I was engaged in a light-hearted text conversation with an old friend, Jessica, when she casually mentioned her new life as a single mom. I was sitting next to my wife, Sarah, on a plane, just returning from our 11th anniversary celebration on a Caribbean cruise. I quickly typed back, eager for a reply before we were instructed to turn off our phones.
“Wait… Single mom? Did I miss something?”
Jessica responded, “Well, I guess so. Tom and I have been divorced since May.”
That was now November.
I turned to Sarah, who was gazing out of the window, lost in thought. “Jessica and Tom got divorced last May,” I said, surprised. “How did I not know?”
Sarah opened her eyes slightly, visibly surprised, but not entirely shocked. “That’s unfortunate,” she replied, returning her focus to the night sky outside.
Jessica had been more of my friend than hers. We met in college and had known each other for about eight years. During the early years of my marriage, I often sought her advice. Having two children and five years of marriage experience under her belt, she offered invaluable insights. She helped me understand what Sarah was experiencing after the birth of our first son, and she reassured me that the struggles I faced—sleepless nights and arguments with Sarah—were completely normal.
“What happened?” I texted back. “Did you just drift apart, or was there something specific?”
Discovering that a marriage I once admired was now in ruins was unsettling. I reflected on how little I had connected with Jessica over the years, mostly communicating through texts and social media. To me, their life seemed flawless—filled with family vacations, shared hobbies, and joyful moments. Yet, I was oblivious to their struggles, and that realization left me worried about my own relationship.
Divorce is a topic that often crosses my mind—not because I desire it, but because I want to prevent it. My mother has been married three times, and I witnessed firsthand how devastating divorce can be for children. While some parents navigate it with grace, mine did not. They fought relentlessly, spoke poorly of one another, and used us as pawns in their disputes. It was a painful experience.
What terrifies me most is that I don’t fully understand the reasons behind my parents’ divorce. I was only nine at the time, and to me, it feels like a confusing jumble of poor choices. I can’t recall a singular event that led to their split; instead, it was a series of small issues—arguments, neglecting their relationship—that spiraled into infidelity and ultimately, divorce. Their experience has left me with a lingering fear that my own marriage could follow the same path.
This isn’t to say that I don’t love Sarah; I do—immensely. The thought of separation is unbearable. Yet, the shadows of my past weigh heavily on me, especially after reading Jessica’s next text: “It has been happening for 16 years. It wasn’t an event; it was a process. Neither of us realized how lonely and distant our marriage had become…”
At that moment, the flight attendant asked us to switch our phones to airplane mode. I shared the text exchange with Sarah, who read it thoughtfully. “This really scares me,” I confessed. “It feels like divorce is like weeds overtaking a garden. I wonder if that’s what happened with my parents.”
Sarah contemplated my words as the plane began to taxi down the runway. “But we just went on a cruise,” she reminded me.
“I know,” I replied. “I was there.”
“Before the cruise, I was feeling the pressure from school and the kids. But now, I feel rejuvenated,” she said.
I considered her insight. “We can’t just escape on vacation every time we hit a rough patch,” I pointed out. “That’s not practical.”
Indeed, this was the biggest getaway we’d had in our 11 years together.
“I understand,” she replied, “but I think it’s about maintenance.” She explained that our marriage is like a garden, requiring regular attention and care. “We need to make time for each other and nurture our love. You text me ‘I love you’ almost every day,” she reminded me. “My parents have never divorced, so I’m not sure what that looks like. But I can’t help but think that your parents didn’t do things like that.”
“So, it’s the smaller gestures that matter?” I asked.
Sarah shrugged in agreement. “Yes, I believe so. You know how much I love you.”
“Of course,” I replied, and she echoed my sentiment.
“See,” she said, leaning in for a kiss. “We just pulled some weeds.”
The conversation didn’t erase my worries about Jessica and Tom, nor did it eliminate my concerns about my marriage. But it did reinforce my love for Sarah and gave me some reassurance that our small efforts add up to something significant.
If you found this discussion meaningful, you might also appreciate reading more about maintaining healthy relationships in our other blog post on Cervical Insemination. Additionally, if you’re considering family planning, check out the At Home Insemination Kit from a trusted retailer. For more resources on pregnancy and home insemination, the Cleveland Clinic’s podcast is highly recommended.
In summary, maintaining a strong marriage is essential. By nurturing our relationship, communicating openly, and addressing issues as they arise, we can cultivate a loving partnership that withstands the tests of time.
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