20 Years Later: Unicorns Have Left, Farts Remain

Love in Translation: When Your Marriage Feels Like Google Translate on the Fritz

What happens when two people who genuinely love each other wake up one day speaking entirely different languages? (And no, I’m not talking about your spouse suddenly learning Spanish and ordering “cerveza” while you’re stuck wondering how to conjugate “existential crisis.”) I mean, metaphorically—when one’s out here sending feelings, and the other’s catching them like a dial-up connection: painfully slow and prone to crashing.

Let’s talk about my husband and me. Almost 20 years together—that’s two decades, y’all. Long enough for me to know that even his “polite chewing” could probably get us exiled from fancy dinner parties. And while I’d love to tell you it’s been nonstop fireworks and grand romantic gestures, I’d be lying. Some days it’s Netflix marathons in mismatched socks; other days, it’s reminding each other to blink during an argument about, I don’t know, spatula placement.

The Rainbow Fart Illusion

Nope, it’s not been rainbows and unicorn farts. The rainbows showed up occasionally—weddings, vacations, the time he cleaned the garage without me asking—but the farts? Let’s just say, in a 20-year marriage, those are far more literal than magical.

There have been incredible moments of connection where we’re so in sync, like a perfectly choreographed TikTok dance. And then there have been other moments. The ones that feel more like we’re choreographing on two separate apps with glitchy Wi-Fi. Some lows lasted longer than we’d admit even to ourselves, and occasionally, we stayed stuck there just to “keep the boat steady” for the kids. (By the way, that’s basically like duct-taping a hole in your dinghy—helpful for a minute, disastrous long term.)

But is that healthy? I honestly don’t know. There are parents who somehow maintain a friendly co-parenting vibe without trauma-bombing their kids, so maybe it’s possible. Hats off to them—seriously. (Meanwhile, I’m over here just trying not to eat the last granola bar without consequences.)

When “Trying Everything” Means You’re Practically a Relationship Influencer

Let me just say—we’ve tried it all. If it’s in an “Improve Your Marriage” clickbait listicle, we’ve done it. Date nights? Check. Writing heartfelt letters? Double check (though if anyone ever reads those, they might think we invented marriage bingo). We even got into the whole love language thing. Spoiler: I’m acts of service, which basically makes me the high-maintenance model, but he knew what he signed up for.

And yet, here we are. At a divide that feels different from before, like the Grand Canyon showed up in our living room, and instead of a sturdy bridge, we’ve got a rickety plank held together by wishful thinking and maybe chewing gum.

Therapy: The Unofficial Guest Star We Haven’t Invited

Therapy could help, I hear you saying. And yes, it probably would. But therapy isn’t always an option—for financial reasons or because, frankly, not everyone’s ready for Dr. Schmidt to look them dead in the eyes and ask why they’re afraid of intimacy. For now, we’re relying on other tools: open conversations (even if it feels like assembling IKEA furniture without instructions) and those honest-as-heck letters I mentioned earlier.

Side note: writing those letters sometimes feels like crafting your partner’s personal Yelp review. (Five stars for effort but losing two stars for failure to address why the toothpaste cap never stays on.) Painful to read? Sure. But illuminating in ways face-to-face arguments simply aren’t.

So… Space or Bridging the Gap?

Here’s the thing: sometimes you need space—actual, healthy, not-cold-shoulder space. But let me tell you, stepping back feels like a horror movie where the villain’s name is “What If.” What if the space makes things worse? What if it drives an even bigger wedge? Worse… what if you both like the space?

But (plot twist) space can also be clarifying. Sometimes it reminds you of why you chose each other in the first place, and sometimes it highlights that you’ve grown in different directions. It’s terrifying, yes, but also grounding in its own weird way. Like your marriage going through an existential crisis, but with snacks.

The Cliffhanger Nobody Asks For

If I had a neat ending to this story, I’d package it up in a sweet blog post and ride off into the sunset, Mocktail in hand. But the reality? I’m confused, concerned, scared, and a little bit angry at the universe. This divide feels ominously vast and horribly uncertain. But no matter what happens, here’s what I’m learning: it’s okay to not have all the answers. It’s okay to wobble when the ground under you feels like Jello (and not the fun kind with whipped cream). What matters is that you’re showing up—messy, scared, determined.

Marriage isn’t about pretending the boat’s unsinkable. It’s about patching leaks, fighting off emotional sea monsters, and sometimes just treading water together until the storm passes. Or—if the journey demands—you let go of the wheel entirely and trust each other to find your separate shores.

So to anyone out there in a similar place, remember: you’re not alone in the waves. Also, for heaven’s sake, pack better snacks. Because breakthroughs are exhausting, but hangry breakthroughs? That’s a whole new level of scary.

Let’s keep the conversation going: Have you ever felt the distance in a relationship you treasure? What helped—or what didn’t? Share your story, because the truth is, none of us are really alone in this journey.