The frustration bubbled up inside me, threatening to erupt into a torrent of harsh words. I struggled to hold back the impending outburst, trying to quell the fire within as I navigated what I knew would likely be an argument that would eventually fade. But this had become our reality lately. Conflict was a constant, and I was fed up.
Disrespect, anger, and resentment had taken root after 17 years of marriage. On days when my irritation with my husband felt overwhelming, I would close my eyes and attempt to recall the joy we shared on our wedding day. I would picture that moment when, surrounded by family and friends, we pledged to love, honor, and cherish one another. “In good times and in bad,” I had choked out through tears, my delicate veil cascading over my shoulders. It was deemed a fairy-tale wedding, or so they said.
“In good times and in bad.” Those words echoed in my mind over the past year as I started to realize that our moments of strife were outnumbering the joyful ones. We had always experienced ups and downs—children, jobs, and a mortgage can do that to a couple—but we had always managed to get through it with humor and the occasional spat.
Yet anger had become our new normal, and I had reached a point where I no longer cared if our fairy tale ended happily. I wanted out.
That day, with my frustration boiling over, I let it all out. “I’m leaving, and I think I want a divorce.”
My husband stood frozen, his mouth agape and eyes wide with disbelief and pain. I looked at him from across the kitchen island, surrounded by the remnants of dinner and the background noise of the evening news. I had often wondered what it felt like for other couples who had gone through this. I now understood the emptiness that came with realizing you no longer wanted to stay, and the gut-wrenching fear of contemplating life apart from someone you once loved.
He took in my angry posture, tear-stained cheeks, and crossed arms. “So, that’s it? After twenty years, you won’t even try to fix this?”
I stared at him, incredulous. I was so engulfed in my anger and hurt that I couldn’t envision a way forward except through separation. The past year had been a whirlwind of home renovations, my new job, and a busy schedule for our kids, and somewhere along the line, we had both stopped prioritizing each other. We were too busy getting caught up in who had the more stressful day to remember how to be kind.
We had lost our connection, allowing resentment and anger to take over. When he suggested therapy, I couldn’t help but scoff. “We are broken beyond repair,” I replied.
“I love you,” he said simply. “We’ll find a way to put this back together.”
In the following days, he looked for a therapist, and I remained skeptical. We had always known we struggled with communication, but I wasn’t convinced I wanted to share our intimate struggles with a stranger. Deep down, despite the pain, I still loved my husband but felt lost on the path to marital harmony. I knew I had to make a tough decision.
Leaving is the easy part. Choosing to engage in therapy and fight for your marriage is the challenge.
I feared having to listen to all the reasons I had upset him. I didn’t want to sit across from a referee, fighting in a sterile office. We had already spent too long being angry at each other, and the thought of turning that anger into a wrestling match amidst calming decor was terrifying.
I voiced my concerns to my husband, and together we made a pact. We would rediscover the kindness in our relationship. No more bickering, no more resentment—just us, with a metaphorical super glue, piecing together the parts of our lives that we cherished most.
We realized we couldn’t be the only couple struggling in this way, and I let go of the shame associated with seeking help. A few weeks later, I took a leap of faith. One bright morning, I found myself sitting on a well-worn leather couch in a charming brownstone, sharing our story with someone who would listen. I was relieved to find no Zen objects were harmed in our session. Instead, there was just open, sincere conversation with a man who cared enough about our well-being to help us mend. When our therapist advised me to see him as a coach for our marriage rather than a therapist, I knew we had made the right choice.
As I glanced over at my husband and caught his gaze, I realized that all those arguments had led us to this pivotal moment—together, striving to heal and rebuild.
We may not have a fairy tale, but we do have a story still unfolding, and therapy is guiding us in rewriting our ending.
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Summary
After years of resentment and fighting, a woman grapples with the decision to leave her marriage. In a moment of anger, she voices her desire for a divorce, but through her husband’s love and willingness to seek therapy, they begin to rebuild their relationship. Ultimately, they learn that while their story may not be a fairy tale, it still has many chapters left to write.