World Marriage Day is celebrated on the second Sunday of February each year. This year, it falls on Sunday 8 February.
Initially established by the American organization Worldwide Marriage Encounter, the day was officially blessed by Pope John Paul II in 1993, and celebrations have since expanded globally, transcending religious boundaries. It aims to honour the foundational role of husbands and wives in families and society, emphasising values such as faithfulness, sacrifice, and joy in daily life.
Last year we featured reflections from couples within the Diocese at various stages of marriage. This year, Penelope — who wrote about her experiences of being engaged — reflects on the realities of married life several months later.
Please note: The reflections and opinions expressed in this piece are those of the author and are shared in the spirit of personal faith and contemplation. They do not necessarily reflect the official views of the Diocese of Palmerston North.
Four months since we said “I do.” The excitement has eased, but the security has grown. I’ve never been one to say a “piece of paper” makes a relationship feel more secure, but there is something about standing in front of everyone and making your vows public.
My first impressions after our month-long honeymoon included finding a new place for my handbag after losing its passenger‑seat spot, realising the other person always has the car keys, becoming aware of my own double standards, and learning that not everyone cooking 2‑minute noodles takes 2 minutes.
The word “husband” doesn’t feel natural yet, and there’s a small delight each time it comes up. I’m also struggling with people saying “my new name” (Mrs so‑and‑so); I feel like I have to grow into these big new boots. But I know it’s a gift from those around us, helping settle me in. It’s also hard letting someone else shape your identity. I am “me,” but part of “we.”
For example, attending a social occasion is now a negotiation of when to arrive, how long to stay, and the code words for when one of us wants to leave.
Facebook, having realised I’m in my 30s with a significant other, keeps sending videos about men leaving toilet seats up, not splitting chores, or patriarchal expectations. This adds fear to our relationship, as my HUSBAND (zing!) is yet to move in. He is job‑hunting before he moves, and it makes me worry about how we’ll go — all the upcoming fights about where to put the cornflakes or whose turn it is to wash the tea towels.
But it also reminds me we have something precious. In our premarital courses, we talked about the tension and change that come when we move in and after the wedding. We both signed up for this willingly. Each time I reach for him, he responds — even if I have to get out of my own way or feel a bit pathetic asking. There is something special in knowing someone signed up for the “in bad times” too.
Waiting on a job for him is a test. It’s something I can’t fix. I’m balancing my emotions: if I did magically fix it, I’d resent him for not doing it himself, yet I also want to be a supportive partner who trusts he knows what’s best for him.
Family and friends want to wish us well: “How’s the job hunt?” “When’s he moving in?” “Bet your folks can’t wait for grandchildren!” “Pregnant yet?”
All I can say is: “We are trying our best.”
I’m told this never changes: once you get engaged, it’s “When’s the wedding?” Then “When’s the baby?” Then “Baby number two?” “Trying for more?” “Thinking about retiring?” People want what’s best for you. I’ve done this myself. The trick is to be excited for others without adding pressure, knowing people are already their own worst critics. Comments like “You’d better get a move on” don’t help. Offers of support and genuine interest are always welcome.
Learning about my own double standards has been humbling. That’s why marriage is a sacrament: a gift of blessings, grace, and love. My husband is okay with me asking things he’d never ask of me — like shaving his beard while I won’t shave my legs, or texting when he’s out with friends though I’d see it as controlling if he wanted the same. It shows that we can ask God for things we can’t yet do ourselves — to be loved in ways we can’t yet love and forgiven in ways we’re not ready to forgive.
Love is patient and faithful, and doubt is the foundation of faith. My husband calls them “padlock moments”: when we get through something impossible, it’s another lock joining us, drawing us nearer, trusting and loving.
Four months in, I feel grateful. Not every day is a picnic, but that’s the difference between happiness and contentment. Even when we’re fighting or facing something impossible, we’ve got a long time to sort it out … till death do us part.