If you're new here, you may want to subscribe. Thanks for visiting!

At 25, I feel more than ever that “today is the beginning of the rest of my life,” and that I’d better get in there and live it the way I want.  Knowing what I want, or rather, recognizing what I don’t want, is the immobilizing challenge.

With men, I have always waited until everything falls to pieces before abruptly jumping ship.  My first husband, whom I married when I was 19 against the advice of everyone I knew, succumbed to anorexia and failed to complete school or a therapy program of his own choice before the “leave him” message clicked into place in my mind.

The guy I dated after that said “thank you” when I told him I loved him, and created a Match.com profile while we were hanging out, denying that he was actually dating anyone else.  Right.  I was gearing up to drop him (but hadn’t dropped him yet) when I met my current husband, who swept me off my feet with love and affection and restaurants and big dreams about the future.  He believed in me, in my writing, in my ability to transform myself from an overweight, provincial divorcee into a sophisticated, assertive woman.

Five years later, I am those things.

Five years later, I am moving out.

I know that relationships end.  I know, all too well, that in America, 50% of marriages end.  Still, for someone who was so committed to making it work, I can’t help feeling like a failure.  I never was one of those people who married and divorced like it was no big deal.  My first marriage was a massive mistake, but this one?  This one I really thought would stick, and I did more than my share to make sure it did.

That worked.

In the end, I can’t deny what is.  He needs to be okay as himself, to function on his own, before he can be okay for me. Because our spouses are our mirrors, I probably need to do the same thing. But this in-between, this not-split-but-not-together thing called “separation” makes every breath difficult. Being affectionate hurts.  Being cold hurts.  Yet pain is not always a bad thing, and sometimes the hardest choices are the most loving, the most honest, and the most productive.

Viewing as many variables as possible before making a decision is the Choister way. In relationships, especially marriage, this does justice to the bond, to the good things, to what does work. I’m in no rush. I want to make good choices, even if it hurts and takes me a long time.

Share this Post!