What Almost Losing My Marriage Taught Me About Keeping It
I almost didn’t get to write this post.
Not because I ran out of things to say. Because for most of my adult life, I was the last person who should have been giving anyone advice about love, marriage, or family. I was absent. I was selfish. I was addicted. I made promises I had no business making and broke ones I had no right to break.
Monique stayed anyway. Longer than anyone should have. And when she finally walked away — when I had given her every reason to be done — she was still the one who called to offer me a lifeline.
That’s not a story about me. That’s a story about her. And about grace.
But here we are. Together. Rebuilding. And I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve learned — the hard way, the only way I seem to be able to learn anything — about what it actually takes to hold a marriage together.
So here’s what I know. From a guy who almost threw all of it away.
You can’t fix your marriage while you’re still lying to yourself.
I was the unreliable narrator of my own life for over 30 years. I had an explanation for everything. A justification for every drink, every mistake, every disappearing act. I was a world-class storyteller when it came to my own innocence.
Here’s the thing about that: your spouse can’t heal from something you won’t admit is happening. And you can’t change something you’ve convinced yourself isn’t real. The lying has to stop before anything else can start.
“I’m sorry” only works if your life starts to look different afterward.
I said sorry so many times the words lost their shape. Monique had heard every version of my apology — the teary one, the desperate one, the angry one, the quiet one. None of them landed because nothing changed after.
The apology that actually mattered came after I stopped. After the drinking stopped. After the running stopped. After I finally surrendered — to God, to accountability, to the truth about who I was and what I’d done.
Words are cheap. Your life is the message.
God has to be in the center, or the whole thing tilts.
I tried it every other way. I tried to white-knuckle sobriety on my own. I tried to be a better husband through sheer willpower. I tried to be a better father by just showing up more. None of it held. Not for long.
What I know now — what I believe completely — is that I am not capable of being the husband and father my family deserves without Christ at the foundation of it. That’s not a bumper sticker. That’s just my experience.
Your kids are watching everything. The whole thing.
Not the version of you that you want them to see. The real one. The tired one. The one who either prays in the morning or doesn’t. The one who handles conflict with patience or doesn’t.
Michael, Lucas, and Jack are going to remember how their dad treated their mom. They’re going to carry those patterns into their own relationships. That’s either a terrifying thought or a motivating one. For me, it’s both.
Don’t just tell your kids about faith. Let them see what a real, daily, imperfect-but-committed relationship with Christ actually looks like.
Forgiveness isn’t weakness. It’s the whole game.
Monique forgave me things I hadn’t even fully admitted yet. That level of grace doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from God. I didn’t deserve it. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like I’ve fully earned my way back — and honestly, that feeling keeps me honest.
If you’re a believer, you already understand that you’ve been forgiven for things that should have disqualified you permanently. So the math on how often we should be willing to forgive others isn’t complicated. We just don’t like the answer.
Some of you reading this feel like it’s too late.
It’s not.
I was homeless in October of 2020. I had a bag of clothes and nothing else. I hadn’t spoken to most of my family in years. I missed my father’s funeral because I was too ashamed of who I had become. I was done.
And then the phone rang.
Four years later, I have my family back. I have my faith. I have my sobriety. I get to watch my boys grow up. I get to be present. I get to try.
God wasn’t finished with me. I’m willing to bet He’s not finished with you either.
If any of this resonates with you — whether you’re fighting for your marriage, fighting for your sobriety, or just fighting to get through the day — reach out. I don’t have all the answers. But I’ve been to the bottom, and I know the way back up.
And it starts with being honest.
Discover more from Mike Hamson
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
