I want to be rich. But not Lamborghini
or Rolex rich, I want to be rich enough to go to the gym at 3pm and nobody can tell me no. To tap the family in front of me at the supermarket and say, "It's on me," Rich enough that my future wife never has to worry about getting a job. Rich enough to show my children the world, not pictures of it. Rich enough to take my friends to dinner and say, "| got this", Rich enough that God uses me to help the people who are in need. That's my version of rich.
I had a breakdown one night. Postpartum exhaustion. Hormones. Self-doubt. The ugly kind of crying.
I said something awful about myself. “I don’t even recognize my body anymore.”
He didn’t rush to fix it with compliments. He didn’t dismiss it with “don’t say that.”
He held my face and said, “Don’t talk about my wife like that.”
It was quiet. Steady.
He wasn’t arguing with me. He was correcting the way I saw myself.
And in that moment, I realized he guards my self-worth even when I’m the one attacking it.
That’s what marriage should feel like.
Not just someone who loves you when you’re confident, but someone who protects you when you forget your own worth.