So I joined a WhatsApp group chat for women struggling in their marriages—trying to make it work—and discovered, in the process, that my husband and I actually have a great marriage.
Which is apparently how personal growth works now: not through therapy, reflection, or communication, but by comparing your life to absolute chaos in a group chat of strangers.
Here’s how it happened.
A week and a half ago, he and I had a fight. It wasn’t the worst fight of our marriage, or even the worst in the past 365 days, but something about it shook me a little. I don’t know why.
That’s a lie.
I know why.
Because this was a fight I started, and it was 99% fueled by me—by my worst qualities and insecurities—and escalated because I escalated it. I brought the energy, I set the tone, I curated the experience.
Fights where he’s mostly in the wrong, or it’s equal, or just miscommunication don’t hit like that. This was pure Caroline chaos, and I signed it like the artist I am.
So, in desperation, I turned to Reddit, which is absolutely the worst place to go for relationship advice—other than, probably, ChatGPT. I poured the whole fight into a post like a Victorian woman fainting onto a chaise lounge in my distress.
By the time I got my first comment, my husband and I had already made up. Because, inconveniently, we are adults.
The comments weren’t “leave him,” which is deeply suspicious behavior for Reddit. And many were actually thoughtful and decent, which made me question whether I had accidentally logged into the wrong internet.
This is probably because I posted in a subreddit dedicated to a self-help book I read in 2022 (and reread this January, because growth is circular and I am thriving). The book is aimed at wives trying to improve their marriages, so I guess it tracks.
But from that post…
I got a DM. From a woman. Who has a group chat. On WhatsApp. Of women who had all read the book and were trying to practice the skills in real life and support each other in making their marriages work.
Sure. Ruin my life. Send the link.
What did I have to lose? I am lonely, chronically online, and met the criteria for entry. Worst case, I leave and block everyone like a normal, well-adjusted person would have done immediately.
But damn.
The first few days were fun. Share your three gratitudes for the day. Share three self-cares. Share SFPs—“spouse-fulfilling prophecies”—which sounds fake because it's made up by the author Laura Doyle.
Spouse-fulfilling prophecies: If you believe “my husband is irresponsible,” you take over everything, and he never has to be responsible. Flip it, praise it, and—allegedly—it grows.
Whatever. I’m open to this pop-psychology, manifestation-with-a-crockpot energy. And, annoyingly, it kind of works.
It was fun for a few days.
But then—as the women (there are eight of them) started sharing more, drifting out of the daily exercises and into the “general” chat—it stopped being fun and started being…a cautionary tale.
An unemployed husband who lied about applying to jobs (he didn’t).
A husband who had a side chick for two years, and now they’re moving to the same city as the Other Woman—OW, which I initially thought meant something harmless, like “ow,” not a full-blown second committed relationship.
A wife who cooks multiple elaborate main dishes every night because her husband complains that what she makes “isn’t what he was in the mood for.” As if she’s running a short-order kitchen out of her own house.
A woman who has lived separately from her husband for three years but is still trying to make it work (he bought himself a whole separate house, which feels like a clue).
A guy who told his wife he “didn’t know” what he wanted to do for his birthday, then texted her—mid–home-cooked feast on the day—that he’d be out drinking with friends until 4 a.m. Inspirational.
A man who has never, in his life, cared for any of his five children without his mother or wife supervising.
Five children.
No notes. Actually, many notes, but I will keep them to myself.
And somewhere in there, I realized I needed to stop reading this like the tabloids and start asking what, exactly, had shaken me so much a week ago.
Because, comparatively, my big issue was…we had a fight. That I started. And then we talked about it. And resolved it. Like two deeply inconvenient, emotionally functional people.
Basically, I learned that perhaps much of my marital distress comes from the fact that I cannot stand that my husband and I are mere mortals.
How unfortunate that we must discuss things. Disagree. Talk it out. Use words. Clarify our meaning. Follow up. Grow together.
Instead of magically, innately knowing what the other thinks at all times like emotionally intuitive mind-readers sent from God to never miscommunicate.
And sometimes we bump into each other’s most obnoxious habits and defects and…unleash a little. As one does.
God, how horrible that we annoy each other with repetitive quirks, stupid TV shows the other doesn’t like, and weird gaps in cultural knowledge.
You know—how he doesn’t know “Complicated” by Avril Lavigne, and I don’t know 1960s Westerns.
A tragedy. Truly.
But perhaps—I’m thinking—we might be able to make this work.
Breaking news: I think my marriage might actually be great.
Don’t worry—I’m staying in the WhatsApp group for a while. It’s become less of a support group and more of a daily gratitude practice for everything I have… and everything I absolutely, unequivocally do not.
