What holds it all together

A Sex and the City episode, a bathroom latch, and a lot of feelings

Right now I’m 36,000 ft in the air on my first child-free transatlantic flight in eight years. That sentence alone feels surreal. It’s been so long since I’ve had this much physical space and mental quiet—space to think, feel, remember.

I queued up an old Sex and the City episode during my meal—Carrie turns 35 and gets stood up at her own birthday dinner. She’s reflecting on soulmates, singledom, and that awful look of pity shot her way at an engagement party.

This mix of sadness and gratitude washed over me. I am someone’s person. And I’m so deeply thankful to have someone beside me through the chaos of life.

Because life? Mine feels full. Sometimes too full. Full of needs and noise and to-do lists. Full of love, but rarely an unoccupied hour. Right now, I feel like I am surviving on timed-reminders and that I am juggling china dinner plates, hoping that I can maintain my focus and not let one smash to the ground.

And watching those four women with all their freedom, nice clothes, and perfect hair and makeup made me realize how much I’ve traded for this overflowing life—yet how worth it that trade feels to me.

Then I went to the bathroom, saw the changing table latch, and nearly cried. It hit me how much time has passed. The lifetimes I’ve lived between the last time I flew solo and now. But also how that early version of me—before the kids, before the obligations, before the group texts about lice and summer camps—is still in here.

Just this week I wrote an article about parenting values—where they come from, how we build them with our partners, and why continuing to nurture our relationship is what holds this whole thing together. It feels fitting to share with you all now.

In the post, I share my recollection of a simple (but powerful) exercise we did back in 2015 in a church basement during our marriage prep class—one that helped us uncover what we each carried from childhood, and what kind of family we wanted to create together.

I also offer a framework for how to keep checking in with your partner as life gets busier and more complex. Because let’s be real: we don’t have these conversations once. We have them over and over, in whispers across messy kitchens and texts from the pediatrician’s waiting room. And I want to sit down and have it again with my husband. Can we be accountability partners in that?

But above all, the post is about remembering that your relationship—the us that existed before the “mom” and “dad” titles—is still the foundation. It needs nurturing. Even when it feels like there’s no energy left. Especially when it feels like you have nothing left to give.

We’re not just raising children—we’re building a culture. And it starts with two people, trying their best, and choosing each other again and again.

Whether you’re just starting that journey or deep in the trenches, I hope this post reminds you that you're not alone. And that full, even too full, is so full of meaning.