I’ve only ever admitted this to myself in short, never-said-out-loud whispers in my mind: I’m going to end my marriage. To say it here, in print, and see those words boldly staring back at me makes my stomach flip inside out. My instinct is to hit “delete delete delete” so these words on this screen will disappear, and I can go back to living my happy life: the happy life that I have lovingly built with a man who deeply cares about me. The happy life where we have two children, two pets, and thousands of hours of shared laughter and love.
Who would do this? What kind of person ends something so love-filled and beautiful?
It’s the kind of person who has known in her body for the last two, three… eight years that something isn't right. It’s the kind of person who has googled “leaving a happy marriage” more times than she’d like to remember…
I feel like a monster. The thought of it all unravelling is too much. I want to shut down my computer, walk away, and continue to bury these feelings under to-do lists, soccer games, and work deadlines.
Maybe I just need to practice more gratitude? “You have a wonderful life! Look around you! You have so much to be grateful for. BE GRATEFUL!”
I cry. I meditate. I pray. I go to therapy. I exercise. Yet…
The feelings. They’re still there.
And the thing about feelings is that once they come out of hiding and you look them square in the eye, you’re fucked.
I feel physically ill. We’re over. I know it in the deepest parts of my being, yet I can’t imagine looking into my loving husband’s eyes and letting those words roll off my tongue…
“We’re over.”
Once those words escape my mouth, there will be no taking them back. They’ll be free to float and linger, and they’ll begin to swell and suck all of the oxygen out of the room. Those words will crush us and take our breath away until we are suffocated by the reality that they’ve been spoken.
I feel dizzy. My kids, I can’t do this. I can’t do this to my kids. This is all too much right now…
I wish I could quiet this inner voice that tells me I need more, but the only way to quiet her is to ignore her, and eventually she will become a faint whisper and then, I fear, nothing at all. I can’t risk losing her because I love her. I trust her. I’ve listened to her my whole life, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. She is what makes me me, and I can’t keep ignoring her…
So I know I have to do this impossible thing. This thing that very few people will understand, that is going to cause immense heartache and a tsunami of tears.
This is going to be the messiest, most difficult chapter of my life so far, but through the fog - I see her. I know she will hold my hand as she walks me through this, and with a reassuring squeeze will say “welcome home.”
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