Recently, while catching up with a longtime friend over the phone, I learned he was going through a divorce. My wife, Sarah, was sitting beside me on the couch, and she leaned in closer, knowing I was talking to Jake. We had shared many great moments with him and his wife, Lisa, during our time living in the same neighborhood. We often swapped babysitting duties and enjoyed dinners together, but since they moved away, our contact had become infrequent.
Jake shared that he and Lisa were still living under the same roof but had stopped communicating face-to-face, opting for texts and emails instead. The tension was palpable, and I could only imagine how uncomfortable that must have felt. When I inquired about what led to this situation, he simply said, “I messed up.” The vagueness of his words left me concerned, especially since they had always seemed like a strong couple. This made me reflect on my own marriage and wonder if we might be facing hidden issues.
In my 20s, it felt like everyone was getting married, but now, in my 30s, it seems like divorce is the new trend. Friends share details about custody battles, property disputes, and their new dating lives, often surprising me with how miserable they had been despite their seemingly perfect social media portrayals. I sometimes stumble upon a friend’s profile that now features them snuggling with someone new, leaving me to wonder about the fate of the gifts I had given them.
After hanging up with Jake, I sat beside Sarah and reflected on how he was the third friend I had consoled over divorce in just a few months. A few years ago, another friend told me, “It wasn’t a sudden event; it was a gradual process over 16 years.” This insight was haunting, particularly given my family history with divorce—my father was in the midst of his fourth divorce when he passed away, and my mother is now on her third marriage. At 15 years into my own marriage with three kids, the prevalence of divorce around me feels overwhelming and unsettling.
What troubles me the most is how many of my friends can’t pinpoint exactly what went wrong. Sometimes, there’s a clear reason, like infidelity or financial secrets, but often it seems like a slow deterioration, much like weeds creeping into a garden. This uncertainty makes me more vigilant about my own relationship with Sarah.
Every time I hear of another divorce or encounter an old friend whose marital status has changed, I turn to Sarah and express my love for her. I hold her a little tighter and remind her of how much I value her companionship. I make it a point to ask if there’s anything I can do differently to strengthen our marriage. I start looking for those metaphorical weeds and proactively seek to nurture our bond.
While I usually appreciate my marriage, being surrounded by divorce makes me acutely aware of its fragility and the importance of actively maintaining it. Each conversation about our relationship feels less like a discussion driven by fear and more like a constructive effort to secure our future together. We’re transforming challenges into opportunities, ensuring that our marriage remains vibrant and resilient.
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In summary, witnessing my friends navigate the complexities of divorce has made me profoundly grateful for my own marriage. It has prompted me to take proactive measures to ensure that my relationship with Sarah remains strong and fulfilling.