Onions, Chemistry, and a Happy Anniversary to Mike

Twenty-five years ago today, I made the most important commitment of my life. I chose to link my future with the most amazing man I know. Even then, I knew he was brilliant, restless, and able to accomplish anything with a deadline. He’s handsome and charming, driven and magnetic, a lover both enviable and magical. He may not be a big guy, but he fills every room he enters. I feel safe when he’s near, and I miss him when he’s gone.

We can talk for hours—creating enough material to write a book, enough laughter to entertain a room, and two versions of our love story that never quite match. We’ve spent thousands of hours side by side, often not face-to-face, because that much eye contact might end in my giggles—or in distractions of another kind.

We share our innermost thoughts—the kind that most would never dare to voice. Even after twenty-five years, being vulnerable can feel dangerous, but it’s worth every risk. And maybe it’s no surprise that I would compare our love to an onion. With every year, we peel back another layer. It’s deeper, richer, sometimes messy, sometimes pungent, but always indispensable.

I was raised to be “a little barefoot and pregnant” (wait… can one be a little pregnant?). My parents wanted me to know how to stand on my own if I ever had to. But my man? He carried the weight of providing for our family in those early years so I could chase my education and dreams. He never saw it as sacrifice—he saw it as investment. And even now, while teasing me about the “boss lady” I’ve become, he never stops encouraging me to keep growing.

Together we’ve built our marriage around one simple philosophy: grow people to not need you. We’ve done this with our kids, our teams, and with each other. He may not always know what to do with the independent woman he’s helped shape, but he’s proud of me, and he never stops cheering me on.

We’re not the most traditional couple. He cleans the bathroom, and I rebuild furniture. I nursed the babies, but he was “mom” when they grew older. We share the load, take turns, and choose fun.

We’ve embraced the difficult, walked into the unknown, and built a love that isn’t based on dependence. I don’t need him to make a living. He doesn’t need me to keep his home. But no one compares to my husband. I trust him to share his heart—even when it hurts. I trust him to choose kindness when I don’t deserve it. I trust him to defend me with his life, whether I’m by his side or out on an adventure.

There is something astonishing about building each other strong enough to walk away—and then watching each other choose to stay. There is something powerful, surprising, and yes, sexy about watching myself age, flaws and all, and knowing he still stays. (As my boys would say, “That’s fire.”)

A dear friend once described meeting us as stepping into a “magic bubble of wonder.” Somehow, after twenty-five years, our chemistry is still expanding, still burning brighter.

Thank you, Mike, for these first twenty-five years. I’ll be forever grateful to the most loyal, beautiful, and incredible man I know.

🎧 Listen to the podcast: https://open.spotify.com/episode/4aEbhuAZAhocEV2nkgQAD9?si=cp7M4G-GSXWCEM35hOR8zw