared.

Deep down she was scared of becoming her mother. She didn't want to replicate her parents' mariage. Still staring blankly at the book of regrets. She wondered if her parents had ever been in love or if they'd got married because marriage was something you did at the appropriate time with the nearest available person. A game where you grabbed the first person you could find when the music stopped. She had never wanted to play that game. Bertrand Russel wrote but to fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead. Maybe that was her problem. Maybe she was just scared of living.

Poverty doesn't scare me, ignorance does. Work doesn't scare me, laziness does. Pleasure doesn't scare me, pain does. Charity doesn't scare me, weakness does. Chastisement doesn't scare me, flattery does. Friendship doesn't scare me, betrayal does. Enmity doesn't scare me, anger does. Marriage doesn't scare me, divorce does. Love doesn't scare me, heartache does. Sex doesn't scare me, parenting does. Ambition doesn't scare me, envy does. Adversity doesn't scare me, boredom does. Risk doesn't scare me, cowardice does. Competition doesn't scare me, mediocrity does. Defeat doesn't scare me, weakness does. Misfortune doesn't scare me, bitterness does. Maturing doesn't scare me, infirmity does. Life doesn't scare me, regret does. Aging doesn't scare me, death does. Existence doesn't scare me, oblivion does. War doesn't scare me, bloodshed does. Government doesn't scare me, corruption does. Politics doesn't scare me, manipulation does. Revolution doesn't scare me, tyranny does. Rebellion doesn't scare me, slavery does. Ideology doesn't scare me, fanaticism does. Religion doesn't scare me, immorality does. Faith doesn't scare me, hopelessness does. Morality doesn't scare me, evil does. God doesn't scare me, extremism does.

How'd you know that would help, Grandma? Used to have a regular who had attacks like that all the time. Poor guy. He was an accountant, loveless marriage-most of em were back then-and vaginas scared the bejeezus outta him.

Bullshit is everywhere.” (...) Then there’s the more pernicious bullshit… It comes in three flavors: Making bad things sound good… “Patriot Act.” Because “Are You Scared Enough to Let Me Look at All Your Phone Records Act” doesn’t sell… Number two: hiding bad things under mountains of bullshit. “Hey, a handful of billionaires can’t buy our elections, right?” “Of course not. They can only pour unlimited, anonymous cash into a 501( c)( 4) if 50 percent is devoted to ‘issue education’”… And finally, my favorite: the bullshit of infinite possibility… “We cannot take action on climate change until everyone in the world agrees gay marriage vaccines won’t cause our children to marry goats who are coming for our guns. Until then, I say we teach the controversy.” So I say to you, friends: The best defense against bullshit is vigilance. So if you smell something, say something. ~Jon Stewart

It takes love and trust and a whole lot of elbow grease to go the distance. Marriage is hard work, all relationships are. And sometimes we make mistakes, get scared, but how you deal with your own devil shows the character of the man.

Aren’t you scared of him?’ Amy asked, slumping down and trying to make herself inconspicuous. ‘He always looks so fierce. Don’t you remember that time he nearly caught us on his land? I was sure he’d give us a beating if he’d got hold of us.’ ‘Humph! My pa would have had something to say to him if he had.’ ‘That wouldn’t have been much comfort.’ ‘Yes, it would. Anyway, who’d be scared of him—sour old man like that.’ Lizzie dismissed Charlie Stewart with a wave of her hand.

Because you are not scared to admit out loud that you're afraid. Or to ask questions... and because you know that your husband is in pain, you will go to him and not threaten his ability to provide with words that cut and burn in another's mind forever, until death do you apart. Because you will tell him that its right for him to change profession and that it is not his fault that the shoe he first brought to your marriage no longer fits. You'll say that you don't care what your parents think , or people think, and material things can always be replaced, but not him. And because you will have the patience and wisdom to understand everything that he is afraid of, you'll kiss his boo-boos instead of rubbing salt in the wounds of his failures...

Bliss?” I called. “Yeah?” “Check the drawers of the nightstand! She was playing with it in the middle of the night, and I think I remember taking it away and sticking it in there.” “Okay!” Through the open door, I watched her circle around the edge of the bed. I walked in place for a few seconds, letting my feet drop a little heavier than necessary, then opened and closed the door like I’d gone back inside the bathroom. Then I hid in the space between the back of the bedroom door and the wall where I could just see through the crack between the hinges. She pulled open the top drawer, and my heartbeat was like a bass drum. I don’t know when it had started beating so hard, but now it was all that I could hear. It wasn’t like I was asking her to marry me now. I just knew Bliss, and knew she tended to panic. I was giving her a very big, very obvious hint so that she’d have time to adjust before I actually asked her. Then in a few months, when I thought she’d gotten used to the idea, I’d ask her for real. That was the plan anyway. It was supposed to be simple, but this felt… complicated. Suddenly, I thought of all the thousands of ways this could go wrong. What if she freaked out? What if she ran like she did our first night together? If she ran, would she go back to Texas? Or would she go to Cade who lived in North Philly? He’d let her stay until she figured things out, and then what if something developed between them? What if she just flat out told me no? Everything was good right now. Perfect, actually. What if I was ruining it by pulling this stunt? I was so caught up in my doomsday predictions that I didn’t even see the moment that she found the box. I heard her open it though, and I heard her exhale and say, “Oh my God.” Where before my mouth had been dry, now I couldn’t swallow fast enough. My hands were shaking against the door. She was just standing there with her back to me. I couldn’t see her face. All I could see was her tense, straight spine. She swayed slightly. What if she passed out? What if I’d scared her so much that she actually lost consciousness? I started to think of ways to explain it away. I was keeping it for a friend? It was a prop for a show? It was… It was… shit, I didn’t know. I could just apologize. Tell her I knew it was too fast. I waited for her to do something—scream, run, cry, faint. Anything would be better than her stillness. I should have just been honest with her. I wasn’t good at things like this. I said what I was thinking—no plans, no manipulation. Finally, when I thought my body would crumble under the stress alone, she turned. She faced the bed, and I only got her profile, but she was biting her lip. What did that mean? Was she just thinking? Thinking of a way to get out of it? Then, slowly, like the sunrise peeking over the horizon, she smiled. She snapped the box closed. She didn’t scream. She didn’t run. She didn’t faint. There might have been a little crying. But mostly… she danced. She swayed and jumped and smiled the same way she had when the cast list was posted for Phaedra. She lost herself the same way she did after opening night, right before we made love for the first time. Maybe I didn’t have to wait a few months after all. She said she wanted my best line tomorrow after the show, and now I knew what it was going to be.

I've seen any number of devastated men in therapy who tell me their wives left them out of the blue. The women, however, claim to have voiced their anger and discontent for a long time. Both are right; he hasn't listened well enough; she hasn't shared her thoughts about leaving clearly enough or early enough in the process. Often one person doesn't make a serious issue of divorce until she's finally made up her mind to leave. Any changes her partner then agrees to make are too little, too late. In the end, neither spouse has had the opportunity to test the potential for change in their marriage.

His mistake. Eve, do you want to talk to Mira about this?” “No.” She considered it another moment, then shook her head and repeated, “No, not now anyway. Dumping on you levels it out a little. Taking him down, all the way down—that’ll take care of the rest.” For a moment she studied their joined hands, then shifted her gaze up to his. “I didn’t want to tell you I’d been scared, much less why. I guess that was stupid.” “It was.” She scowled. “Aren’t you supposed to say something like ‘No, it wasn’t. Blah, blah, support, stroke, let me get you some chocolate’?” “You haven’t read the marriage handbook, footnotes. It’s another woman who does that sort of thing. I believe I’m allowed to be more blunt, then ask if you’d like a quick shag.” “Shag yourself,” she said and made him laugh. “But thanks anyway.” “Offer’s always on the table.” “Yeah, yeah, and the floor, in the closet, or on the front stairs. Time to work, ace, not to play.

When we of the so-called better classes are scared as men were never scared in history at material ugliness and hardship; when we put off marriage until our house can be artistic, and quake at the thought of having a child without a bank-account and doomed to manual labor, it is time for thinking men to protest against so unmanly and irreligious a state of opinion.

I am off to a life where I can exist in a room and not have to pretend I want to be there. I am off to hear people who have something to say. I don’t even have to agree with it— I just want to know what it’s like to listen to a real sentence. I long for a time where I don’t wish the day would be over. This means leaving the company. I can wonder, or I can wander—and it’s time for me to get lost. Reinvention is hard. To let it go? To admit you don’t love something anymore? That’s the stuff that kills you. But I must run before another workday asks for me again. Things are hard so that we can start. I feel like fate is blindfolding me. My arms reach out not knowing if I’ll impale myself or secure my foothold—but all great things come from motion. Nothing begets nothing. And I’m scared, but I have the movies with me. The things we love require us. I wonder what would happen if everyone in the world did what they loved. Would things fall into place and leave no empty spaces? Would there be harmony in the work field? Sustainable marriages? Children with parents? Dirty water? Would there be resignation letters?

I began to see her mind like an old television set, one with a dial you had to change the channels. She'd gotten stuck between channels and all that was broadcasting in her mind was crackling white noise which drove her mad and scared me to death. The medicine was like turning down the volume. The channels might still be stuck but at least the set was no longer spewing the deafening static. The volume had to be lowered until the channels could work again

And what makes you think I'm going to do anything you say?" "Because for the time being you are legally mine,and that means you will obey me." She nearly choked she drew in her breath so sharply. "Do not count on that,St. John.I don't care what rights you think this mockery of a marriage gives you,as far as I'm concerned,you don't even exist.Do I need to be more explicit?" "No,I believe we have come to a mutual agreement to forget about each other, which suits me just fine.As long as you do nothing to gain my notice, which means you stay at your home for the duration." "Your threats don't scare me." He lifted a brow at her. "No? Then you really must have some odd notions about marriage,if you think you can do as you please now.Ask your mother if you doubt me." He walked away,and she didn't bother to look where. They were man and wife and would be until he got their marriage annulled. What a rude awakening that was going to be in three or four months' time.For him.

Recently, I watched an episode of The Big Bang Theory. One of the characters, Howard—an astrophysicist—is in space. His new bride, Bernadette, convinces him that it would be best if they lived by themselves when he comes back to earth and not with his loud, annoying mother. Howard agrees. He’s too scared to take ownership of the decision, so he pitches it to his mother like it was his wife’s idea. The mother yells so loud, she barely needs any equipment to be heard in space. Howard dutifully tells her that he will convince Bernadette and they’ll live with her. When Bernadette calls, he doesn’t have the, er, balls, to tell her the truth either. So he tells her all is well with the move. His counterpart, a Russian astronaut, cannot believe his country lost the Cold War to wusses like Howard. When he asks him what he plans to do, Howard has only one option. He’ll stay in space. Earth is where there are problems between his wife and mother. He’s safe in space. He’s not the only one. The world is full of conflicted husbands wishing they could be in space and

I’m socially impaired. I get surprised all the time by people saying and doing irrational things. Take gay marriage. Why would some people get so upset that people they didn’t even know wanted to get married?” “For the same reason men denied women the vote for so long. It threatens their status and their understanding of the world.” She beamed, delighted that he saw it, too. “That’s right! I had to think and think to figure that out. Though I still don’t see why they’re so scared of changing their minds.” “Because the world is a dangerous place. If it doesn’t work the way we believe it does, the danger becomes unmanageable.

We're going to be married and hardly touch each other and have to work and work and never have any fun and we're just going to be okay with it because that's how life is and that's how relationships go, but I don't want that. I want our marriage to be... fun. I love joking around while we fool around. I want to hold hands everywhere we go. I want to make out in the back of a movie theater, steal kisses in coffee shops, have sex over every inch of our apartment or house or wherever we live. And I'm scared marriage will change the fun part of our relationship. The part that keeps us young, keeps us in love, and I'm terrified you'll wake up when you're fifty and realize you're stuck with the decision you made when you were twenty-seven, and we haven't touched in months, we don't go out. I just want to know when that happens... that you'll still... you'll still love me.

My mother was the alcoholic in my life. I was the eldest of four children and always had the duties of taking care of my brothers and sisters, the house, and my dad. I resented my mother for this. But my dad praised me so much and gave me so much special attention for being the “little mother” around the house for him, that eventually I didn’t seem to mind my mother’s alcoholism. My dad would always let me sit in his lap at night for being “his girl,” comb my hair, and do special things for me. Something didn’t feel right about it, but it was the only attention I got. As an adult, I seemed to have everything going for me and seemed in control. But my husband confronted me one day and said he was dissatisfied with my difficulties in being intimate with him. He wanted changes or a divorce. I was stunned. That’s when I discovered that growing up in an alcoholic family affected my ability to be intimate. I figured if I dealt with my feelings and issues about my mother, things would be fine. After all, she was the alcoholic. Well, I did deal with her, but things weren’t fine. I came to realize that all that special attention from my dad was really a source of pain and the real culprit behind my difficulty in being close to my husband. Now I realize that I’ve lived my life for him. I chose my husband because I thought my father would approve. The career and family I built were intended to win my father’s admiration and love. Even as an adult, I went to him with intimate details of my life, which he invited. God, I began to feel icky all over again. I was scared and guilt-ridden. I knew I had to stop being “Daddy’s girl” if I was going to save myself and my marriage. It was the most difficult decision I ever had to make about my life: separating from the man who had been the only source of comfort while I was growing up. Yet it was also the most freeing decision I ever made.

Answers to the Twenty Questions People Ask Us Most 1. Do you like the beards? Miss Kay: If Phil ever shaved his beard, I’d think I was committing adultery. Korie: When I married Willie, he was clean-shaven and had short hair. Boy, how things change! Over the years, I’ve really come to like the look he has now, including the beard. Missy: I love Jase. I don’t like the beard. I miss the days of scratch-free kisses. Besides, he’s just too cute under there! Jessica: Yes! Although Jep is really cute under all that hair, and although he does have the Robertson dimples, I still prefer the beard. I think sometime over the course of our marriage I transitioned to loving the beard. I do make him trim the mustache every once in a while for better kisses! I also feel safer with the beard; I know no one is going to mess with us because the beard kind of scares people. For some reason, I think they think he’s a madman! Lisa: Alan is often referred to as “the Robertson without a beard,” and I like it that way!

Having been through a real marriage, it’s hard for me not to feel like those perfect old dead couples are lying, or in denial, or maybe they just didn’t go deep enough, maybe they were always too scared. The truth is that you simply can’t make it into adulthood unscathed. And if somehow you did, you wouldn’t have the perspective and empathy to properly care for another human being for the rest of both your lives. It’s impossible. Everyone’s going to have their shit... The true work of love isn’t staying together when things are perfect; it’s staying together even when things are awful, weathering catastrophic mistakes (within reason) because, well, you decided to, and because you know the potential is as real as the now. It turns your partnership into something that grows instead of something that atrophies. You’re promising another person not just passion and love but a safety net, some degree of stability and certainty in a fucking terrible world. You’re saying, “I promise I will stay with you even if you suck for a while,” an almost narcotic comfort that we all deserve.

You deserve someone so much better." "You will find someone better so soon that you wont even know." "I told you, he/she wasn't good enough for you." "Oh c'mon! He/she wasn't the ONE for you." "Things will soon be fine. It's just a phase." "He/she will never find anyone better than you. Let him/her rot in hell." Gradually, you realize that all these are STANDARD statements that everybody makes to everyone. Because they don't have anything else to say. But, only your heart knows what you actually want to hear is something else. Entirely different. How you actually want and need to be handled is different. But, you don't say. Because you are scared to lose what's now left with you, and that's completely fine. To be protective of what's left. Because you can't bring back the dead! However, you also realize, that out of all these people there was only one who had the courage to show you a mirror and not be shattered by your wrath. You realize that there was only one set of arms, that were your sanctuary even though you twisted them in an outburst of anger. Not suddenly, but really slowly it settles within you, that it was only one person who knew you inside out and had the bravery to handle you at your worst. Even more slowly it settles you let that person drift away when you wanted them to run back to you and hold onto you. And so you are left with people telling you, "life moves on" and no one telling you, "Let's just pause it here!

Mor rubbed her face. 'You were right about me, though. You were...' Her hand shook as she lowered it. She gnawed on her lip, throat bobbing. Her eyes at last met mine- bright and fearful and anguished. Her voice broke as she said, 'I don't love Azriel.' I remained perfectly still. Listening. 'No, that's not true, either. I- I do love him. As my family. And sometimes I wonder if it can be... more, but... I do not love him. Not the way he- he feels for me.' The last words were a trembling whisper. 'Have you ever loved him? That way?' 'No.' She wrapped her arms around herself. 'No, I don't... You see...' I'd never seen her at such a loss for words. She closed her eyes, fingers digging into her skin. 'I can't love him like that.' 'Why?' 'Because I prefer females.' For a heartbeat, only silence rippled through me. 'But- you sleep with males. You slept with Helion...' And had looked terrible the next day. Tortured and not sated. Not just because of Azriel, but... because it wasn't what she wanted. 'I do find pleasure in them. In both.' Her hands were shaking so fiercely that she gripped herself even tighter. 'But I've known, since I was little more than a child, that I prefer females. That I'm... attracted to them more over males. That I connect with them, care for them more on that soul-deep level But at the Hewn City... All they care about is breeding their bloodlines, making alliances through marriage. Someone like me... If I were to marry where my heart desired, there would be no offspring. My father's bloodline would have ended with me. I knew it- knew that I could never tell them. Ever. People like me... we're reviled by them. Considered selfish, for not being able to pass on the bloodline. So I never breathed a word of it. And then... then my father betrothed me to Eris, and... And it wasn't just the prospect of marriage to him that scared me. No, I knew I could survive his brutality, his cruelty and coldness. I was- I am stronger than him. It was... It was the idea of being bred like a prize mare, of being forced to give up that one part of me...' Her mouth wobbled, and I reached for her hand, prying it off her arm. I squeezed gently as tears began sliding down her flushed face. 'I slept with Cassian because I knew it would mean little to him, too. Because I knew doing it would buy me a shot at freedom. If I had told my parents that I preferred females... You've met my father. He and Beron would have tied me to that marriage bed for Eris. Literally. But sullied... I knew my shot at freedom lay there. And I saw how Azriel looked at me... knew how he felt. And if I'd chosen him...' She shook her head. 'It wouldn't have been fair to him. So I slept with Cassian, and Azriel though I deemed him unsuitable, and then everything happened and...' Her fingers tightened on mine. 'After Azriel found me with that note nailed to my womb... I tried to explain. But he started to confess what he felt, and I panicked, and... and to get him to stop, to keep him from saying he loved me, I just turned and left, and... and I couldn't face explaining it after that. To Az, to the others.' She loosed a shuddering breath. 'I sleep with males in part because I enjoy it, but... also to keep people from looking too closely.

She was more scared of me leaving her than being in a marriage that was just good. What a cop-out.

What has inspired this amazing career change by one so old? Cherchez la femme! Uninvited, as nearly as I can remember, an energetic and opinionated and voluptuous and relatively young woman has moved in with me! She said she couldn’t bear seeing and hearing me do absolutely nothing all day long—so why didn’t I do something, do anything? If I couldn’t think of anything else to do, why didn’t I write my autobiography? Why not, indeed? She is so authoritative! I find myself doing whatever she says I must do. During our twenty years of marriage, my dear Edith never once thought of something for me to do. In the Army, I knew several colonels and generals like this new woman in my life, but they were men, and we were a nation at war. Is this woman a friend? I don’t know what the hell she is. All I know is that she isn’t going to leave again until she’s good and ready, and that she scares the pants off me. Help.

Marriage, a second time around, scared the living bejeezus out of her,

Obviously, to be in the fear of the Lord is not to be scared of the Lord, even though the Hebrew word has overtones of respect and awe. "Fear" in the Bible means to be overwhelmed, to be controlled by something. To fear the Lord is to be overwhelmed with wonder before the greatness of God and his love. It means that, because of his bright holiness and magnificent love, you find him "fearfully beautiful.

It was crazy, the prisons that people made in their minds. Suzi was an educated middle-class woman, with a living, affluent mother, who perhaps was not the most supportive, but would hardly turn her daughter out on to the street. The law was there to protect her, make sure she wouldn’t get kicked out of the marriage with nothing. So what was she so scared of? The loss of social standing, the failure of a divorce, perhaps the loneliness, raising her child alone? I wished I could tell her how insignificant these things were, compared to what other pain life had up its sleeve.

It was hard not to wonder, as Whitney put the Tesla in park, whether this could possibly be true. The nature of disaster preparedness was so weird, as no one actually knew which disaster to be scared of. Steel doors, for example, weren’t going to help with anthrax. Fifty years of gourmet freeze-dried foodstuffs, which a nearby project promised, weren’t going to fix a bad marriage.

Kill Yourself Buddhism argues that your idea of who “you” are is an arbitrary mental construction and that you should let go of the idea that “you” exist at all; that the arbitrary metrics by which you define yourself actually trap you, and thus you’re better off letting go of everything. In a sense, you could say that Buddhism encourages you to not give a fuck. It sounds wonky, but there are some psychological benefits to this approach to life. When we let go of the stories we tell about ourselves, to ourselves, we free ourselves up to actually act (and fail) and grow. When someone admits to herself, “You know, maybe I’m not good at relationships,” then she is suddenly free to act and end her bad marriage. She has no identity to protect by staying in a miserable, crappy marriage just to prove something to herself. When the student admits to himself, “You know, maybe I’m not a rebel; maybe I’m just scared,” then he’s free to be ambitious again. He has no reason to feel threatened by pursuing his academic dreams and maybe failing. When the insurance adjuster admits to himself, “You know, maybe there’s nothing unique or special about my dreams or my job,” then he’s free to give that screenplay an honest go and see what happens. I have both some good news and some bad news for you: there is little that is unique or special about your problems. That’s why letting go is so liberating. There’s a kind of self-absorption that comes with fear based on an irrational certainty. When you assume that your plane is the one that’s going to crash, or that your project idea is the stupid one everyone is going to laugh at, or that you’re the one everyone is going to choose to mock or ignore, you’re implicitly telling yourself, “I’m the exception; I’m unlike everybody else; I’m different and special.” This is narcissism, pure and simple. You feel as though your problems deserve to be treated differently, that your problems have some unique math to them that doesn’t obey the laws of the physical universe. My recommendation: don’t be special; don’t be unique. Redefine your metrics in mundane and broad ways. Choose to measure yourself not as a rising star or an undiscovered genius. Choose to measure yourself not as some horrible victim or dismal failure. Instead, measure yourself by more mundane identities: a student, a partner, a friend, a creator. The narrower and rarer the identity you choose for yourself, the more everything will seem to threaten you. For that reason, define yourself in the simplest and most ordinary ways possible. This often means giving up some grandiose ideas about yourself: that you’re uniquely intelligent, or spectacularly talented, or intimidatingly attractive, or especially victimized in ways other people could never imagine.

What the hell?" Too late, she remembered she was wearing her Iron Man bra, a red and gold mask covering each breast, silver eye slits glaring into the great beyond---or in this case, at the man who had dared take off her clothes. Liam barked a laugh. "Is that meant to scare dudes away?" "You know I like the Avengers." She shrugged. "I just wasn't expecting to be... sharing the visual." "So I see." His hands closed over her breasts. "I'm going to cover his eyes. I can't perform if Iron Man is watching." "Afraid you won't measure up?" "More like I'm afraid he might break down the door and take me out.

I’ve thought of all the times when we could have forestalled damage to the children, but the truth is we were damaged ourselves. Even if we had worked that out, it wouldn’t have been much use. Those early wounds run deep. Eve had been ignored as a child, controlled but neglected; longing for freedom and longing for affection, she was ridiculously generous with both, and I don’t just mean Martin. She trusted everyone. How would she have recognized cruelty when she was determined to love everyone she met? Melly swapped one tyrant for another, her father for her husband; it’s hard to know who caused the most damage, especially as she was hell-bent on damaging herself. When you are anorexic, it actually does something to your vision; you can’t assess what you see properly. I heard that on the radio yesterday and I wanted to tell her, but I’m not sure if that would help; not now. I was damaged by greed: my own. My grandfather told me that anything was possible; it wasn’t his fault that I believed him. I thought I could manage it all – work, marriage, kids, writing, being scared. That was wrong, or worse, half right. He forgot to add that anything is possible, but not on your own. He might have thought that was completely obvious; I grew up in an African village, after all. I should have asked for help when I needed it. He told me to walk slowly and he was right. I might have noticed what was there in front of me. You can’t blame Melly for not seeing things properly, when I wasn’t watching either.

As a pastor, I have front-row seats to watch the before and after of a lie’s entrance into a soul, and not to scare you, but it’s gut wrenching. I used the example of “You’ll be happier if you get a divorce” because it’s so common. I see it all the time. While every marriage is its own story, I watch so many people initiate a divorce in a desire to be happy but end up even more miserable. Many of them carry regret to their graves.

Going that well?” I laugh and shake my head. “It’s exactly how I envisioned marriage being—absolutely fucking miserable and no one’s getting laid.” Matvey shrugs and downs half his water. “Our brothers seem pretty happy.” “They’re outliers. It’s not normal. The majority of married people are miserable.” “She’s just scared.” He takes a seat next to mine and finishes his water. “Her only family is a couple of psychopaths who enjoy selling women. That can’t be easy to grow up around.

It’s the date of our first wedding anniversary.” “Oh? Oh, that’s right!” He smiled, relieved at the change to a safe subject. “We’ll have been married a year. My, it doesn’t seem that long!” “It seems much longer,” she said tonelessly. She was looking off again, and he felt in sudden uneasiness that the subject was not safe at all; he wished she would not look as if she were seeing the whole course of that year and of their marriage. . . . not to get scared, but to learn—she thought—the thing to do is not to get scared, but to learn . . . The words came from a sentence she had repeated to herself so often that it felt like a pillar polished smooth by the helpless weight of her body, the pillar that had supported her through the past year. She tried to repeat it, but she felt as if her hands were slipping on the polish, as if the sentence would not stave off terror any longer—because she was beginning to understand. If you don’t know, the thing to do is not to get scared, but to learn. . . . It was in the bewildered loneliness of the first weeks of her marriage that she said it to herself for the first time. She could not understand Jim’s behavior, or his sullen anger, which looked like weakness, or his evasive, incomprehensible answers to her questions, which sounded like cowardice; such traits were not possible in the James Taggart whom she had married. She told herself that she could not condemn without understanding, that she knew nothing about his world, that the extent of her ignorance was the extent to which she misinterpreted his actions. She took the blame, she took the beating of self-reproach—against some bleakly stubborn certainty which told her that something was wrong and that the thing she felt was fear.

The general public always thought of cold cases as impossible to solve. They weren’t completely wrong, but oftentimes, Will found that the passage of time gave witnesses more perspective. Mostly, it came down to the simple fact that they weren’t scared anymore. The bullies and thugs who’d intimidated them had either died young or ended up in prison. Marriages dissolved. Love ran out. Reputations were damaged or rebuilt. In short, a long stretch of time could lend more focus to past events.

His resentment toward me has gone, at least, although I'm not sure what he's replaced it with. His jaw is tight as he looks across at me with those strange eyes. "She was just scaring him, right? She wouldn't actually have cut it off?" I almost laugh. That he could have married her married her! and be so oblivious. Are all marriages like this? Is it in fact a neces sary attribute in order for a marriage to survive: some kind of willing suspension of critical thought, so that the person you see before you is the person you WANT to see?

You need to ease up on the stalking. It’s starting to freak me out.” I scoffed and dragged a chair over, plopping down with a smirk. “I thought I’d already got you scared, baby.

Anyhow, I drove like my daddy was chasing me, which he did a few times when I was a teenager and I snuck out of the house, and made it to the airport. I stowed away on a plane, which looks a lot more fun in the movies by the way, and made it back home. Most guys would have stopped at that point but Dmitri, being stubborn, called a few times spouting off, so I had my number changed.” “But?” “But, he got my family’s number and started calling them. Which was fine. My aunts and stuff blocked him, but thing is, he showed up on my parents’ doorstep while I was out shopping. My parents are vacationing in Mexico, and so Aunt Cecily had to deal with him.” “They scared her.” She laughed. “Scare my Aunt Cecily? Not in this lifetime. She wields a mean right hook. Daddy’s sister is the one who taught me to fight dirty.” “Something had to have happened to get you banished.” “Well, she was kind of worried about me, on account of me being delicate and stuff.” He couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah, that was my reaction too, but that’s what I get for being the youngest in the family. Teena beat me into the world by like ten seconds. Anyhow, Aunt Cecily would have kept me around, except the goons trampled Mama’s flower garden during one of their kidnapping attempts.” “You got banished over flowers?” “No, I got banished before the goons did any more damage to Mama’s stuff. When my mother cries, Daddy gets a little upset, and when Daddy gets upset, things happen. Dealing with the disposal of bodies is always a pain, and law enforcement really frowns upon murder. And Daddy’s been trying so hard to stay out of jail. Anyhow, for the good of the family, it was strongly suggested I take an extended vacation in the hopes my absence would see Dmitri call off his paid thugs and give up on the whole marriage business.” “Except he realized you took off and followed you here.” A frown creased her brow. “Yeah, which is weird because I was certain I didn’t have a tail.” “Well, you’re going to have one now, twenty-four-seven, until I locate this Dmitri fellow and tell him to get the hell out of pride territory.” -Meena & Leo

I've looked for salvation in love, friends, work, theater, filmmaking, writing, books and myself. It is a struggle. I've been saved in little and big ways. I wish my mother would find happiness while I'm here to see it. Waiting is what I fear. That's what I realized on a subway ride from a visit to my mom and aunt. I'm not scared of ending up like my aunt as much as I'm scared of spending my whole life existing in that passive position. Every time they ask me about marriage,I feel my own answer to myself: If I'm not waiting, I have to find the courage to make something happen.

the only way a marriage can be successful is that the husband is scared shitless of his wife

Marriage isn’t a disease; it isn’t catching. You don’t have to pass it on to everybody you know. Unlike a woman I once heard admit “I’ve never been married but I tell people I’m divorced so they are not scared of me,

He was carrying her big heavy trunk, so he was fairly helpless, which was the way she liked it, because she was yelling at him. “Why can’t you let me handle things my own way, why?” “Because your own way would entail milking a cow for hours and washing their clothes and then sewing them all new ones and God knows what else!” “I don’t understand,” she said. “I would’ve thought after we got married you would calm down a bit, be less protective, less…you know. You. That American way that makes you stand out like a black peg among white nails.” Alexander laughed. “You don’t understand anything,” he said, panting a bit. “Why would you think that?” “Because we’re married.” “To shatter your illusions, I’ll warn you right now that everything you’ve seen will increase a hundredfold now that you’re my wife. Everything.” “Everything?” “Yes. Protectiveness. Possessiveness. Jealousy. All of it. A hundredfold. That’s the nature of the beast. Didn’t want to tell you beforehand, thought it might scare you off.” “Might?” “There you are. You can’t get the marriage annulled.” Alexander glanced at her, his eyes burning. “Not after it’s been so…thoroughly consummated.” They couldn’t even wait to get home. He carried the trunk into the pines and sat down on it. Tatiana climbed on top of him. “Don’t be too loud in the woods,” he told her, lifting her onto himself and kissing her. Afterward Alexander said, “That’s like asking you to shed your freckles for a day, isn’t it?

Is it okay to be scared?” Of course. You should be. It’s scary. Wedding planning is The Conjuring for Basic Bitches. And marriage itself is The Shining: Terrifying, but also a well-respected classic.

Hey,” he said. She turned around and, as quickly, turned back. There had been tears on her face. He frowned. What was this? Trouble in paradise? “Hey,” he said, walking up behind her, squeezing her upper arm with his left hand. “What’s going on?” he asked her. “Nothing,” she said with a sniff. He turned her around to face him. He looked down at her pretty face and for the hundredth time thought, that damn Preacher. I bet he doesn’t know what he has here. “This isn’t nothing,” he said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I can’t talk about it,” she said. “Sure you can. Seems like maybe you’d better. You’re all upset.” “I’ll work it out.” “Preacher do something to hurt you?” She immediately started to cry and leaned forward, her head falling on his chest. He put his good arm around her and said, “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay.” “It’s not okay,” she cried. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” “Maybe if you talk to me, I can help. I’m so good with free advice, you’ll be impressed.” “It’s just that...I care about him. But he just doesn’t find me...” Mike lifted her chin. “What, Paige?” “He doesn’t find me attractive.” “Bull.” “Desirable.” “Paige, that’s nonsense. The way he looks at you, he eats you with his eyes. He’s wacko for you.” “He won’t touch me,” she said, a large tear spilling over. That almost knocked Mike down. “No way.” She nodded pathetically. “Oh, man,” Mike said. He’d thought, everyone thought, they were doing it all night long. The way they looked at each other, like they couldn’t wait for everyone to leave so they could be alone, get it on. Those sweet little kisses on the cheek, the forehead. The way they touched—careful, so no one would see the sparks fly, but the sparks were flying all over this bar! The sexual tension was electric. “Oh, man,” he said again. He put his arm around her. “Paige, he wants you. Wants you so bad it’s showing all over him.” “Then why?” “I don’t know, honey. Preacher’s strange. He’s never been good with women, you know? When we served together, we all managed to find us a woman somewhere. I killed two marriages that way. But not Preacher. It was very rare for him to—” He stopped himself. He was trying to remember—were there women at all? He wasn’t sure; he knew Preacher never had a steady girl. He thought he remembered a woman here, there. It’s not as though he was focused on Preacher’s love life; he was too busy taking care of his own. He probably lacks sexual confidence, Mike thought. It would be hard for him to put the moves on anyone he felt he had to win over. “I bet he’s scared,” Mike heard himself say. “How can he be? I’ve practically thrown myself at him! He knows he isn’t going to face rejection!” She dropped her gaze, lowered her voice to a whisper. “He has to know how much I—” “Oh, brother,” Mike said. “I bet he’s not worried about rejection. Aw, Paige, Preacher’s so shy, sometimes it’s just plain ridiculous. But I promise you, Paige, I’ve known the man a long time—” “He said he’d trust you with his life. That he has...” “Yeah, we have that, it’s true. It’s funny with men—you can trust each other with your lives and never talk about anything personal, you know? Sometimes Preacher seems a little naive in the ways of the world.

Even though their marriage had been over for quite some time, he knew how much it took out of Dorane to admit herself into rehab. Dorane had always been a prideful woman, too scared and embarrassed to admit that she wasn’t as perfect as everyone thought she was. Outside

I’ve been walking around in this body my whole life and it’s been like dragging around a liability. It’s weak, and it wants, and it’s built like a magnet for pain. Men look at me on the street… not just me, all of us…women…and it’s scary. I’m scared all the time.

So you had a little hissy and said, ‘Fine, just go, then.’ Is that it? Kind of like, ‘My way or the highway,’ huh?” “Aw, come on, Shelby,” Sean said pleadingly. “You know I’m not a guy with a temper! I’m a sweetheart. I’m not a fighter, I’m a lover. And I don’t have any problem seeing myself with one woman. You know? It’s just the whole marriage thing—it was not for me. Marriage scared the hell out of me. A couple of my brothers tried it and it screwed them up bad. And kids?” He shook his head. “Maybe when I’m old and worn out like Luke I’ll change my mind, but at the moment I don’t feel like being tied down like that.” “Ah,” she said. “I see. So you’d like to have a nice chat with Franci and explain all this to her?” “Something like that,” he said, making perfect sense to himself. “It’s no crime to have a fight, but we never should’ve given up what we had. We were good together.” Shelby

Jesus died! He chose the most grueling death to bring you to God! Everything is changed! You and I were destined for a horrifying encounter with God—we were “objects of wrath” (Eph. 2:3)—but that has all changed! Death no longer scares me! I can’t wait to die! Thank you Jesus!!!

I am scared, numbed from the marital wars - that deadly, deadening combat which is the opposite, the antithesis of the sharp painful struggles of lovers. Lovers fight with knives and whips, husbands and wives poisoned marshmallows, sleeping pills, and wet blankets.

Things to remember about passive aggression:   ●       Passive aggression is learned in childhood from interactions with authority figures. ●       It is a defensive behavioral style, focused on avoiding intimacy. ●       The passive aggressive man changes himself; his wife does not/cannot change him.   We know that upon reading these three things, you may begin to despair about growing old in an empty marriage. “My husband will never agree to change himself,” is probably what you’re thinking. It is painful and scary. However, the aim of this book is not to scare you away or discourage you. Right now, your job is to look at your situation realistically. What are the real consequences of staying with your husband? Perhaps the better question is, what are the real consequences of not changing the way you react to passive aggression? This book will give you an overview of the devastating consequences of letting passive aggression go unchallenged in your home. The key here is this:

I’m on my period,” I tell him. “We can’t have bathroom sex.” “I know. We heard you girls.” “You heard …?” My voice trails off when I realize what he means. Narrowing my eyes, I demand. “Were you in the men’s bathroom with the Kings?” The rooms share a wall. I didn’t hear them, but I wasn’t really listening either. Now I know it’s because after they were beating the shit out of some guy, they were spying on us. He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t have to. I already know that answer. “You had no right …” “You should have told me you thought you were pregnant,” he snaps. “Why? To push you away?” He lets out a long sigh and steps into me. Cupping my cheeks, he frowns. “You think I’d leave you?” “The thought crossed my mind,” I admit softly. I’ve taken five pregnancy tests, and they all said negative, but none of them helped ease my fear. What my mom would say. How I would tell him. It has consumed my every thought. I think to the point that I was convincing my body I was growing a baby. The stress alone probably kept me from starting. “Haven, I’m never going to leave you.” He pulls me into him. “I just wish you would have told me. My job is to take care of you. And if we get pregnant, then I’ll take care of both of you.” “If we get pregnant?” I arch a brow. “Of course. You’re not alone in this relationship, Haven.” I went that very next day to get on the shot. I told my mother about my pregnancy scare and that I had missed some pills, so I chose the shot instead. I wonder how long I’ll be able to keep getting them. “I didn’t read the contract,” I blurt out. I need him to understand that I don’t know all that is required of me. He stays silent, but he’s no longer snoring, so I know I woke him up. “I do love you,” I whisper. “And I’d love to have a family with you, but I won’t allow you to harm any child of mine.” He shifts, and I close my eyes. “Haven. Haven, look at me,” he orders, placing his hand on my face to tilt it toward him. I open my eyes, and they sting from unshed tears. “I may be my father’s son, but I’m nothing like him. I don’t want my parents’ marriage. And I would never, ever hurt you or our children.” He presses his lips gently to my forehead, and the first tear rolls down the side of my face.

Point is whole God damned point is she wants to be taken seriously needs a supporting cast, talented woman never been allowed to do anything sits here all day drinking Mister Clean works up a whole God damned drama has a part for everybody. Arabs Israelis Irish same God damned thing scared maybe nobody takes them seriously, God damned Irish know everybody knows they're a God damned joke so the worse they get, God damned self-righteous Israelis same God damned thing take the top half of the double boiler leave the Arabs the bottom half everybody so God damned sick of all of them all they do is run around shouting for an audience somewhere to take them seriously same God damned thing, fill this up? Whole God damned problem tastes like apricots, whole God damned problem listen whole God damned problem read Wiener on communication, more complicated the message more God damned chance for errors, take a few years of marriage such a God damned complex of messages going both ways can't get a God damned thing across. God damned much entropy going on say good morning she's got a damned headache thinks you don't give a God damn how she feels, ask her how she feels she thinks you just want to get laid, try that she says it's the only God damn thing you take seriously about her puts you out of business and goes running around like the God damned Israelis waving the top half of the double boiler have to tell everybody they're right. God damned Arabs mad as hell sitting there with the bottom half pretend you take them seriously only thing you want is their God damned oil ... - Jack listen you could get damn sick on this stuff if you ... - Want their God damned oil have to respect them for themself, always find some God damned slob around ready to listen respect her for herself nods gravely looking up her skirt, talented woman never been allowed to do anything just listens doesn't make any God damned difference to her who he is takes her seriously, finally sure he's not just after her double boiler spreads the bottom half for him same God damned thing starts all over again, tastes like apricots what the hell is it.

I just...I got scared is all. What if he's right and the Kingdom is at hand? And I got this hate in my heart for my own husband?" Jean-Louise sighed, long and weary. "Well, honey, let me tell you---the Kingdom probably ain't at hand. But if you hate the man, it's alright. 'Least you feel something on account of him.

She came by this morning to drop off a meal for Sunday dinner because she's going away on a day trip, and decided to stay and prepare enough food for a family of ten: paneer tikka, dahi bhalla chaat, rajma masala, dal makhani, vegetable korma, chicken karahi, two types of biryani, mango cheesecake..." He trailed off when Zara laughed. "I guess you won't be ordering in for a while." "She was hoping I would have a guest." He hesitated, not wanting to scare her away, but also not wanting to let her go. "Are you free tonight?" "You had me at 'enough food for a family of ten' but I would have been knocking on your door for a slice of mango cheesecake.

I'll have the pork vindaloo. Extra hot." He puffed out his chest. He'd acquired a taste for Indian food after the years he'd spent sharing meals at the Patel home, although he hadn't had food as good in many years. "It's too hot for me the way they make it," Daisy said. "I wouldn't even consider asking them to raise the heat." "I ate at your house every night and your dad made his curry extra hot. I miss that burn." Daisy's lips quirked at the corners. "He said it was extra hot so he didn't crush your ego, but in fact he kept the heat down when you were around. What he called 'extra hot' is actually a restaurant mild. His real extra hot would blow your mind." "You don't scare me," Liam said. "I'm not changing my mind." "Stubborn and ungrateful." Daisy smirked. "I'm going to enjoy listening to your screams of pain." "Is that your idea of a good date? Screams of pain?" She smiled, amused. "I don't date often. I usually just hook up with someone for the night.

Here is a thought, a terrifying and dispiriting thought, to motivate improvement in your marriage—to scare you into the appalling difficulties of true negotiation. Every little problem you have every morning, afternoon, or evening with your spouse will be repeated for each of the fifteen thousand days that will make up a forty-year marriage. Every trivial but chronic disagreement about cooking, dishes, housecleaning, responsibility for finances, or frequency of intimate contact will be duplicated, over and over, unless you successfully address it.

If we don’t keep that lizard on a leash, our minds will very quickly have us living under a bridge with no health insurance, all alone, and ignored by our kids. None of that is actually true, nor has it likely ever been true. But it feels like it could be true and that will scare us into remaining paralyzed and not taking steps in any direction. So we never try to make the relationship better, but we never leave either.

I know the world my brothers live in, and I know what they do for a living, and it scares the living hell out of me, because I know that one day it’s either going to be my ass getting auctioned off or I’m going to be given in marriage to form an alliance. It won’t matter if my future husband is old enough to be my grandpa or if he enjoys raping and murdering women. I’ll be handed off without a second thought, and that will be that. It’s a depressing thought and one that keeps threatening to overwhelm me.

People are my stock-in-trade, but when I’m anxious or angry enough, I have the brain of a reptile. For many adults, love and marriage may be the arena where maturity peels away or a fog descends on our brain and dissolves our thinking center.

I remember seeing an episode of Golden Girls where Bea Arthur, who plays Dorothy, responds to a question from Rose, played by Betty White. “What do you want in your next husband?” asked Rose. And Dorothy says, “I want someone to grow old with.” That’s what most people don’t want. They want the young. They want the cute. When you get older, you change. You change physically. You change emotionally and a whole other area of life rears its head. Your body slows down, retirement; death becomes all too real. A lot of people are not in it for the long haul. They’re not in it for the changes the life journey brings—the health scares, death. I do want someone to grow old with. I understand those elements. I saw it with my mom when she had to sit next to Daddy’s deathbed. That’s marriage. That’s love. That’s commitment.