I’ve been mulling over living arrangements more often of late, as the circumstances of my life are evolving.
Cohabiting part-time is one thing; this has been my situation for more than two years, and it’s gone well. The arrival of a good man on the scene dovetailed with empty nest.
However, living with someone full-time is a dramatically different scenario. It’s something I’m considering, though I recognize that I feel comfortable with living together – separately.
What I am finding is this: The more I visualize what is involved, the more frequently images of my marriage appear.
Likewise, memories from my divorce and the years that have followed, smoky with skirmishes and mind games, the fog of raising children through fatigue and money troubles, and the terror that I wouldn’t make it and if I didn’t – what that would mean for my sons.
When I finally no longer had to carry it all, the relief was – and remains – present and palpable.
To wake alone with no one to take care of but myself has been healing. To putter around in my kitchen late at night, to sit up and work at 3 a.m. if I wish, to watch trashy TV if I’m so inclined, to bask in the silence around me – glorious silence – these are the ingredients of freedom, salvation, safe landing.
It is as if I reached the shore at last, exhausted but no longer treading water, no longer fighting the current, no longer bearing the burden of my sons’ survival, much less my own.
On the mornings when I do not wake alone, there is sweetness: the touch of a lover, a friend, a partner. I did not have the same experience in my marriage, and in that way, my union made no new “me” that was emboldened, enraptured, or even enjoyed, though in contrast, motherhood was a blossoming of breathtaking proportions.
While that last remark may seem to conflict with the pleasure I take at being on my own, it should not. The relief is real, as are the profound love for the two young men I raised and the ache in realizing their boyhood is over. With the knowledge of my much lessened importance in their lives, there is nonetheless the satisfaction of playing such a central and giving role.
Perhaps, intermingled in this same place of aching, I recognize the loss of my youth.
There was no similar blossoming in marriage, but rather a polite and pleasant state of superficial sharing. There was much more of course, and much less, both of which lead me back to the question I pose myself now. Did marriage make me who I am – marriage as it floated calmly, easily, uneasily and ultimately depleting me, disappointing me, diminishing me? Does the reality of my marriage share equal place with divorce, and even more so the high conflict aftermath, in its own terrible way, stripping me of belief systems and thereby remaking me?
If those years stole a certain innocence, didn’t they also teach me compassion, tolerance, patience, perspective, and appreciation?
If I can never fully trust again, is that a sorrowful statement, a realistic one, or a sentiment that I shouldn’t judge as it is subject to change? Allowing oneself to be vulnerable is progress, isn’t it? After all, there are degrees of trust and their circumstances – talking things out, allowing time to reveal the true character of a person – these encourage us or dissuade us from trusting.
Yet I cannot decide if marriage made me who I am, if marriage undid me, or if they are equally true statements as is this: the past dozen years upended the best possible version of myself – the woman I was or could have been – all the while these same years recreated me.
None of this is simple or static. I was strong and knew who I was before marriage. And yet there’s no question that marriage, my marriage, changed me. I grew smaller, I felt intimidated, I was less confident.
Divorce itself was all about breakage: a shattering, numbing, minefield of traps and troubles with their residual wounds that cannot be pinpointed and therefore, never fully healed. Perhaps they couldn’t be healed even if I were able to locate them and name them. So I take a stab at writing them out, in different ways at different times, like some circular therapy that may nudge me closer to self-knowledge than I realize. Or I turn my back on them and smile when required. After all, pretending is a useful mechanism as long as it doesn’t devolve into perpetual denial.
Anniversaries paint me into their own dark corners. And then there is light – when my sons telephone, when my lover kisses me, when his mother wraps her arms around me and calls me “ma fille.”
Did marriage make me who I am? Did marriage destroy who I could have been? Was it divorce and what came after that caused the undermining of my better angels? Am I wrong in all these perceptions or wrong in simplifying? Aren’t we the sum total of all the events in which we participate or observe?
If I have refashioned myself as a result of my experiences, that we all do so consciously or not is no surprise.
That I find myself hopeful in the possibility of sharing my life with another adult full-time is a surprise.
That I am happy with the man I love, that we have been happy for three years, that we have grown closer through challenging times – and there have been some – these are markers of quality in him and in us as a couple. I must remind myself that it is also the result of quality in me – something I rarely consider.
That I am accustomed to being on my own and enjoy it, that I maintain certain boundaries that he understands, that he cherishes me all the same – I am reminded how different this relationship is from my marriage.
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There is so much here. And though I’m in a happy, 30-year marriage, I relate to much of it. I often think about what it would be like to be alone again. I would miss my husband, no question. And I’m in no hurry to find out what that would be like. But there are also times (and maybe he has them too, I don’t know) when I’d like to be a ‘me’ rather than a ‘we.’ Sometimes its just the little things. But the question of my ability to stand strong on my own two feet is one that worries me. And having learned that I could do that, as you have, I’d be reluctant to give that up — as well as my own space.
This Saturday we are attending the memorial service of my neighbor’s companion of 30 years. He died at age 89. They met later in life and always maintained separate abodes. From what I understand, she loved keeping her beautifully simple place a certain way and he had lots and lots of stuff and mess. It worked for them and the relationship was a romance from beginning to end.
It’s good to think about these things, then again, we’re all constantly creating ourselves and what’s true one day may not be so true another day. Your marriage made you, of course, and so did your divorce. And every other thing you’ve gone through. Modern relationships come in all flavors and cohabiting full time is only one of them. The important thing is “what have you learned about yourself” and it sounds like your answer is “plenty”. It’s a lifelong process. Thanks for the thoughtful post today.
In a word DA, Hope.
If you have hope, you may have been gravely affected but the effects and fallout can be overcome.
You said “…find myself hopeful that I can share a life with another adult, full-time, is a surprise. ”
Perhaps your hope was hidden, on sabbatical, or needed the right time and person. Only you can answer that. Hope allows us to go on but also causes pain. Quite frankly if one can extinguish hope the pain ceases but one cannot fully experience life.
Hope indicates that regardless of the effects and damage, they are diminishing if not dissipating.
Your hope gives me a certain amount of hope.
Hmm…I actually decided, eventually, that I wanted to be married again. Fran had been through enough that initially she saw no reason, but loved the idea when she felt secure about it. Of course it’s not about the license (we had a self-uniting Quaker marriage, legal however), but a statement of a level of commitment to work for the long-term future of the relationship. That doesn’t mean we can’t have sufficient independence of one another. As I’ve said before, we’re an “open and honest” based marriage of equals. We do so much both together and separate, that we do about half together and half as our own things. I got arrested yesterday (see hair post about Good Friday CD); Fran took her nephew and family into Philadelphia. But we slept together at night, as we do every night, and in a full-sized bed (no larger). That’s important for a couple, and it has been a time-consuming task for us to get a new mattress. It will be delivered in a few days. Mattresses are not what they used to be, and our bed frame is a handsome old antique. I’m bonier and like a softer mattress. Finally we found the answer in a gel mattress, of all things. Another good thing is that gel mattresses don’t do spring creaking. We may have embarrassed the saleslady testing this out (well, she said, sleep like you do naturally at home). Actually, she just smiled.
What a beautifully written piece, so thought provoking and liberating. I took notes as I read it.
What a lovely thing to say, Avril. Thank you. I’m glad it spoke to you.