• Two years ago, I moved to Spain, and began dating a Spaniard several months in.
• We had some immediate cultural clashes, mostly around communication and our argument styles.
• I've learned that being fluent in a language doesn't necessarily make communication easy.

I'd spent years learning Spanish before I moved to Spain, but once I arrived, I realized how much further I had to go before I could call myself fluent.

I consider myself "conversationally adjacent"; I'm a few neighborhoods over from fluent, but I still get lost.

So, when I started dating a Spaniard six months into moving here, I was fully prepared for regular vocabulary deficits and butchered grammar (especially with my archenemy, the subjunctive).

What I didn't expect was that even when I understood every word, I could still misunderstand the meaning behind it — because language was only part of the equation.

I was shocked when he called me 'ugly'

Early in our relationship, my Spanish boyfriend casually called me "fea" — literally "ugly" — and was baffled when I burst into tears.

To him, the word didn't carry the cruelty I heard in its English equivalent. In Spain, words like "fea" or "feo" are often used as playful terms of endearment. Understanding this, though, didn't make it hurt any less.

Another time, I asked him how to say "making out" in Spanish. He had no idea — and, in fact, he didn't even understand the concept when I explained it.

"You know," I said. "More than kissing, less than sex. The kind of thing teenagers do on the sofa while pretending to watch a movie." He looked at me like I had invented a new sport.

That was when I started to realize that I wasn't just learning Spanish, but discovering that dating comes with different assumptions in every culture.

We followed very different dating rules

After six months together, things were going really well, but my boyfriend and I still hadn't had "the talk."

Having lived in Canada and the US, I was used to relationships hitting a certain point when someone would say something along the lines of, "I really like you, and I think this is going well. Do you want to be in a relationship or date exclusively?"

When I brought this up, my boyfriend looked genuinely puzzled. So I asked how, in his experience, two people knew they were on the same page about progressing a relationship and not dating anyone else. He shrugged and told me that usually it's just assumed.

My mouth dropped open. "But what if you assume you're exclusive, and she assumes you're not, and it turns out she's dating other people?"

He shrugged again. "You just trust that you both feel the same way," he said.

My boyfriend isn't the only one who feels this way. After our discussion, I asked several Spanish friends about this, and they all said that neither they nor anyone they knew had ever had this conversation.

I've had to separate language, culture, and personality

Some differences are easy to laugh about later — like when we argued about "compromiso," a word I understood as "compromise" and he meant as "commitment" — but others are harder, because they're embedded in our DNA.

For instance, we argue in different ways. My boyfriend can feel ready to move on from disagreements moments after they happen. I, on the other hand, take a bit longer to recover.

Two years later, we're still together and still in love. We're also seeing a couples therapist who has experience with bicultural relationships, because not being quite fluent in each other's languages means we may understand most of the words, but we're sometimes still confused about what the other person is trying to say.

Our therapist is helping us see which misunderstandings are linguistic, which are cultural, and which are simply differences between two people.

Movies often make cross-cultural dating seem romantic — after all, body language is universal, wink, wink — but I beg to differ. Communication is supremely important when trying to build a life with someone.

So this relationship has forced both of us to assess our assumptions at every potential speed bump. Now, we ask: Is this cultural? Personal? A relationship incompatibility? Or just a "lost in translation" misunderstanding that we'll laugh about later?

• I had been dating a guy for about a month when I took a chance and invited him on a trip.
• I was worried it might be too soon, but the vacation turned out to be a great compatibility test.
• Six years later, he's now my husband. This trip is one we look back on fondly.

How soon is too soon to invite a new romantic partner to go on vacation? I asked myself that when I had been dating a guy for a month and had an upcoming vacation that I had planned before I met him.

During the height of the pandemic lockdown in the spring of 2020, I was going stir-crazy not being able to travel freely. In those early days before vaccines or access to testing, air travel felt risky, and there were even restrictions on interstate travel. As an avid traveler who always has a next destination in mind, I needed something to look forward to during those dark days when I was afraid to hug my parents because of social distancing guidelines.

I didn't know it yet, but a solo adventure to cure my cabin fever would turn into a litmus test for a budding relationship during those unprecedented times.

I planned a trip that seemed doable, even with pandemic restrictions

I loved hiking and the outdoors before the pandemic. While many places were closed due to social distancing mandates, the national parks were mostly still open. I had never been to Acadia National Park in Maine, even though I lived in New England until I was 10. Maine is within a day's drive from my home in the Washington, DC area, so Acadia seemed like a feasible destination.

I was single at the time. I had taken solo trips before and planned to go to Maine on my own. In June, I scheduled my time off from work for the last week of August. I didn't have any accommodations picked out or much of a plan other than driving up to Maine and visiting Acadia.

Then I met someone

In July, I met a guy from a dating app. We hit it off, and soon we were seeing each other multiple times a week. About a month after we first met, we were hanging out, and I said offhand, "I'm going to miss spending time with you when I'm in Maine." He said he was going to miss me too. Then an idea, that seemed crazy, popped into my head. "Well, you could come with me," I blurted out.

As soon as I asked him to join me, I wondered if I had crossed a line. We weren't even in official "boyfriend-girlfriend" territory. We had known each other for a month, and my trip was planned for a month later. Without hesitation, he accepted my invitation to go to Maine.

Going on vacation together was a great relationship test

I was excited my new love interest wanted to join me on vacation, but I couldn't help but consider the potential for disaster. What if we stopped seeing each other before it was time to go on vacation? How would we handle a 9-hour car ride together? What if four days of nonstop togetherness was too much too soon?

As he helped me plan the trip, I got early signals that things would go well. We collaborated on finding a place to stay. We were aligned that while we didn't need a 5-star hotel, we also didn't want a bargain rustic cabin where the only bathroom was an outhouse. The night before we left, he humored my meticulous packing list and impressed me with his ability to load the car as if he were playing Tetris.

The 9-hour drive showed we were a great team, taking turns as the driver or the copilot who assisted with navigation and music selection. We discovered that, as angsty teenagers, we had nearly identical tastes in early 2000s rock music, despite growing up on opposite sides of the Atlantic. Staying together in the cabin ended up being a micro-experiment in living together, which felt effortless.

The trip itself was a blast. We admired the Atlantic Ocean from the top of Cadillac Mountain and skipped rocks on Jordan Pond in Acadia. We went kayaking at the lake by our rented cabin and ate fresh lobster. Inviting someone you're dating on vacation so soon might have been unconventional, but it turned out great. Six years later, we're still together, and the trip remains a fond memory from the early days of our relationship.

In our Divorce Diaries series, we speak to people in Ireland about their experience of marriage and divorce. This week, a woman in her 40s with two children talks about separation from her perspective