Updated: Dec. 17, 2020
Originally Published: July 21, 2015
Let’s be real for a moment: who walks down the aisle thinking, “This is definitely going to end badly”? When I gazed into the eyes of my soon-to-be husband at 23, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged. But, if I’m honest, wasn’t there a nagging voice in the back of my head whispering about the countless silly arguments we’d have over things like an open breadbox?
Getting married felt a lot like preparing for my first child. All my friends were buzzing with excitement. They wanted to know everything—from my wedding colors to my cake choices. Band or DJ? Hair up or down? It was all about the registry and the stuff we’d need for our new life together. In retrospect, we probably should have registered for vodka and therapy sessions instead.
The thrill and anticipation of expecting our first baby was just as intense. Will it be a boy or a girl? How should we decorate the nursery? Will we co-sleep? What kind of diaper bag should we choose? My husband and I happily wandered through stores, debating over which wipes warmer to add to our registry, blissfully unaware of the chaos that lay ahead. Looking back, those vodka and therapy coupons would have made a perfect gift—especially since finding time to even use a wipes warmer is a luxury once you have kids.
The wise older folks in our lives, with their years of experience, would gently warn us with phrases like, “As long as you’re happy” or “Marriage is like having a second job.” I brushed off their advice, thinking I was invincible. I grew up with my parents’ separation, and I swore I’d never put my kids through that.
Fast forward a decade: my husband, the father of my two wonderful boys, is moving out. Some might see this as a failure. Others might feel sorry for us, especially for our kids. But here’s the thing I’ve come to realize—what we fought over wasn’t really the breadbox. It’s that the people we’ve become don’t recognize the people we once were. Our children didn’t make our relationship harder; they reminded us of why we were drawn to each other in the first place. They are the joy that keeps us from feeling like we’ve failed and instead helps us focus on our successes.
There’s no festive celebration when it comes to separation—at least not one that’s socially acceptable yet. People often get awkward, unsure of how to react. There’s no joyous registry to fill out; no monogrammed glasses or party invitations. I can imagine the confusion about who to invite to what is essentially a life transition. It’s like finally admitting that the puzzle in the closet has been missing pieces for ages but you just couldn’t let it go.
I’m now separating from the only person who knows what it’s like to witness the miracle of our children taking their first breaths. We’ve both lifted each other up and held each other back. There’s no party for this occasion, no cake to celebrate. It’s a somber moment, even if funerals come with flowers. We’re focused on doing this right, trying to maintain the foundation that brought us together, even though the structure has crumbled.
As the dust settles and everyone learns about yet another marriage that didn’t last, I’ve grasped a few things. Life is full of uncertainties. I’ve learned that failure doesn’t exist if you have the courage to try. Separating has taken more bravery than getting married ever did. I still use that pizza cutter regularly, and I realize that therapy coupons might not be the best wedding gift choice!
Love is a force that can’t be contained, even if it sometimes feels misguided. No one could have stopped me from marrying my husband, and pondering if I’d do it all differently is pointless. If I hadn’t married him, I wouldn’t have discovered so much about myself. We believed in love’s endurance, and that belief still stands.
So, please don’t waste your sympathy on us or feel sorry for my boys. A marriage isn’t a fancy gown, arguments can’t be shoved into a breadbox, and separation isn’t the end of love. And we certainly don’t need a party for this.
Now we’ve outgrown the need for vodka and therapy coupons anyway. Let’s be honest: the heart of any relationship is friendship, and sometimes, despite your best efforts, a plant just won’t grow. Only time will reveal how this decision affects my children, who will eventually have their own awkward dates and fall in love. And I promise to sit them down, kiss their cheeks, and say, “As long as you’re happy.”
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Summary:
This piece discusses the journey of love, marriage, and the inevitable changes that can lead to separation. The author reflects on personal experiences and the lessons learned along the way, urging readers not to pity their family for the changes but to understand that love and relationships can evolve. Ultimately, the focus shifts to the importance of friendship and personal growth, emphasizing that the journey of love is worth every moment.