Today is our church wedding anniversary. The 14th, to be exact. I’m not going to lie—there’s no grand dinner reservation or dramatic bouquet waiting on the kitchen counter. No hotel booking or social media countdown. It’s just a regular day. Since it’s Sunday, there’s no work, just a slow day at home with our energetic two-year-old, who fills every minute with noise, laughter, and endless toddler adventures. Just the three of us, moving through the familiar rhythm of our little family life. And honestly, that’s more than enough. That’s how it usually goes.
We won’t celebrate our civil wedding anniversary in a big way either, which took place a year before our church wedding. It’ll pass like any other ordinary day, and we’re just fine with that too. It’s not because those days aren’t important—they are. But for us, there’s a different date that carries more weight—a quiet, almost invisible milestone that remains the most celebrated day in our little universe.
It’s the day we said “yes” to each other. The day we decided—not to get married, not to move in together, not to start a family—but simply to be in a relationship. That simple, quiet beginning. It’s the day everything truly started. And this year, that moment turns 18.
Eighteen years. I said it out loud recently, and one of my colleagues just stared at me, wide-eyed, and said, “Did you get married in kindergarten?” I laughed, because I knew she wasn’t being mean. She was genuinely surprised. To her, I probably still looked young—or at least young enough that being in a relationship for 18 years sounded like a stretch. That little comment stuck with me. It tickled me, in the sweetest way, to think that maybe I haven’t aged too badly.
But what tickled me more was realizing just how long it’s been. Eighteen years is no joke. That’s nearly two decades of choosing the same person, day after day. It’s not always flowers and kisses. It’s bills and errands and sore backs and clashing schedules. But through it all, we keep choosing each other. And that “yes” we gave each other all those years ago has quietly stood the test of time.
There’s a kind of sacredness to that first “yes” that wedding vows, as beautiful and formal as they are, can’t quite match. At a wedding, you say “I do” in front of an audience. There are vows and dresses and photographs and cake. But the first “yes”? That’s usually just between the two of you. There’s no fanfare. No music swelling in the background. Just two people, probably still figuring out who they are, looking at each other and saying, “Let’s try this.”
We were young, and by some miracle, that early version of us had enough sense to start something that would last. We didn’t know what we were doing. We just knew we wanted to do it together. And here we are, 18 years later. Not perfect. Not without scars. But still together, still growing, still learning how to love better.
Sometimes I look at our wedding photos and they feel like they were taken in another lifetime. We look so different. And in many ways, we were different. I look at that bride and groom and think, “They had no idea what was coming.” But then I look at the way we looked at each other, and I know the foundation was already there. We already had years of shared jokes, late-night talks, heartbreaks soothed, dreams whispered in the dark. We weren’t starting fresh on our wedding day—we were already deep into a story that had roots.
That’s why we don’t feel the need to go big on our wedding anniversaries. It’s not because they don’t matter. It’s because they’re just chapters in a book we started writing long before the first “I do.” And the anniversary that matters most to us is still that first little flicker of a flame, when we dared to say, “Okay, let’s see where this goes.”
I don’t need a ring to remember that day. I don’t need a cake or a dress or even a fancy dinner. I just need him—the same person who asked me to be his, 18 years ago. The same person who has seen me at my worst, and still stuck around. The same person who probably didn’t even remember what day it was this morning until I gently reminded him, and then he grinned, shook his head, and said, “Wow, that was fast.”
It’s funny how time moves. When you’re young and in love, a month feels like a milestone. You count days, weeks, the first kiss, the first fight, the first make-up. But after a while, the timeline fades and what remains are the moments. The quiet ones. The everyday things that don’t look like much from the outside but mean everything to the people living them.
Like laughing over the same old joke you’ve told each other for years. Like arguing about what to watch on Netflix and then falling asleep before the episode even starts. Like cooking dinner together and bickering over how much salt is “just enough.” Like holding hands in the car without even thinking about it. These are the anniversaries no one sees. The kind you can’t put on a calendar. But they’re the ones that build a life.
I think part of the reason people are surprised when they hear how long we’ve been together is that lasting relationships seem rare these days. There’s a quiet awe that comes with hearing someone has stuck it out—through youth and growth, through highs and lows. It’s not always glamorous, but there’s a quiet power in it. In simply staying. In being steady. In loving not just the best parts of someone, but all of them.
So today, we’re celebrating in our own little way. Maybe with takeout, maybe just with laughter. Maybe I’ll tell him what my colleague said, and we’ll both laugh at the idea of us being baby-faced kids in love. Maybe we’ll look at each other and, without saying anything, remember that very first yes.
We’ve been through 18 years of life together. We’ve grown, changed, stumbled, and gotten back up—again and again. And we’ve done it side by side. The church wedding was beautiful. The civil ceremony was meaningful. But that first decision, that first step into love—that’s what made everything else possible.
Eighteen years ago, two young hearts said yes, not knowing what the future held. And today, we’re still saying yes. Every single day. And that’s more than enough reason to celebrate.
