Hi, I’m Kayla. I said those words in a white dress and comfy shoes. It felt easy then. Sweet. Light. Like a promise wrapped in cake and flowers.
If you’d like my expanded, play-by-play take on these exact words—from the aisle to the ER—you can read the full story here: my deep-dive review of “in sickness and in health” vows.
But vows live past the wedding. They hang out in the bathroom at 2 a.m. They ride with you to urgent care. They sit with you when a panic hits for no clear reason. You know what? That’s where the real review starts.
The Vow I Actually Said Out Loud
We stood under a maple tree. My aunt cried. The ring felt warm. I said, “In sickness and in health.” I meant it. I also thought it would be rare. For another angle on why those seven little words carry lifelong weight, check out this breakdown from PreEngaged that dissects the promise line by line.
If you want inspiration on how to shape promises that last long after the cake is cut, explore VT Vows for real stories and practical vow-writing tips.
Need a quick hit list of the strongest lines I’ve ever heard? Peek at my roundup of the best wedding vows—with the exact examples I used. Copy, tweak, or just admire.
Turns out, it’s not rare. It’s daily. Quiet, even. This vow is small. This vow is big. Both can be true.
Year 1: The 2 a.m. Stomach Flu
Three months in, he got hit with a fast bug. It was loud. It was gross. I held his hair back. I ran the shower. I set a towel by the toilet, the old one we use for messes. I made a Gatorade and crushed ice mix and kept the light low. Love smells like bleach wipes sometimes.
He said, “Go sleep.” I didn’t. I counted sips. I changed the sheets at 4 a.m. We laughed once when the cat judged us. Then he slept.
Was I a hero? No. I was tired and cranky. I also felt calm. The vow told me what to do. Care first. Talk later.
If your sense of humor is the thing that keeps you both sane on nights like these, skim through my honest review of funny wedding vows—with real lines that landed. Laughter really does survive the flu.
Year 2: Panic in the Grocery Aisle
This one was me. Bright lights. Cold air. A rush in my chest. My hands shook near the yogurt. He didn’t say, “You’re fine.” He said, “Let’s breathe.” We left a full cart. We sat in the car with the seat back. He counted with me. In for four. Hold for four. Out for six. Later, we ate grilled cheese at home and watched old sitcoms.
I felt small. I also felt seen. Strange mix, right? But that’s the vow doing quiet work.
Moments like that are why I keep testing promises that hit straight in the feels—like these emotional wedding vows that actually made us cry.
Year 3: My Knee Surgery and the Petty Stuff
I tore my ACL playing pickup soccer. Great shot, bad landing. He made a meds chart in Apple Notes. He set alarms. He learned the ice machine hose, which hated us. He got me a grabber tool and stuck snacks on the low shelf. He brought me Saltines and said, “You’re not a burden.”
I snapped at him once. The sheets felt wrong. I cried over a pillow. He looked at me, tired, and stayed kind. Later I said, “I was mean.” He said, “We’re both worn out.” We reset, then we laughed at a dumb TikTok. Healing is not pretty. But it moves.
Writing from the groom’s side? I road-tested every prompt I could find—read the results here: how to write groom vows (with the real ones I shared).
Year 4: The Week We Both Got Sick
Flu hit in January. We took turns being brave. Then we both failed. Trash can by the bed. Thermometer on the nightstand. Tea that had no taste. We used Instacart for soup, tissues, and those neon cough drops. The laundry piled up like a mountain with evil plans.
No big talk. Just small things. A cool towel. A text from the other room, “You up?” “Barely.” The vow felt heavy that week. But it held.
If an experience like that has you eyeing a fresh start, see the six vow-renewal ideas I tried—what resonated and what flopped.
Year 5: The Quiet, Long Stuff
He slid into a gray mood after a job loss. Not a big crash. Just low. I made walks part of the day. Fifteen minutes. No goals. We tried a breathing app. We checked in each Sunday. “Scale of one to ten?” “Maybe a four.” I didn’t fix it. I sat with it. That counts.
And me? Migraines. Curtains closed. He kept the house quiet. He put my water bottle on the left side of the bed because I reach with that hand first. Tiny detail. Huge care.
If faith is woven into your life the way ours is, you might appreciate my honest take on using Christian wedding vows—with example wording.
For scriptural or tradition-rich options, I also broke down exact biblical wedding vows you can borrow.
And if you’re writing from the bride’s POV and want language that feels like you, I offered mine (warts and all) here: wedding vows for her—my real talk and real vows.
The Good
- It gives you a simple rule. If they’re sick, you show up.
- It builds trust fast. You see each other at your worst and keep going.
- It turns love into tasks. Soup, meds, rides, notes. The small stuff matters most.
The Hard
- It steals sleep and plans. You miss the fun thing sometimes.
- Caregiving can pinch. You may feel alone while standing right next to each other.
- Scorekeeping tries to creep in. “I did X, you owe Y.” That voice? Not helpful.
I wanted to be strong. I also wanted a nap. Both true. I learned to ask for help, even from friends. A lasagna on the porch feels like a hug.
If you’re also wondering how to keep the romantic spark alive when life smells like hand sanitizer, check out SextLocal’s relationship and intimacy blog for candid tips on nurturing connection—physical, emotional, and yes, sexual—even during the messiest seasons. If reading all this has you realizing you’re still on your own journey toward finding a partner—and you’d like some low-pressure companionship in the meantime—browse the local, discreet listings at Alabaster escorts to arrange a pleasant, stress-free night out that can remind you how good shared laughter and conversation feel.
What Helped Us (Practical, Not Fancy)
- A “sick bin” under the sink: thermometer, tissues, cough drops, a cheap timer, wipes.
- A shared note for meds and times. No guessing at 3 a.m.
- One house rule: no big talks when someone has a fever.
- A backup plan: easy meals in the freezer. Soup, dumplings, frozen waffles.
- Agree on a code word for “I’m at my limit.” Ours is “red light.”
Before you march down the aisle, try reading your promises out loud; I documented what changed (and what stayed) when I did just that: vows I tweaked, tested, and spoke—real examples that worked.
What I’d Tell My Past Self
Say the vow and mean it. Then practice it in small ways while you’re well. Trade who takes the gross task. Laugh when you can. Wash your hands. Keep extra Saltines. Text your mom. Or your best friend. Let people help.
Also,