A thought occurred to me the other day, about our idea of what love is as a culture, and how potentially harmful it is. We seem to associate true love with true drama. Think about it: all the classic stories of the good girl falling for the bad boy, or relationships going through problem after problem before they make it to the finish line… this is the stuff of movies. Even if the problems are inflicted on the couple from outside forces, it still reinforces it in our collective brains that love is made sweeter by drama.
I call bullshit on that.
Real love is when your husband picks all the red gummy bears out of the bag for you because he knows they’re your favorite.
Real love is when he lets you cry on his shoulder even when there’s snot and drool running down your face.
Real love is changing a poopy diaper after you’ve been working all day so your wife doesn’t have to change her seventh.
Notice how there was no mention of fights, familial warfare or thwarting enemies in any of those statements? Unfortunately, no one makes movies about quiet Sunday mornings where the only conflict between the characters is whether they drive to Fred Meyer or the grocery store first. But isn’t that really what we want for our kids? Love isn’t supposed to be the stuff Netflix is made of. Love is supposed to be comfortable. Love is supposed to be something you can depend on to get you through even the darkest days.