A Weight Worth Carrying

It was supposed to be a quiet Labour Day. Instead, it became a masterclass in marriage resilience—a weight I hadn’t expected to carry, but one I now realise is worth every ounce.

By 10 p.m., I was walking under the stars with Evan, my youngest son. Just a week ago, he was a wild card on his bicycle—swerving, reckless, unaware of traffic rules. Tonight? He paused at every junction, scanned left and right, waited for me. From 2 out of 10 to a solid 7. That’s growth. Parenting, like marriage, is built on patient repetition. One teaching moment at a time.

But tonight, parenting wasn’t the heaviest load. It was marriage that tested my strength.

The MCO Test of Love

During the MCO, I saw the statistics. Divorce rates soared. According to the Malaysian Syariah Judiciary Department, divorce cases in the Syariah courts increased by 12% in 2021 alone, reaching over 56,000 cases. Lockdowns confined couples within four walls—and for many, it didn’t just reveal cracks; it magnified them.

For some couples, the pressure cooker of proximity broke what years of comfort had merely delayed. Today, I caught a glimpse of that same pressure in our own home—not a fiery explosion, but the quiet grind of unmet expectations, unsaid emotions.

I had fleeting thoughts: maybe I should’ve stayed longer at work. Maybe I should’ve gone out with friends. The instinct to escape is real. But I’ve learned: friction isn’t a flaw. It’s a forge. It doesn’t destroy a marriage—it reveals it.

And today? The storm ended not with silence, but with dinner, shared laughter, and reconnection. That’s resilience—not the absence of conflict, but the ability to return. Again and again.

My Wife’s Superpower: Emotional Endurance

I once prided myself on being the strong one—logical, measured. But my wife? She’s a different kind of strong. Years ago, during a counselling session, she said, “It’s normal for us to argue and make up.” Back then, I didn’t understand. Conflict made me shut down. She, on the other hand, carried this quiet confidence: the belief that even if we break, we’ll mend.

That’s her superpower—emotional endurance. She doesn’t run from the waves. She learns to float, to breathe underwater.

Pressure Builds Strength: A Marriage Gym

We often demonise pressure and stress, but they’re the very forces that build capacity.

Think of steam—it drove the engines that moved nations. Think of the gym—muscles don’t grow without tiny tears. And marriage? It’s no different.

I couldn’t lift 50kg when I started. Today, I can. Not because the weights got lighter, but because I got stronger.

Marriage starts with light loads: dinner plans, weekend routines. Then life adds weight—finances, in-laws, parenting, broken sleep, silent misunderstandings. Each season tests your form. Each test, if endured, builds you.

You don’t become strong by avoiding the weight. You grow by choosing to carry it.

From Two Stories to One

Before marriage, you live in your own orbit. Your schedule. Your values. Your dreams.

Then love rewrites your script. Two individuals. Two families. Two emotional languages.

My in-laws were kind, but they still had expectations. The day I stopped calling them Uncle and Auntie, the tone shifted: “This is how to care for our daughter.” Their love didn’t disappear—it deepened into protection.

I’m grateful they accepted me. But alignment? That took time. It took late-night talks, quiet compromises, and yes, premarital counselling. Like reading the manual before assembling furniture—we didn’t understand every instruction, but it gave us a blueprint.

If I could rewind, I’d dive deeper into love languages—hers and mine. It’s not just about knowing them; it’s about practising them when it’s hardest.

You Can’t Test Love on a Couch

Marriage doesn’t reveal its strength in peaceful moments. It’s tested in the storm.

Like a cardiac stress test—you don’t measure heart resilience while resting. You run. You sweat. Only then do you see what your heart is made of.

Our early years were warm-ups. Syncing routines. Discovering quirks. Learning how to disagree.

Then came the real sprints: the birth of our children. The first child shifted our world. The second tested our coordination. The third demanded reinvention. And now, the fourth? It feels strangely calm—not because it’s easier, but because we’ve grown.

Raising Kids, Building Trust

Our mission with our children is simple but sacred: we want them to run to us, not from us.

Every evening walk, every bedtime story, every moment of emotional repair is an investment. Trust doesn’t bloom overnight. It’s built through presence. And like marriage, it’s built one deliberate act at a time.

It Doesn’t Get Easier. You Get Stronger.

I used to climb 70 floors a day. The first time, I had to stop seven times, panting like the stairs were Everest. Today? I run them. Not because gravity changed—but because I did.

That’s marriage. The stairs are still steep. But your lungs? Your legs? Your heart? They’ve been forged in the climb.

Reverse Insight: Marriage Isn’t the Highlight Reel

We’ve been sold the wrong image of love. Romance isn’t spontaneous getaways and filtered Instagram smiles.

It’s staying in the room when you’d rather walk out. It’s saying “I’m sorry” before your ego is ready. It’s hearing “I’m tired” and replying, “Rest. I’ve got this.”

Real love is found in the mundane. In folding laundry. In picking up the baby at 3 a.m. In laughing after an argument. In remembering that the person next to you is more important than the problem between you.

What I Wish I Had Said

I once told my wife she was “God’s training program” for me. I meant it playfully—but it landed like a punch.

What I should’ve said was:

• Thank you for enduring what I don’t see.
• Thank you for the children you carried, the nights you stayed up, the times you forgave me.
• I love you, not because you’re perfect—but because you’ve chosen to stay, even when I wasn’t easy to love.

We often compare what we don’t understand. I used to think children were easier to love than a spouse—because they demand less, or give more freely. But that’s like comparing a bicycle to a mountain: one gets you moving; the other shows you who you really are.

Final Reflection: Joy Is Grown, Not Found

That night, Aiden joined Evan and me on our walk. No plans, no script—just shared space, quiet presence.

And I realised: the joy of marriage doesn’t lie in fireworks. It lies in the ritual of return. In holding hands after a storm. In building something together that outlives both your moods.

Love isn’t an emotion you protect. It’s a discipline you practise.

This is marriage. This is life.

Heavy. Beautiful. Worth carrying.

A day worth living.

Good night.