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People aren’t wrong when they say that learning to live with your spouse is challenging. And I don’t just mean discovering a more “proper” way to fold socks, the most efficient method for doing dishes, or the importance of sorting recycling. Living with my husband has deepened my understanding of him — but unexpectedly, it’s also revealed so much more about myself.
Through college and young adulthood, I knew I wasn’t the most orderly person. I’ve accepted my strange food preferences, my tendency to wake up unusually early (even on weekends), and my love for vacuuming late at night. These quirks seem perfectly reasonable to me, but I’ve learned over the years that living with others requires adjustment and compromise.

Still, I was surprised to find that sharing a home with my husband left me feeling small. You’d think the opposite would be true — living with the person you love and to whom you’ve made lifelong vows should feel like the safest, most natural thing in the world. Yet, this experience brought up insecurities I thought I had worked through long before marriage.
During our honeymoon, I found myself frustrated for not feeling completely comfortable right away. I felt sensitive about the smallest things — how long I took to get ready in the morning, the fact that half my socks were mismatched (as if they vanish in the wash), or even simple needs like feeling hungry or tired. I caught myself scolding my heart for being too needy and worrying I was an imposition on my husband.
I always knew that marriage would require sharing all of myself. But I imagined it would be this grand and mature gift of self — not me feeling like a middle school girl nervously hoping someone would let her sit at the lunch table.
Learning from a Little Saint
Thankfully, I married a kind and patient man whose love consistently draws me out of my head. During our honeymoon in Rome, he planned the most beautiful trip, knowing exactly how to speak to my heart (incorrupt saints, here I come!). We zipped around the city on a tiny Italian scooter, exploring hidden corners and famous sites alike.
One day, we visited the Church of St. Agnes in Agony at Piazza Navona. In a side chapel, the skull of St. Agnes is displayed. I knelt there, fully aware of the insecurities bubbling to the surface since becoming a wife. I fixated on the skull.
I’ve always known St. Agnes was only about 12 years old when she was martyred, but seeing her tiny skull struck me deeply. Her smallness suddenly seemed so real — and yet that smallness had held such mighty faith.
As I prayed, something shifted. Maybe feeling little wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Perhaps this littleness wasn’t a mark of shame, but a grace. Maybe the very thing I was embarrassed by could be used as a weapon — one that opened me to a love greater than I could imagine.
For Agnes, her littleness became a testimony that extended far beyond her brief life, lifting her to the heights of heaven. For me, perhaps these small, vulnerable moments were invitations to enter into love more deeply — to embrace the “embarrassing” parts of sharing life and space with someone else, and in return, to allow myself to be loved and adored in the midst of them.
Love Delights in Need
True love doesn’t recoil at the sight of need. It delights in it — seeing it as an opportunity to lay down one’s life for the good of another.
St. Agnes’ witness reminds me that even the smallest seed of faith can bear fruit beyond imagination. Martyrdom isn’t reserved for superheroes or those who seem larger than life. More often, it takes root in small, quiet sacrifices — the ones that don’t make headlines.
In marriage, these sacrifices are the daily choices to give the gift of self, over and over again. When you feel confident and strong — and when you feel weak and unsure. When it’s easy — and when it’s not.
It’s found in the little acts of great love, displayed in ordinary ways.
That is the beauty I’m learning to embrace — and it’s a beauty I pray continues to grow with each passing day, no matter what married life brings.
This post was originally published for Radiant magazine, an online publication of Our Sunday Visitor. Since Radiant is no longer actively publishing, contributors have been invited to share their articles on other platforms.
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