The Stages of Marriage

The Stages of Marriage

When you’re young and just married, marriage feels like fireworks — bright, loud, and exciting. Every walk feels like a date, every meal like a celebration. That’s the first stage: the beginning, full of laughter and plans for a future not yet written.

Then comes the second stage: building together. Bills to pay, children to raise, late nights working, early mornings rushing. Some days, love doesn’t look like roses or poems — it looks like packing lunches, fixing a leaky sink, or sitting quietly next to each other after a long day. It’s in those ordinary moments that extraordinary love is built.

The third stage arrives quietly. The kids grow, the house empties, and suddenly it’s just the two of you again — like it was in the beginning, but deeper, stronger. You’ve shared storms and sunshine, joy and heartbreak. Now, your conversations are slower, your silences more comfortable, your hands still reaching for each other out of habit and love.

Marriage isn’t one long season of perfection — it’s stages, each with its own beauty. The thrill of young love. The strength of partnership. The grace of growing old together.

If you’re lucky enough to walk all those stages with one person, then you’ve lived one of life’s greatest blessings. Because marriage isn’t about avoiding the storms — it’s about holding hands through every season and saying, “We’re still here. We’re still us.”

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The stages of life

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘

1. Childhood – The Spring

My grandfather used to say, “Life is like a book—you don’t live it all at once, you turn it page by page.”

At 62, I finally understand.

Childhood feels like spring. Everything is fresh and new. You run barefoot through grass, skin your knees, and still believe the world is endless. Love is simple then—bedtime stories, warm meals, and parents who tuck you in with safety wrapped around you like a blanket.

2. Young Adulthood – The Summer

Then summer comes—hot, fast, and loud. You chase dreams, fall in love, build families, and work hard to make your mark. You think it will last forever, but it doesn’t. Summer is about energy, ambition, and passion. It’s about making mistakes and learning from them, about believing you have endless time.

3. Middle Age – The Autumn

Autumn sneaks in quietly. The house grows quieter as children grow up. Your hair turns silver, like leaves changing color. You finally notice the beauty of slowing down. You sip your coffee slower, laugh softer, and hold hands longer. You understand that joy isn’t about doing more, but about treasuring what’s already here.

4. Old Age – The Winter

And then, winter arrives. Some fear it, but winter has its own gifts: wisdom, gratitude, and perspective. You look back and see that every stage mattered—the scraped knees, the sleepless nights, the heartbreaks, and the triumphs. Winter reminds you happiness was never about how many summers you had. It was always about how many moments you truly lived.

Final Word:

Every stage of life holds something precious. Childhood curiosity, youthful passion, autumn’s calm, winter’s wisdom—they’re all chapters of the same story. And when the final page turns, what matters most isn’t how long the book was, but how deeply it was read, how much love it carried, and how many lives it touched.

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What does it feel like to grow old?

“A young person asked me recently what it feels like to grow old.

At first, I was caught off guard—because I honestly don’t think of myself as ‘old.’ When she saw my hesitation, she blushed, but I told her it was actually a great question, and that I’d think about it.

I’ve decided aging is a gift. For the first time in my life, I’ve become the person I always wanted to be. No, not in the way my body looks—believe me, that can be discouraging at times. The wrinkles, the bags under my eyes, the sagging skin. Sometimes I’m shocked by the older woman who stares back at me from the mirror—but the feeling passes quickly. I would never trade my wonderful friends, my rich life, or my beloved family for fewer gray hairs or a flatter stomach.

As I’ve aged, I’ve grown kinder to myself. I’ve stopped being my harshest critic. I let myself be my own friend. I don’t beat myself up for eating that extra cookie, or for leaving the bed unmade, or for buying that ridiculous cement garden lizard I absolutely didn’t need—but that still makes me smile when I see it.

I’ve watched too many dear friends leave this world far too soon, never getting to savor the freedom that comes with age. Who cares if I stay up reading until 4 a.m. and sleep past noon?

I dance in my kitchen to songs from the ’50s. And yes, if I feel like crying over a love that’s long gone, I cry. I’ll walk down the beach in a swimsuit that doesn’t hide a thing—and if the younger crowd in bikinis looks at me with pity, so be it. One day, they’ll be here too.

Yes, sometimes I’m forgetful. But not everything in life is worth remembering—and the things that matter always come back to me.

Of course, my heart’s been broken more than once. That’s life. You lose people you love, you watch your children struggle, you hold your dog after he’s been hit by a car. Broken hearts are what give us compassion, wisdom, and strength. A heart that’s never been broken is sterile—it never knows the joy that comes from imperfection.

I feel blessed to have lived long enough to earn these silver strands, to have laugh lines etched deep into my face from years of joy. How many never got the chance?

Now, I can say ‘no’ with absolute honesty. I can say ‘yes’ with the same honesty. With age comes the freedom of sincerity. I care less about what others think. I trust myself more. And I’ve even earned the right to make mistakes.

So, to answer that young person’s question: I love being older. Aging has freed me. I love the woman I’ve become. I know I won’t live forever, but while I’m here, I refuse to waste time on what could have been—or on what might still happen.

And yes, I’m going to eat dessert. Every single day.”

— Phyllis Shlossberg

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worth remembering

The Quiet Strength of True Love ❤️

True love isn’t found in grand gestures or perfect moments.

It’s found in the quiet, ordinary days — the ones where nothing “special” happens, yet everything feels complete.

It’s in two people walking side by side, not needing to impress each other, only to be present. It’s in the laughter that erupts while cooking a simple meal, and the silence that feels safe, not heavy.

True love is when companionship becomes more than just sharing a home — it becomes sharing a life. Noticing the small things: how one takes their tea, how the other likes the window open at night, how a single touch can ease the hardest day.

It’s not about avoiding storms but holding the same umbrella, even when both get a little wet. It’s not about agreeing on everything but respecting the differences and choosing each other anyway.

Years pass, hair turns gray, routines become familiar. Yet, in every wrinkle and every quiet evening, there’s a story of devotion. A love that was built not in a moment, but in thousands of little choices — to stay, to care, to forgive, to grow together.

And that’s the beauty of true companionship:

It teaches us that happiness doesn’t come from perfection, but from commitment.

From love that lasts — not because it never faced trials, but because it always found a way through them.

💖 Because at the end of it all, what truly matters is not the years in your life, but the love in your years.

Love is different now

I once asked my mother if, after six decades of marriage, she still felt in love with my father. She gave me a gentle smile instead of words, as if to say, “How can I explain this so you’ll truly understand?” Hours later, her answer arrived in a message on my phone:

“You wonder if I still love him. I laugh softly — not because your question is foolish, but because love is hard to describe after so many years. Yes, I love him, though not in the way it began. It’s not fire in the veins anymore, not a storm of emotions. It’s roots that grow deep.

Love at this stage is not a thrill but a foundation. It no longer races through my chest, but it steadies me. It no longer makes me blush or tremble, but it gives me courage to rise each day.

We don’t have surprises now, but we share rituals: our morning coffee, our small disagreements, the way we pull the blanket over one another at night. These tiny habits may look ordinary, yet they are the essence of everything.

I no longer wait for roses or poetry. I wait for him to notice when I ache, to comfort me when I fall apart, to remain by my side even when I’m lost in myself. And he does — quietly, without display, simply by being constant.

To love after a lifetime is not romance from a novel. It is a language only we know, a silent glance that carries years of pain, fatigue, and the will to go on.

So yes, I still love him. But differently. I love the world we built, the peace he brings, and the shelter he is to me, even in the wildest storm.”

That, to me, is LOVE’S TRUE LESSON.

I'm learning to pull back.

I’m teaching myself to pull back when I start to notice my place in someone’s life. 

It’s not always easy—especially when they mean so much to me—but I’ve learned that holding on too tightly only leaves me feeling out of place. Sometimes, no matter how deeply I care, I have to accept that I don’t hold the same space in their heart. And while that realization stings, I remind myself that it’s not a reflection of my worth but simply the way people are wired differently.

Not everyone loves the way you do. Not everyone sees relationships with the same depth or tenderness you offer. I’ve had to stop expecting my heart to be mirrored in others. It’s a tough lesson, but it’s freeing, too. It teaches me to cherish those who truly see me, while quietly letting go of the need to force connections that aren’t meant to be. 

After all, your heart is meant to be protected, not stretched thin trying to earn a place in someone else’s world.

— LJ Guzman

— Artwork : Hiril