There is a saying that the honeymoon of a marriage is over when the queen sits on her throne as the king comes in to shave. At some point, I suspect, every husband and wife asks himself or herself the question: Do I really want to spend the rest of my life with this person?
Because I’ve always had an aptitude for anxiety, I asked that question six weeks before our wedding.
With 120 invitations in hand, I went to mail them, when all of a sudden I freaked out.
In the throws of a full-blown panic attack, I called the priest who was marrying us, a good friend of mine from my college days.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I managed to say between breaths. “I’m a relationship moron. I am bad at commitment. Really bad.”
He helped me separate the anxiety from the…
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