One night while we were talking in bed, my then-husband told me he thought it was time he moved out. It was a few weeks after our 16th wedding anniversary and I laid there in silence as he cried.
The relief that washed over me was almost exciting. I had wanted this — wished for it for years after his affair, but I never talked — or did anything — about it.
I was stricken with fear: afraid of not seeing my kids every day, afraid of what people would think, afraid to say the words, and yes, I was afraid to leave him. The thought of him living in an apartment after we’d shared this home for so long was gut wrenching and made me feel cruel. The thought of selling our home and moving our kids felt like a mental load I couldn’t carry. And so, I stayed with him for over six years after he confessed to having an affair while I thought he was working late.
Something happened that night we agreed to separate despite my relief though: I grew very angry and started lashing out at him. I did this until he moved out. I didn’t want to work on things, I didn’t admit to having a part in our failing marriage, which I knew I had.
I didn’t want to talk about anything I did wrong because then that would mean he might still leave anyway and honestly, it was a lot easier to have him be the bad guy. I acted this way because it was easier to peg him as the one who made all the mistakes than to take any responsibility at all. I see that now.
I did a lot wrong in my marriage because I am human and that’s what people do. We are imperfect. We make mistakes when we are hurting. I wanted to seek revenge on his affair but I couldn’t do it for real so I had an emotional affair that he found out about.
I denied him for months at a time. We had a sex-starved realtionship despite him trying. During our last few months together, he was giving it his all to reignite the heat that used to be there and I wouldn’t even entertain it.
I was hurt, yes, but there’s more to the story. I was stubborn. I wanted to be right. I thought there would be someone better out there. And I forgot the love we used to share and the fact he’d always been a fantastic father. I was only focused on the bad things in our relationship and it was so much more than that.
Now, after being divorced for a few years, I see how not ever owning up to the mistakes I made — the anger, the stubbornness, the emotional affair — has damaged not him, but me.
If I’d only told him I knew it wasn’t all his fault and that I had a part to play in why we didn’t make it, maybe this guilt would go away. I still think about how he found the emails I’d written to a man he didn’t know and was crushed. Never once did I apologize. Never once did I try and comfort him.
When he suggested counseling, I never entertained it. I didn’t want to try and fix us.
He’s never held it against me, but I do. I hold it against myself every time I have to drop my kids off. I hold it against myself when I get into an argument with my boyfriend and I admit to being wrong. I wonder why I couldn’t do that with my husband — my lover of two decades, the father of my children.
I know people change and grow. I’ve tried very hard to learn from my mistakes but I’ve wondered every damn day what would have happened had I only let my guard down, admitted to being wrong, and explored the fact that maybe if I altered my behavior and tried to be more of a partner to him, perhaps things would be different and I wouldn’t be waving good-bye to my kids on Christmas and Thanksgiving Day.
People say you shouldn’t have regrets or wonder “what if.” My life would certainly be a lot easier if I could live by that model, but that’s not the case for me right now.
Maybe it will be some day and this is all just part of the process. But, I do know I will never not take responsibility for any part of my relationship ever again regardless of who they are with.
I do know it was a hard lesson to learn, and for some reason, my past marriage is still here to teach me. The only thing I can do is pay attention until it doesn’t hurt anymore.
