Since writing on Medium, I’ve had the good fortune of having people from around the world to write me. They’ve all got marriage woes. I’m appreciative of it; I don’t feel isolated in my upside-down life.
One common theme emerges from most messages: they want me to stay because they love me but I feel guilty because I don’t feel the same way back.
Anyone on the outside looking in would tell someone, “why would you want to stay with someone who doesn’t feel the same way back?” Maybe that works when you’re 20 and have a life ahead of you. It’s a different ball game when there’s kids, finances, and a history.
Warning: I may or may not have gone overboard with the analogies when writing this.
Sunk Costs
My brother bought a property in another country, hoping to rent it out. It failed and he walked away from it all. I don’t remember how much he lost, but there were a terrifying number of zeroes.
“I need to make up for the costs. I need to save it all back up,” he tells me. My brother has a full-time job, he wasn’t going to lose his home.
“Why do you need to find additional money to make up for the money you lost? What happens if you just…don’t?” I replied.
It was like I slapped him in the face. To him, having blown at least $250,000 meant that he had to find a supplemental $250,000 to make up for the loss, despite that he didn’t need that money to survive. It was like he was in debt, even though he owed no one.
When you begin thinking about how much you’ve invested in a relationship, you force yourself to stay longer. Then more time passes and you feel even more invested. Time is the only commodity you can’t get back; it feels like a loss to end a relationship where your time investment was spent for years or maybe decades.
I never directly felt the need to hang on to my marriage because of the time financed in the relationship. But I understand the motivation. For years I toted in all my moves a massive vintage magazine collection. Massive. And that shit wasn’t light. It took me forever to put each one on eBay (they were bagged all fancy) and eventually, it wasn’t worth it. But I couldn’t throw them out. I had brought them with me from Canada and I moved them to every place I’ve ever lived; I couldn’t possibly just throw them out like a madman. Because they weighed a ton, it cost a small fortune to cart them around. My sunk costs grew and grew.
One day a friend of mine, who works in the entertainment industry, asked if she could buy some off of me for fashion reference. My first inclination was to say “no” because I didn’t want to lose having all twelve months of a certain year for a given magazine. She offered me $250. Why yes…you may indeed take the magazines for that chunk of cash.
After she took the magazines she needed, I decided it wasn’t worth it anymore. I wanted my space back. It would be a huge undertaking to sell and ship on eBay; was I going to dedicate my future time for an unknown return? I pulled out a select few that I loved and dumped them all in the trash. Do I regret it? No. No, I don’t.
That long-winded story is how I feel about ending my marriage. Dwelling on the time already spent served no purpose since it can’t be changed. But remaining in the marriage was costing me future time, something I could change. That time is valuable to me and I don’t want to spend it in misery.
Owing Love
Because time is a commodity with no price, there is a sense that we “owe” the other person ourselves because they gave up their time for us. Giving you the one thing that can’t be returned (their time) implies a debt. The repayment: the rest of your life.
“Till death do us part” is a damn long time to offer someone. How the fuck at 25 was I going to know how to spend the rest of my life and with who? Getting married is like a human tattoo: it’s permanent unless you go to great lengths to remove it, but scars will remain. That is a lot to ask of anyone, especially people who lack any real-life experience.
At 25, I still loved The Cosby Show and I thought The Apprentice was an interesting show run by a tycoon named Donald Trump. I mean, come on. Obviously, my judgment back then was questionable.
When I split up with my husband, one of the many things that angered him was that I had wasted his time. “What was the point then?”, raging over years that could have been spent in other ways. There was a sentiment that my decision was fickle and I should have known twenty years ago that I wouldn’t want to stay married.
The reality is, their gamble was the same as yours. Like my brother’s gamble with his rental property, everyone knows there’s an element of risk if things don’t work out. And they often work out beyond your control.
This is a hard pill to swallow. No one wants to admit they made a bad emotional investment. Instead, it requires a perspective shift. Marriage isn’t something you put into and 50 years later you withdraw your investment. It’s like a theme park ticket and unfortunately, you have to leave the park long before it closes. But while you were there, you had a good time.
Ending your marriage doesn’t negate the years of love and happiness that you both shared.
Guilt
Of all the things people write to me, this is one that I suffer from as well. Ohhhhh the guilt. So much guilt.
Often, it’s not the guilt about the fighting. It’s not the guilt about gambling, cheating, being lazy, denying sex, or not having a job.
It’s the guilt that you don’t have enough love to stay in the relationship.
Humans are awful creatures. The one thing we feel most guilt over is the one thing beyond our control. I tried so, so hard to feel all the feels for my husband. We did marriage counseling for years and still, nothing increased my love quotient.
The final straw was the first year of my daughter’s life. Since then, my heart hasn’t recovered from the lack of partnership. If you ditch your spouse when the Titanic is sinking, don’t expect the relationship to survive if you both end up on the Carpathia rescue ship.
Still, the guilt drenched me each time my husband was on the floor, crying hysterically. But I couldn’t conjure up nonexistent feelings.
I’d like to tell you, Dear Reader, that the guilt has gone away. In reality, it’s only because he’s not a crying mess right now, so I don’t feel the guilt. When the pandemic is over and we focus on the next steps, he’ll throw all the guilt cards at me: the house, money, the kids, his assumed inability to find love again, and an irrational fear that he will end up homeless.
Through all his meltdowns, I learned the best route to take isn’t an explanation. Telling your point of view or thoughts won’t make them feel any better, nor will it alleviate your guilt. I would dig my nails into the palms of my hands to avoid answering the accusations, one after the other. Admittedly, there are a few times I cracked. It ended with me crying, “I don’t want to end up living miserable like my mother” and him yelling that he never wants to hear me say that ever again.
The best you can do is just listen and when they expect you to say something, simply repeat “I’m really sorry. I wish I didn’t feel this way. I tried, but it’s just not there anymore.”
Pro tip: don’t say “I feel really bad about what I’m doing to you” unless you’re ready to be screamed at how you deserve to feel bad, you have no idea the pain they’re experiencing, and you could have changed your mind. Your feelings are justifiably irrelevant. Keep it short and simple: “I’m sorry”.
…
I hate writing the final text in Medium articles. There’s a pressure to provide some nugget of wisdom and a bucket of hope to give the reader solace.
I’ve got neither for you.
When you don’t love them back, you must decide if you’re okay living like that or if you’re ready to accept the sunk costs and have a fighting chance at a happy future. The way I view it, I can suffer from a deep, dull pain like a toothache. Or I can yank that tooth out, it’ll hurt like a mofo but hope that after healing it’ll stop the incessant pain.
Since I’m slowly ripping the tooth out with this attempt at a Parenting Marriage while we’re stuck at home during the pandemic, I don’t doubt that it will get worse before it gets better. Right now, my focus is on providing the best of a crappy experience for my kids.
I just can’t keep acting like there’s love when I no longer feel that way. I can’t.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Harli Marten on Unsplash