"Mawage. Mawage is what brings us together today. Mawwiage, that blessed awwangement, that dream within a dream..." (If you have not seen the Princess Bride, you should go and remedy that immediately!)

Anyway…today is my 20th wedding anniversary.

Twenty years married to Ohad. Twenty-five and a half together, if we're counting from the beginning (and I did count every month from the beginning… Just ask Ohad who had to put up with “monthaversaries” for a very long time!).

I got married VERY young, obviously. Clearly. Given I don't look a day over 35 😉

We were essentially children when we met.

In many ways, we grew up together. We figured out how to be adults together, made most of our mistakes together, and despite all of it, kept choosing each other every day and every year to this day.

The peaks of marriage can be glorious. The valleys can be dry and horrible and long. We, like most couples, have experienced both. We’ve also never thrown in the towel.

That, to me, is what mature love is. And I have a lot to say about love, as opposed to infatuation… but first I have to tell you about the night I knew I loved Ohad.

Because I didn't fall in love with him instantly.

I actually said "I love you" to him far too early…but that’s because I'd been raised to believe I shouldn't sleep with someone I didn't love, and I very, VERY much wanted to sleep with Ohad. So I said "I love you" to him more for myself, like a bit of a magic spell, kinda like an “open sesame” to make my shame at premarital sex disappear.

But the night I truly knew, at the soul-aching, hammer-to-the-chest level, was two years in, the night he nearly died.

Ohad had always had asthma. But it was well-managed, barely noticeable but for the inhaler in the bathroom closet. Then one evening he came home grey in the face, after a day plugging cables into a filthy dusty server room. He looked awful all evening and we went to bed early.

At 2am I woke up with a violent jolt, sat bolt upright, and switched on the light. To this day I have no idea why.

Ohad was lying next to me barely breathing. His lips were blue and there was a terrible wheezing coming from his throat. I shook him and it did nothing.

We lived on a kibbutz, a little village with no house numbers, because everyone just knew where everyone lived, so when I called the ambulance, they couldn't find us.

So I had a choice. Stay with him, or leave him blue and wheezing to go find the ambulance myself.

I took a breath, breathed it into his mouth, and ran. Barefoot, sobbing, praying to God. And it was out there, running in the dark, that it landed on me like Thor's hammer: I love this man. I love him so much. I cannot do this life without him.

The strangest part is that the thought and the feeling really surprised me. It felt like big news, despite us having been together for 2 years.

Anyway, I found the ambulance. They got to him, strapped him to a gurney, and gave him an adrenaline shot (I remember it as being straight to the chest, like in Pulp Fiction….but he says that’s just my fanciful imagination and it was a shot in his arm. Which is decidedly less cinematic.) Regardless… shot was given and he suddenly sucked in one enormous breath and immediately burst into tears. And so did I.

Then his dad arrived and rode to the hospital with him, because his dad was family and I was "just the girlfriend."

So I sat alone on our bed and phoned my sister Amber, and after I’d sobbed and told her what happened, I said, over and over, "I love him. I actually really love him."

Is this a dramatic newsletter or what?! Sorry, not sorry!

So. Here we are twenty years later.

As a sexologist and intimacy specialist, people ask me all the time, in my office and on podcasts, what the one thing is that ruins a relationship.

Everyone expects a big villain…. Like resentment, contempt, lies, infidelity, lack of respect. And yes, all of those things do real damage. But they’re usually a culmination of something that comes before….

Mediocrity.

Mediocrity is what happens when two people drift into merely existing near each other. When their communication is mostly about logistics, shopping lists and finances. When you quit dreaming and building and being curious about each other, and life becomes practical, predictable, and a bit boring. Boring often feels safe. But trust me…it isn't. Boring is where the cracks start.

And keeping love alive is much less dramatic than the asthma story, thank God.

It rarely needs grand gesture or the soppy anniversary post (says the woman currently writing a soppy anniversary newsletter).

What love needs to thrive are proper dates, and no, dinner out doesn't count, dinner at a restaurant is the lamest date... unless it’s some fabulously fun themed dinner or experiential experience dinner.

Love needs little acts of intimacy and care, like suggesting a joint walk after dinner, or making time for a weekend somewhere together where you can both do things that engage you and/or make you think (I don’t care if it’s golf, white water rafting, a poker tournament, museums, burlesque or learning to BBQ. Whatever floats your boat). It can be smaller that that too. A random glass of something cold and fizzy on a Tuesday outside on the porch for no reason. A kissing sesh that doesn’t have to lead to sex. A shared adventure. An actual common passion you chase together.

Do NOT drift into two people running separate lives under one roof. (Though do keep some of your own life too, because you're not one organism, and you each need room to breathe. Ask me, a fiercely independent Sagittarius, how I know.)

And every so often, put down all the roles. The parent, the breadwinner, the caregiver, the in-house therapist, the exhausted COO of a household.

Underneath all of that you're still just the two people who chose each other in the first place. For reasons. Reasons that are almost certainly still there, under all the crap, waiting.

So: 25 and a half years together, 20 of them married, and we're still choosing each other. Even after I've seen him blue. Even after he's seen me at my absolute worst, which, frankly, has been more frightening than any asthma attack.

Happy anniversary to us.

And to you: when did you last do something fun with the person you love that wasn't admin? Go and put it in the diary. Right now. If you need some help figuring it out, I'm here for you. You can book a session anytime.

Doing fun stuff together and being playful is the secret to making love last. There isn't a bigger one.

Lots of love, and many many more years of it,
Sylvie