This past summer we closed on our house and moved in three days before our wedding. Life was pure chaos that week, but we were able to weather it because we were moving into this space together. It wasn’t his place first, or my place first; it was our place. I remember how excited we were the first evening while eating take-out on hand-me-down couches in our living room. We were surrounded by boxes and piles of stuff. We had no television or phone or internet connections, so we just ate and talked and soaked in our new reality. We spent the first few nights sleeping on a mattress on the floor in our bedroom because we couldn’t fit the box spring upstairs, but it hardly mattered. What They Don't Tell You About Living Together
Living with my parents for 10 months made us appreciate our home that much more. We were grateful for the lifeline they had thrown us, and even more excited to finally have a space that was our own. The move was relatively smooth because we weren’t venturing into completely unknown territory: we had lived together first, figured out how we would make it work, and transitioned that knowledge into our new life together as a married couple. And I would have to disagree with our priest on this one—living together first hasn’t made our marriage any weaker. In fact, I’d say we’re much stronger this way.
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