I was a beautiful bride.
How do I know this to be true? Because I felt stunning, inside and out. I was full of the purest joy on my wedding day; I was in such a state of bliss and oblivion that when my soon-to-be husband told me he’d be more inclined to have sex with me if I did my makeup more often, it went right over my head. I didn’t realize how backhanded of a comment that was to say to your new bride until it was too late.
The demise of my marriage started long before the ‘three years’ I am always mentioning.
And it took me fifteen years to figure it all out.
I always wanted to be a mother. But I understood (and empathized) with my new groom about not being as ready as I was to be a parent. I patiently waited four years until we decided as a couple to toss my birth control pill pack in the trash and start “trying.” Only to have my soon-to-be ex-husband insult me and tell me I trapped him after asking for a divorce that one fateful night in the garage. As much as I’d like to forget nights like that, I’ve gained some much-needed perspective on what was happening after I had the chance to zoom out:
My husband of fifteen years, who I had been monogamous with for twenty years, sent me a text telling me that he needed a “break” from our marriage to pursue other romantic relationships that could potentially bring value to his life. That night, in the garage and out of the kids’ range, my voice shook as I uttered,
I want a divorce.
He wasn’t sad. He was sorry. He wasn’t empathetic to the fact that something bigger was happening, and the woman who loved him with everything she had for the last twenty years wanted a divorce.
He was livid that I stood up to him and set an enormous boundary.
He was free to do as he pleased but didn’t like boundaries from other people — especially his submissive wife of fifteen years.
I didn’t like conflict — it is my strength and weakness. (And one of the reasons ‘the night in the garage’ didn’t happen sooner.) I took the two concrete steps back into the house and slammed the garage door behind me so ferociously that our wedding pictures rattled on the wall behind me. I retreated…
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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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