Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

The First Step to a Good Relationship

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I’ve always been one of those gals who likes instructions. I figure most women do, and that’s why we’re a good partner for men. We have no problem following direction, which can be an asset to their ummm, lack of such. I joke, but seriously, relationships are a lot about teamwork. So, as a woman who loves a step-by-step guide, who’s married to a man who figures it out as he goes, we manage to meet in the middle of most things, creating a great balance for this complex thing called life. And since I’m the instruction manual kinda lady, I thought what better way to share some of the relationship knowledge I’ve gained through trial and error, than by giving you all an excellent first step. After all, it’s hard to make it to point C when you’ve neglected A, or even B.

I got the idea for this post this morning when I was reading the Bible. I came across a part when the Old Testament prophet Elijah said to the people, “How long will you waver between two opinions? If the LORD is God, follow him; but if Baal is God, follow him.”

I’m not trying to make being in a relationship akin to serving God (although, lessons are there), and I’m definitely not going to try and over-spiritualize the topic. But many times when I read the Bible it reminds me how it can impact each area of your life. This morning’s readings happened to remind me of a time that changed not only the course of my relationship with my now-husband, but also changed the course of my life. How could I not share that with you all?! It was my very own moment of discovering that if I believed in something, I needed to commit to it already.

It was the day before Valentine’s, approximately 12 years ago. First off, yes, I had waited until the last minute to buy my boyfriend a card. You see, things weren’t the greatest between us. I could blame it on so many things. I mean, I was freshly out of a marriage gone bad, with a husband who had left me. Rejection will make any girl feel afraid to open her heart to another man. I could blame it on my grief. My heart was still numb from the recent loss of my mother. I was living life in a fog, and I honestly don’t remember most days back in that timeframe. I probably drank too much, trying to numb my pain even further, and my fella certainly was no choir boy either. We both succumbed to our individual vices, two broken souls clinging to one another loosely, trying to figure out if we wanted the other person to help save us or not.

Point is, I could go on and on with all the many reasons why we weren’t in a fabulous place in our relationship, but for the purposes of this post, I’m just going to discuss the pivotal decision that started to change things for the better.

So, back to the Hallmark aisle. I love cards. Always have. It must be my love language or something. I’m a writer, after all. I love words. I love how you can take feelings and put them into words, and then gift those words. A card is an amazing way to say, “this! This is a piece of what I feel, and what you mean to me.”

So, there I was in my favorite place, and I had found the perfect Valentine’s Day card, despite waiting until the last minute to buy it. I read the words, knowing they were a perfect declaration of love, but it was some unwritten words that really shook me.

I can’t say I’ve ever heard the audible voice of God, and at the time I hardly heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit to my heart, but when it happened in the card aisle that day I had no doubt it was the voice of God speaking in my head.

“You need to mean it.”

Five words, out of the blue, that caused me to pause before placing the card in my basket, and that began a conviction in my heart. God knew I wasn’t 100 percent in this relationship. I was holding back, guarding my heart, and distrustful of moving forward. The act of purchasing the card for him was just lip service. I was saying “I love you,” but my actions were lacking. The card spun a lovely lyric of commitment, but my heart wasn’t in it. Not really.

Looking back, I wonder if my face in the card aisle reflected the shaking I was under at that moment. It was like I stood at a crossroads. I could keep giving a mediocre effort, kinda gliding through the relationship, indifferent to the eventual outcome, or I could go all in. Yeah, it was a gamble to give away my heart, but I knew I’d never achieve real happiness in a relationship without betting on us. I had all the right words to describe love. Now I just needed to want it and believe it.

The thing is, this world is full of broken, hurting people. When we started our relationship, we were certainly both those things. We had more baggage than a bellhop, but the only way to start unloading it all is to admit it’s there, and then make the decision to do something about it.

A relationship requires give and take. It takes teamwork. It takes both parties willing to work. And the first step to happiness in a relationship is deciding to put in the work. Not halfway, but 100 percent.

Heck, I’ve known people who get married with it on the edge of their thoughts, “this probably isn’t gonna work. Just like all my other relationships didn’t work.”

Well, of course it’s not going to work. Why is the percentage of marriages lower today than thirty years ago? People don’t want to make that commitment. They want a test drive. Let’s just live together and see what happens. There’s no money back guarantee with relationships, and we can’t treat them like there is.

The first step to creating a happy relationship is deciding you can be happy. It’s understanding you deserve happiness. It’s making the commitment to believe in yourself, and to believe in the other person. It’s the decision to actually try and be a better partner. It’s the choice we all make to lay down pride and selflessly serve the person we’re saying we love. Also known as, not just saying the words, but showing them with everything we have.

If you find yourself currently gliding through a tumultuous dating game, ask yourself those words. “Do you mean it?” Are you willing to put in the work? Stand at the crossroads and decide to either go all in or stop pretending just because you kinda crave companionship. Any relationship takes all that both people have to offer. If you’re not ready to give all you got, it may be time to take a step back and see why that is. It’s not fair to the other person if you’re not willing to mean the words inside the card that you’re buying.

Raising Flat-Chested Daughters Who Eat Cake

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I saw a magazine laying on the table of a hospital waiting room as I walked by, and I recognized it pretty quickly as one I used to read some thirty years ago. Before I knew it my own daughters would be old enough to pour through the pages of fashion magazines, and as I thought back to my own interactions with the likes of YM, Vogue, and Seventeen I hoped my daughters would have a stronger self-worth than I did back then.

I remember staring at the glossy pages of my favorite read and eyeing the glistening cleavage on the young model on the page, envying the slope of her breasts as they played peekaboo with the unbuttoned oxford tied lazily over cutoff denim shorts. I would look back at the mirror where my reflection held copycat attire, except for the perky bosom. My flat chest would stare back at me, and I would feel as deflated as it looked.

My mom bought me my first Miracle Bra. Remember those? Automatic boobies! I can also remember running around frantically in seventh grade, searching for my one, cherished, padded brassiere before my boyfriend came over and discovered I wasn’t the budding B cup my padded bra conveyed.

“Where did I take that thing off at?!!”

I can remember my mother taping my chest and drawing me a cleavage to match the padding in my formal dresses during pageant time. I can remember us girls in school comparing our weight at cheerleading practice. I was next to the skinniest one, and it felt good. I finally felt like maybe I measured up. By measuring down. Which is kinda weird, I know. I remember when I got chubby my mom let me know, and when I lost weight she was quick to compliment me. She was always so proud of my tiny figure, and she loved showing me off to her friends at work, which made me smile. It still does. She wasn’t trying to instill any negative thoughts in me, this I know, but that’s what happened. It just kinda worked right along with what the magazines said was pretty.

I drink Diet Coke nowadays, and I’ve always drank Diet Coke. It’s the only soda that existed in my home growing up. I can remember seeing a jar of Dexatrim on top of the refrigerator, and a cartoon drawing of a large woman in a bikini on a scale on the fridge door reminding anyone who opened it to watch what they ate. My mom was on a diet for as long as I can remember. Again, I don’t think she was trying to instill a negative mindset in me. It just happens to be a consequence of watching the person you love more than anything in the world be on a perpetual diet.

Yesterday was my eldest daughter’s ninth birthday party. I had already decided I would not be having cake. I’ve always been able to stay small, but a simple weight gain of seven pounds and I start to feel miserable about it. I can’t help it, and even as much as I’ve grown spiritually or matured with age, if I’m not in my comfort zone of weight, I feel horrible.

For the past 3-4 months I had been telling myself it was the birth control pills I started taking at the beginning of the year, or that it was the new normal, being in my forties and all. I told myself I was happy with who I was. And I was! I’ve never felt more self-confident and content in my life. But still, when you’ve lived forty-two years with the weight that makes you feel the best, nothing less more will do. So, after pushing it off since the holidays ended, I was finally on a diet. Sigh.

One thing I didn’t do, though. I didn’t talk about it around my daughters. If we were throwing out the processed food and going organic for the good of the family, then yes, we all had the conversation. But if Momma was counting carbs to fit better in her favorite denim capris, I kept that close to the cuff, or rather the waistband, I guess you could say. I didn’t want them even knowing what a diet was!

So back to cake. I had decided no cake! I was 8 days into Ketosis, and after my bread withdrawals I didn’t want to wreck my progress. I was an all or nothing kinda gal, and I was all in on shedding this middle age muffin on my midsection. No cake!

The party couldn’t have been more perfect. I mean, it wasn’t perfect. It was a Dollar Tree decorated jumble of pink and flowers, but the point was, she loved it. She freaking loved it! Her eyes wide, her smile even wider. She blushed with excitement and couldn’t stop saying, “this is awesome! It’s even better than I imagined it would be!”

She had beamed at the Baskin Robbins cake, the smallest they made, and certainly not the stuff Instagram promotes or Pinterest is made of. It was just a plain ole cake, but she couldn’t stop smiling. It had cost about twenty bucks, but she couldn’t stop smiling. She giggled with glee as her dad prepared to make the first cut, and she smiled even wider as he divvied out slices around the table. I knew it then. I knew I’d eat cake. I had to.

I didn’t want the carbohydrates, but even more I didn’t want the conversation. I didn’t want her asking why I wasn’t having cake. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but I guess it’s harder too. I didn’t want to tell my innocent, precious girl, “your mom doesn’t always like herself. So that’s why I’m not eating your birthday cake.”

The best days I have, the ones where I love myself, the ones where I feel beautiful and amazing, that’s what I want for my daughters. I want them to be healthy, sure, but I don’t want them judging themselves by society’s standards. I don’t want them to value their worth by their waist size. I don’t want them comparing themselves to anyone else. I don’t want them wishing they could be more. So many days I wish I could turn back time and erase the breast implants I got in my twenties, so I never have to tell them how bad I felt I needed a big bust to be beautiful.

I want my daughters to realize beauty is more than skin deep, that the skin doesn’t even matter. I want them to age gracefully, live life fully, and take the best parts of me into their future. I don’t want to raise them on scales or hearing me berate myself.

I want my daughters to focus on the things that really matter. I want to cultivate kindness, not self-absorption. More importantly, I want them to view others through the right lenses, not judging people by what they wear, how they appear. I want them to know they can’t judge a book by its cover, and they can only judge themselves by the standard set by their Heavenly Father.

My daughters need to understand they’re precious, set apart, made unique, and I sure don’t want them thinking they need to change for anybody. I don’t always get it right for myself, but I want better for my girls. I want them to experience a healthier view than the one I’ve always had, or even the one that tries to assault me now. I want them to see themselves like Jesus sees them, and to see others the same.

I want to raise daughters who can be proud of their flat chest, cause let’s face it, genetics ain’t in their favor for anything else. I want to raise daughters who are healthy, but can enjoy some cake and ice cream without counting the calories or beating themselves up. I want to raise daughters who know they’re worth more than what Hollywood tries to sell them or what a magazine may try to tell them. I want to raise daughters who know their worth.

When they’re older perhaps I can share my struggles with them, but while they are young and impressionable I will speak life. I’ll speak confidence, and I’ll model self-love for them to see. I won’t call myself fat or use words like diet. I won’t frown at the mirror or refuse to take a picture with them in my bathing suit. They can’t see me being unhappy with me because right now I’m the woman they look up to as how they want to be. And me… I want them to be happy with who God made them to be.

So, I’ll eat the cake, and I’ll play in the dirt. I’ll let them dress themselves in clothes that don’t match if it makes them feel pretty. We’ll laugh, play, act silly, dress comfy, and love life, ourselves, and others because when it comes right down to it, isn’t that what it’s all about?

Do You Know What Women Want?

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Men and women are very different. I think we’ve known this from the beginning of time. I can just imagine a tired cavewoman looking admiringly at the stone floor of her cave dwelling after sweeping away the dirt clumps with her handmade broom of dried sticks, when suddenly along comes her hairy man dragging in a dead mammoth behind him. Look at all the blood you just tracked in!

Indeed how we see romance and relationships are varied, and our focus on physical versus emotional displays of affection may differ too. We each have strengths and weaknesses we bring to the marriage that somehow mesh together in a colorful yet workable way, and our individual needs are unique. But I think there’s one thing that all women need. 

We need you to see. 

For example, this past week my husband told me he was having a friend over. Any woman will know that company is the ultimate motivator to clean house. Like a lady can get more done in the twenty minutes before a visitor arrives than a full day assigned to housework. True story. 

So naturally when my husband told me he was having a friend over I decided to do a major clean. When you have young children that’s a huge deal. Basically as you clean they mess up. It’s inevitable. You either have to lock them outside or duct tape them in the closet. So a lot of blood, sweat, and tears went into transforming our chaotic environment into a visually pleasing one for a first-time house guest. 

When my husband arrived that evening with his friend in tow he immediately proclaimed, “let me give you a tour,” and I of course thought, thank God I cleaned the upstairs!

Men are different than women. I know my husband didn’t expect me to clean the house, and probably wouldn’t have batted an eye if I didn’t. But women are also different. At that moment all I could think was, does he notice how nice everything looks?!

Men are very different. At one point of the tour we entered the children’s bathroom and my husband said loudly, “you must of cleaned up a lot today, huh?!” I cringed a bit. Women did clean before company. Everyone knew it, but no one said it out loud. Between women there was an unspoken code where we pretended with one another that our house always looked good with little effort taken, but my husband was apparently not privy to this secret. I guess I got what I wanted in a way. 

But today he sent me a message after he left for work, and I swear it made me cry. It said, “I want you to know I see what you do. I notice that dinner is cooked every night, and I know that’s a labor in love. I appreciate you, and I love you.”

That’s all I wanted, and it’s all I really want most days. 

Being a woman is difficult. We have inside us this desire to take care of things, to serve those we love, to extend and even overextend ourselves in this longing to show love for our family through action. And it’s not that we require an atta girl, but when it happens it’s really, really nice. 

So what do most women want? Do they want diamonds and nice trips? Well, those things are really great, but honestly most women just want one thing. 

They want you to see. 

They want you to notice if they did their hair a different way. They want you to see that they vacuumed. In fact I think that’s why vacuum manufacturers designed them to make tracks. So people would notice. They want you to see that their day was crazy and they didn’t have time to vacuum, but they did anyway. 

They don’t require a man’s compliments. They don’t need a verbal recognition of every single sacrifice they make. It wouldn’t be a selfless sacrifice if accolades were required. But the fact remains it’s nice too. It feels good to be noticed. It’s wonderful to be appreciated, and most women thrive under the simple fact that you see. That you see them.  

But it doesn’t end there. In my marriage I’ve discovered many things, but one is that men and women, while different, also have a whole lot in common. And it’s with that knowledge that I make certain my husband knows I see. 

I tell him that I see how hard he works each day, the long hours and time away from home. I notice his efforts, I tell him I’m proud of him, and I serve him with my labors of love. So perhaps what women and men want isn’t that different at all. Maybe we both just want to be loved and seen. 

In Case I Forgot to Tell You

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This morning as I was getting ready for work I hurried around, not only getting dressed, but also critiquing my surroundings for anything amiss. Our home was for sale, and today someone would be coming to see it. I was filled with a mild anxiety that I wouldn’t be present beforehand to ensure everything was just right, and the task for last minute sprucing-up would fall on my husband. 

Men aren’t like women at all, and housework would qualify as one of those arenas where my spouse and I differed. He didn’t see things like I saw things, and what I might consider disarray went unnoticed by him. 

This morning he slept soundly, as did the children while I made my morning rounds wiping faucets until they shined, and worrying if the four year old would leave toothpaste residue in the sink. I watched him sleeping, and stopped when I passed by to kiss him farewell for the day. He usually slept through the light brush of my lips, but this morning his eyes fluttered open, and he smiled a sleepy smile for me. 

“I appreciate you.” I told him then. “In case I forgot to tell you.”

That was the thing; it was easy to forget, you know?

In the midst of growing a family, gratitude could fall to the wayside. In the stress of life’s situations the contributions of others could easily be missed. And even if they weren’t, sometimes you were just too preoccupied to say so. But don’t we all desire to know we are needed, loved, and especially appreciated?

My husband and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye on everything, yet we somehow made it work. Our weaknesses and strengths combined to create a cohesive team that got things accomplished. We were different, but that was a good thing. 

When one was down, the other was there to lend a hand. When one fell short the extra measure needed was provided in turn. I did so much for our family, but my husband did too. And when I stopped for a moment, taking my eyes off just myself, I could see more clearly his contributions. And when I took the time to acknowledge his efforts I cultivated our marriage relationship. 

Sometimes it was easy to forget. 

I had a full schedule, but it was accompanied by a full life. And more importantly a full heart. 

Life could be difficult, but I was blessed not to face the strife alone. 

Before I departed for the morning, and left the day’s work in my capable husband’s hands, I prayed for him. And I ended my prayerful petition with this. 

“I appreciate him, Lord.” I prayed. “In case I forgot to tell you.”

No, Your Husband is Not “Your Other Child.”

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No one likes a good laugh more than myself, and I’m pretty laid back on most things. I enjoy a joke or two about the differences in men and women, and I laugh at most of the ones I see. But I think sometimes these little funny things we see are taken more seriously than a simple meme, and the majority of women will shake their head in agreement at some statements as if they are the gospel truth of matrimony. 

Over the years, even before such a thing as social media, certain false phrases passed among women have been taken as good advice, and I think these misconceptions end up hurting marriage relationships. The fact is Satan hates marriage, and what better way to conquer it than from the inside.  

Here’s what I mean. Have you ever heard a wife proclaim that her husband is her other, older child? Maybe you’ve seen a similar phrase on an ecard passed around Facebook. Maybe you’ve said it yourself. Perhaps it just seems like a good laugh to be had in solidarity among women, but my question to you is this. Do you unconsciously, or even consciously, believe this is true?

Here’s another I’ve heard before. “Men are like puppies. You got to train ’em.”

Heck, I even remember saying myself, in the past, “You gotta take ’em from their momma and raise ’em up right!”

You’re laughing, right? Okay, it’s funny I suppose, but when does it no longer become a laughing manner? How about when you begin to treat your spouse like a child? Is that really the recipe for a solid marriage?

As a woman we desire certain things. We like to feel needed, we like to feel like we are appreciated, and we like to feel like we hold a useful, important role in the relationship. Well, that’s fair. There’s nothing wrong with desiring respect for the effort and work you put into a life with someone. But what if I told you men aren’t that much different?

Like women, men also desire to feel useful. They desire to feel like they hold a crucial role in the relationship that no other person can fill. They have an ego, much like women, that requires adequate stroking to maintain a healthy confidence level and contentment in the partnership. 

So, when you treat your husband like a child instead of a man you are sufficiently taking away his manhood. You are taking away his role in the marriage. Your repeated conversations of speaking down to him and chastising him like he’s a kid deserving of a timeout will break any confidence he has to be the strong man he needs to be for the family. If you treat your husband like a child then expect to have him act like one. After all, if you can’t beat ’em, then join ’em. Congratulations. You now really do have another child, but it’s one that you have created. 

Or perhaps think of it this way. Let’s say he’s a puppy needing to be trained. If you treat a man like a dog then you shouldn’t be surprised when he acts like one. Rather, treat a man with respect and he will in turn give you the same. 

Men don’t need another mother. They have one of those. Men don’t need someone to take care of them. Deep down men desire to take care of their family, but as women we must allow them that freedom. We must cultivate that trait in them, not severe it. 

As women we can speak on a level platform with our spouses. We can talk to them in a way that conveys our desires for them without telling them what to do. It takes practice, but it’s possible. And these types of conversations aren’t manipulations, but rather they are communication. They’re conversations where you speak to your partner in a way that lifts them up, not one that tears them down. 

As women we don’t like to get told what to do. We don’t enjoy being told we’re wrong. In fact, we’ll deny such blasphemy. Wink, wink. But seriously, as a wife we don’t like being talked down to, or made to feel like a servant. Well, men aren’t much different, once again. 

A husband needs a wife who treats him like a man, not a child. He needs a wife who desires to share the responsibility with him, not “do it all so it’s done right.” A husband needs a wife who treats him like the man she loves and respects, not an animal that can be trained to do her bidding. A husband needs a wife, not a mother. 

As women we talk incessantly about what we need from our man, but I wonder if we ever stop and think, “are we cultivating those traits we desire, or are we killing them?” If you want a strong man then treat him like a strong man. If you want a provider then rely on him as one. If you want a man who respects you then show him respect first. 

But if you want a child or a dog, well, you know what to do.