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There’s a kind of silence I’ve, over time, learned to live with.
And it’s not the peaceful kind.
It’s the kind that follows every storm — the silence after another argument, another misunderstanding, another round of words that shouldn’t have been said.
It’s the silence of someone who still wants to protect, but no longer knows how.
Because how do you protect what constantly fights you?
How do you shield someone from the world when the battle is always at home?
The Weight of Defending Yourself
I’ve learned that no man loses his peace overnight.
It’s chipped away — one argument at a time, one accusation at a time, one moment of being misunderstood again and again.
I used to think love meant defending myself — proving my intentions, explaining my choices, making her understand that I’m not the enemy.
But after years of doing that, you start to realize something painful: no matter how sincere your words are, if the person you love sees you as the opposition, you’ll always be on trial.
And that’s not love anymore.
That’s survival.
I Just Want Peace
All I’ve ever wanted — and I say this with a tired but honest heart — is peace.
Not dominance.
Not control.
Not to be right all the time.
Just peace.
I want harmony in the house.
I want quiet mornings without tension, laughter that doesn’t feel forced, love that doesn’t need defending.
I want to be a pacifist — in my mind, in my actions, in my words.
Because I’ve seen what anger does.
I’ve seen how easily it consumes moments that could’ve been beautiful.
So now, I choose calm.
I choose restraint.
I choose peace, even when I’m misunderstood for it.
Because at the end of the day, no argument has ever made me feel better than silence has.
The Line from Daughtry That Sums It All Up
There’s a song that always hits me whenever I think about all of this — Daughtry’s Life After You.
There’s this line that goes:
“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter,
as long as I’m laughing with you.”
That’s it. That’s really all I’m after.
A life full of laughter.
A lifetime spent with her — not fighting her, not defending myself from her, not trying to outsmart or outtalk her — just being with her.
That’s all I want.
But somewhere along the way, we forgot that laughter doesn’t grow in the soil of constant conflict. It only grows where there’s peace.
And peace can’t exist in a house where every word is a weapon.
The Protector Who Feels Powerless
It’s ironic, isn’t it?
A husband is supposed to protect.
But what do you do when the very person you’re trying to protect keeps turning their guard against you?
When every plan you make, every decision you take, gets questioned or criticized until you start doubting your own instincts?
You begin to pull away — not because you don’t love her, but because you can’t fight and protect at the same time.
No man can.
A man can’t guard his home when he’s constantly defending his heart.
And no amount of strength can keep him standing when every conversation feels like a war zone.
Make no mistake about it though, if you attack my wife, I will rise up to the challenge.
I have done so several times and I don’t see myself not doing it in the future.
So, don’t do it.
Just don’t.
Because I don’t discriminate whether you’r related by blood or not.
When Silence Becomes the Last Shield
I used to raise my voice too.
I used to match her energy, argue back, try to prove a point.
But that never brought peace.
It only created more distance.
So I stopped.
Not because I gave up — but because I finally understood that peace isn’t found in who wins the argument.
It’s found in who chooses not to fight.
Now, when she starts to spiral, I remind myself: “You wanted peace. Be peace.”
And so I stay calm.
I try not to shout or throw back hurtful words.
I just breathe, walk away when needed, and protect my own inner quiet.
Let it be viewed as cowardice. I don’t care. For me, it’s self-preservation.
It’s choosing not to let chaos dictate my state of mind.
All That I’m After is a Life Full of Laughter
The truth is — no man can keep loving the same way when every effort to bring peace turns into another reason for argument.
You can’t pour from an empty heart.
And when respect dies, everything else starts to fade too — attraction, warmth, intimacy.
Until all that’s left is the memory of what used to be peaceful.
A marriage without peace isn’t really a marriage. It’s just a shared space between two people who used to dream of laughter but now settle for silence.
I’m learning that I can’t control how she reacts.
I can only control how I respond.
I can’t fix her emotions, but I can protect my own.
And maybe that’s what love looks like at this stage — not fighting harder, but fighting less.
Not reacting to every spark, but learning to let small fires burn out on their own.
Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a cycle of conflict and regret.
All I want is peace.
Peace in the morning.
Peace in my mind.
A life full of laughter.
That’s it.
