Sara Iannacone
Growing up, my dad was a golfer who always had a tournament streaming on the television. Despite his best efforts to educate me, I couldn't care less about the difference between a par and a birdie.
All I could focus on was how seemingly boring the sport was. I couldn't understand why anyone would willingly spend hours chasing a tiny ball from hole to hole.
Little did I know the sport would become a cornerstone for my marriage and mental health decades later.
Much to my dismay, I fell in love with and married a golf lover. For years, he asked if I'd try it, and I always told him to have fun without me.
But during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic when we spent a lot of time inside and outdoor activities were limited, my husband suggested golf again. This time, it was framed as a way to get out of the house while keeping our distance from others.
I still didn't understand the appeal but I reluctantly agreed — mainly because I was going stir-crazy.
What started as a simple way to get out of the house quickly turned into something more meaningful. The rounds at the club were hours spent without distractions and screens (except for a few breaks for the necessary Instagram shots) — just us, nature, and the game.
Having a shared interest that wasn't watching Netflix created a space for us to grow closer. Over time, I found that playing golf together felt like a form of couples therapy. It gave us time and space to talk, laugh, and support each other through the game's inevitable challenges. Plus, I loved our post-golf dinners overlooking the beautiful courses.
This isn't to say there isn't still heated banter when he shouts "More left!" from the cart as I'm swinging — but no relationship is perfect.
Sara Iannacone
But my forray into golf wasn't all sunny. In the early days of playing I nearly let my lifelong struggles with perfectionism take over.
My initial focus was hitting the perfect shot every time. When things didn't go as planned — which happened a lot — I'd let that frustration carry into the rest of the game.
I spent rounds mumbling expletives after over-swinging or slicing the ball, and I'd impatiently pace when we had to wait for the group ahead of us. I considered the day a failure if I wasn't hitting consistent shots.
In time and with the help of therapy, I realized that worrying about the perfect shot was wasting precious time. From there, I worked hard to shift my mindset.
Instead of berating myself for a poor shot, I laughed at the mishits and savored the good ones. Rather than focusing on my game, I cherished having a shared experience with my husband.
It wasn't easy, but golf has taught me to enjoy moments for what they are — not how perfectly they play out.
Now I happily putz along, content if I hit the ball in the intended direction. I enjoy the soft breeze and sun on my skin while waiting for our turn to tee off on a slow day.
For anyone resisting trying something new — especially if it's something your partner enjoys — I encourage you to give it a shot (no golf pun intended). You might be surprised by how much it can deepen your connection and provide unexpected benefits for your own well-being.
