Sometimes, my marriage feels surreal. Not in the dreamy sense of finding a “Prince Charming,” but rather in a way that makes me question if this truly qualifies as a “real” marriage.
When we exchanged vows, eight individuals stood at the altar—eight people with their own stories, healing from past losses, and navigating diverse emotions about the moment and what had preceded it.
My partner, Jake, and I entered this union amid the chaos of our lives. Both of us were full-time parents to three energetic children each, juggling our parental duties alongside demanding corporate careers. Our lives were already established, complete with stocked pantries and organized carpools.
In contrast, first marriages often start on a lighter note. Typically, two individuals make promises at the beginning of their adult lives, unhindered by past baggage. The early days of my first marriage to Mark were filled with carefree movie nights and leisurely brunches. We had minimal responsibilities and plenty of time to dream about our future together.
While Jake and I certainly discussed marriage and shared dreams, the gap between our aspirations and reality was much shorter. My first husband and I envisioned raising teenagers nearly two decades before we faced that reality, while Jake and I went from dreaming to marriage and then immediately diving into the challenges of parenting teens.
Our established lives as single parents meant many of our choices as a new couple were already determined for us. We didn’t search for our dream home—if we had, we would have picked a charming Victorian in a quaint riverside town. Instead, our criteria narrowed us down to two options: one that looked like it had been a meth lab and the other, the one we purchased. I even sold a car I adored to accommodate our growing family. Our careers, once flexible and changeable, became critical for covering soccer fees, college savings, and health insurance.
First-time couples create their own rituals and traditions, deciding how to celebrate holidays and milestones. In our first year, Jake and I faced a blend of hand-me-downs and obligatory gatherings, challenging us to carve out our unique family space.
New families receive abundant cultural support—wedding and baby showers are plentiful, and social media is flooded with images of new couples. In contrast, the formation of second families carries the weight of past disappointments, often overshadowing celebrations.
“You’ve been married before,” a colleague remarked to me. “No need for a big fuss.”
Yet, Jake is undoubtedly the love of my life. I fully understand what I’m committing to this time, and I joyfully pursue that commitment. My second marriage feels more genuine than my first, grounded in a deep connection with my husband, but society doesn’t always recognize it as such.
When my eldest child, Alex, came into the world, his birth created an unbreakable bond with Mark that remains, despite our divorce. Just last night, as Alex shared insights about a challenging history assignment, I could momentarily see the young man I fell in love with in college. The shared experience of parenthood forged a lasting connection that Jake and I will not replicate in the same way.
Second marriages often involve a much broader circle than first ones. Jake and I regularly interact with our ex-spouses, their new partners, and both sets of in-laws. Decisions that might be simple for a couple in a first marriage become much more complex when influenced by multiple adults in a blended family. Planning summer vacations can feel like a logistical nightmare, requiring coordination among all parties involved.
It’s no surprise that 67% of second marriages end in divorce. The differences between my first and second marriages are stark—limited freedom to make decisions, less social support, and fewer binding connections. Jake and I navigate a more intricate world, filled with responsibilities and complexities that my first marriage lacked. At times, I struggle to see this as a “real” marriage without the familiar markers of dreaming, building a family, and defining our identities together.
Jake understands my concerns about not feeling like we’re constructing something genuine. He recognizes my longing for social validation and the weight of our complicated lives. He’s heard me cite the statistics, and he quietly reassures me that we’ll defy the odds. He shares his vision of the land he’s seen for our future river house and smiles as he says “just ten more years.” He reminds me that our family is starting from a different place than first families do, but it will emerge resilient and thriving. He prioritizes time for us to escape together and create memories that are uniquely ours.
Jake is my partner in every sense, helping me shift my perspective and share the burdens when they feel overwhelming. This marriage, distinct from my first, is genuine and unquestionably real. And in this narrative, Jake is my fairy tale hero.
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In summary, while second marriages come with unique challenges and a different set of circumstances compared to first unions, they can also be deeply fulfilling and real, filled with love and hope for the future.