When a marriage starts to unravel, hidden wounds that once lay dormant can suddenly resurface, causing pain as sharp as any fresh cut. Accusations of betrayal, indifference, and dishonesty fly back and forth, making it all too easy to cling to the narrative of “I’m right, and you’re wrong.” I found myself entrenched in this mindset not long ago, arms crossed tightly, tears streaming down my face, convinced that I was the only one hurting. “I can’t take this anymore,” I kept telling myself.
Then a friend offered a perspective that shifted everything for me. “You’re so certain you’re the only one suffering, but remember, this is someone you loved enough to have children with. Have you considered that he might be hurting too? Have you really given him a chance to share his side?”
At that moment, I realized I was in no mood to hear my husband out. Isn’t that what arguments are often about? We shout and spew hurtful words without truly listening to one another. In the midst of this chaos, I began to wonder if I was being completely unfair, missing the opportunity to mend things. “I don’t have the energy for this,” I thought.
For days, I tiptoed around my husband, unsure of how to reach out and let him know I wanted to talk. Truth be told, I doubted he wanted to talk to me at all. We had built walls of silence so thick that our only communication was about the kids or the mundane tasks of daily life.
Lying awake at night, I mulled over all the ways I could express my desire to calm down and listen. Finally, one morning, I whispered, “I’m sorry.” The word surprised me, and it seemed to catch him off guard too. My ego kicked in, angry that I had said it, but my heart urged me to keep going. “Am I messing this up?” I wondered.
“I haven’t been fair to you. We’ve been going in circles, and neither of us has stopped to truly listen. I know we’re both hurting, but can we take a moment to just hear each other out?” He didn’t respond verbally, but I noticed his expression soften just a bit. That was enough to reassure me that my words resonated. “Please don’t leave me,” my heart pleaded.
We spent the next few days navigating clumsy conversations, carefully avoiding the big issues that had triggered our arguments. I promised myself to focus on the present, letting go of past grievances. And isn’t that what forgiveness is about?
There are still moments when anger swells up in me, making it hard to breathe. The whole divorce process, coupled with the uncertainty of “should we stay or go?” is draining, like running on flat tires. I wish we could either part ways cleanly or fix our issues, but that’s not how relationships — or life, especially with kids — work.
I’ve set aside my pride, aiming to cultivate compassion and truly listen to my husband each day. Who knows if this will lead to healing, but at least we’re treating each other with more gentleness now. “There’s still love in this chaos,” I remind myself.
“Our kids are observing us,” I tell him, “so we’ve got to get this right.” For now, we’re like two porcupines trying to get closer, but needing to navigate the prickly remnants of old wounds. I’m certain there’s love somewhere in this mess, and even if it all falls apart, at least I’ll know we genuinely tried.