Fifteen years of marriage and the beauty of being fully loved

Fifteen years ago today, I married Matthew. On our wedding invitations, we had a picture of a tree with a heart carved into it, holding our initials, M + A. It was a simple symbol of our love and the life we hoped to build together. I don’t think either of us could have imagined all that life would hold over the next fifteen years.

When I met Matthew seventeen years ago, I was in a very different place in life. I had experienced tremendous loss, heartbreak, and disappointment. I had learned to be independent, to take care of myself, and to keep moving forward. What I hadn’t learned was how to trust that life could be good again.

Then Matthew came along.

Early in our relationship, he told me there was a Billy Joel song that made him think of me. My mind immediately went to one of his romantic love songs. Surely it would be something sweet and sentimental.

Then he told me the song was A Matter of Trust.

I remember being a little taken aback. Of all the Billy Joel songs, that was the one that made him think of me? At the time, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Seventeen years later, I understand.

Matthew recognized something about me that I hadn’t fully recognized in myself. I had experienced enough loss and disappointment to know that loving someone didn’t guarantee they would stay. I had learned to protect myself and to be careful about how much of my heart I allowed someone else to hold.

Matthew understood that loving me wasn’t just about romance. It was about trust. Not the kind that comes from grand gestures or promises about forever, but the kind built slowly through consistency, honesty, and showing up for each other.

He never demanded that I trust him. He simply gave me reasons to, over and over again.

Today, there is another song that captures what Matthew means to me: Easy Silence by The Chicks.

There is something incredibly beautiful about finding a person with whom silence is comfortable. Someone who doesn’t need you to explain every emotion, fill every quiet moment, or pretend you’re okay when you’re not.

Matthew is my easy silence.

Anyone who knows me knows my mind rarely stops. I’m constantly thinking, questioning, planning, and trying to make things better. I care deeply about the world and the people in it. Sometimes that passion is energizing, and sometimes it is exhausting.

Matthew has never asked me to be less of who I am. He listens to my endless ideas, encourages me to pursue the things that matter to me, and reminds me to enjoy the life we are building. He knows when I need to talk and when I simply need quiet.

Perhaps one of the most meaningful things about Matthew is that he has never known me without grief. My mother’s suicide was already part of my story when we met. He has always known that my birthday comes with complicated emotions.

He doesn’t try to make the sadness disappear or insist that joy should outweigh grief. He understands that I can be genuinely happy and deeply sad at the same time.

He has never needed me to be uncomplicated to be worthy of love.

And perhaps his greatest gift has been helping me recognize my own courage.

When we got engaged, he told me, “I can’t wait to see your dreams come true.” At the time, I was still learning to dream again. Looking back, I realize Matthew saw something in me that I couldn’t yet see in myself.

He saw a woman capable of doing hard things, someone whose dreams were worth pursuing even when fear tried to convince her otherwise. But he never tried to make those dreams happen for me. Instead, he stood beside me as I found the courage to pursue them myself.

There is a profound difference between someone who rescues you and someone who helps you recognize that you are brave enough to face life yourself.

Over these fifteen years, we have experienced incredible joy and profound grief. We became parents to Keaton and discovered a kind of love neither of us could have imagined. We have watched him grow into a remarkable young man, cheering him on as he pursues his own dreams. We have changed careers, taken risks, traveled, laughed, cried, and most recently packed up our life in Texas to begin a new chapter in Maryland.

None of it has been perfect. But when I think about our marriage, what stands out isn’t the big milestones. It’s the everyday moments. Laughing about something only the two of us would find funny. Dancing in the kitchen. Watching him be an incredible dad. Sitting together at the end of a long day, knowing I don’t have to be anything other than myself.

For much of my life, I have struggled with feeling like I am enough. Matthew hasn’t magically erased those insecurities. That has been my own work to do. But he has consistently given me a place where I don’t have to prove my worth.

I can be strong and uncertain, passionate and exhausted, brave and afraid.

I can simply be Amy.

And in that space of unconditional love, I have slowly learned to love and trust myself more fully.

Matthew didn’t give me courage. It was always there. He helped me see it.

Fifteen years ago, we put our initials inside a heart carved into a tree. I love thinking about that image today. Trees grow through changing seasons, sunshine, storms, and years of putting down deeper roots. Their beauty isn’t found in remaining exactly as they were when they were planted, but in how they continue to grow.

I think marriage is much the same.

The love we share today isn’t exactly the love we had fifteen years ago. It has grown deeper and stronger through everything life has brought our way. We have grown individually, but we have also continued choosing to grow together.

I don’t know what the next fifteen years will hold. But I know who I want beside me as we discover it.

Seventeen years ago, Matthew chose a song about trust because he understood something about my heart. Today, I think about another song, one about the comfort of being with someone who makes even the quiet moments feel like home.

From A Matter of Trust to Easy Silence, what a beautiful journey it has been.

Happy 15th anniversary, Matthew. Thank you for loving me fully, standing beside me, and helping me see the brave woman I have always been.