< PREVIOUS LETTER   ||   START OF COLUMN >
 

Dear Breakup Girl,

I'm back, 6 months later, still ruminating, but with a smidgen of progress. (You posted my last letter in your October 5 column.)

Where to start? Well, in the middle. First, to address the dilemma that was plaguing me back then, I can say with a smile that I have (almost) completely gotten over the affair guy, a fortunate product of both time and the fact that he left the company and I didn't have to see him anymore. Time and distance, that age-old cure-all. I have a twinge now and then, but I can actually look back on the whole experience with some compassion for him and for me, and I'm quite grateful that he put up the boundaries that I couldn't muster.

And yes, I took Belleruth's and your advice and have focused on the marriage. I did so, however, not by being *in* the marriage, but by stepping out of it. Things remained very volatile throughout the Fall; my husband had a very hard time dealing with the affair and with my questioning of my feelings, which resulted in a great deal of pressure, a lot of rage, some verbal abuse, and a very unhealthy situation for both of us. We were in marriage counseling, went to a program for troubled marriages called Retrouvaille, and both continued individual therapy. However, the combination of my finally facing some of the dramatic doubts I had buried for so long, especially regarding my sexual attraction/passion for him, and his panic over the thought of losing me, didn't let any of those things work very well, and we were both miserable and the whole situation felt very destructive. I had been desperate for a separation anyway and had only stayed because I thought it would be too traumatic for him after finding out about the affair and learning of my doubts about everything. But one morning I got up and wrote him a note saying, "We need a separation. We're going to destroy ourselves and each other this way." He moved out, which he later admitted was his way of keeping me from doing so, a situation which brought me enormous, immediate relief.

During that time, I continued my obsessive rumination on what I wanted, how I felt so incredibly ambivalent, how I longed to move on, to let go, but how I also doubted about whether I was just running away from the situation, from the guilt, from the hard work it would take, not only to get over the events of the past months but also to address the serious sexual problems we'd had all along, and to overcome that sense inside me that something was somehow *missing* for me. (See?)

I read every book I could get my hands on, talked to my trusted and very supportive, loving friends, confided in my mother, wrote in my journal, read web sites about marriage and divorce, you name it.

I guess the whole exercise was really one of finding and then listening to my own voice. I didn't know that I had lost it, or buried it, but now, shocked into reality, I had to deal. Meanwhile, though, my husband decided he was moving back in, that leaving was not what he wanted, and that he wanted us to work on things. The problem? I guess what I was trying to do was to get there myself, to get to that point where I really knew, deep in my heart, that I wanted to work on things, that I was doing it not because I thought I should, or because I didn't want to devastate him, but because I had the fire in my belly for it. Several weeks later, I moved out, stayed with friends for several weeks until I found my own apartment, and have been living alone, for the first time in my life, for 3 months now.

The result? For me: A lot of relief, a sense of joy at experiencing some of the individuality and freedom I never had, having been in a relationship with him since age 20 and marrying at 23, a sense of my own strength and resilience that I didn't even know I possessed, space to think, a place to decorate, an excitement over the future. I was also escaping my husband's understandable but quite unpredictable and destructive verbal abuse (an anger I could certainly understand but could not take). To be honest, when I left, I thought it was over, but I was also trying to give myself an "out" in that, maybe, just maybe, I would feel that fire in my belly to return.

Where am I now? Well, I don't really feel it, but I'm wondering now if I'm waiting for something to happen that I shouldn't expect after everything that's happened. I do indeed love him, I do. He's been part of my soul, we grew up together, and it kills me to know how badly I have hurt him. I do miss him in many ways, but in a strange way I guess I just find myself wanting to let go, to let us have the past and give ourselves a chance to start over.

My fear? That I'm making the biggest mistake of my life. That I'm violating the basics of what marriage is all about, that I am running, that I'm being lazy, that I will wake up one day and realize that I'm searching for a feeling I may never find. My fear of going back? That I won't get to do the searching and will feel resentment and never really know.

I have even had a few dates, real dates that were just about getting to know someone new. It was funny: I felt guilty each time before going, but better afterwards. I wasn't particularly interested in either guy, but at the same time I enjoyed the breather and the feeling of potential for the future. One of the real problems in my relationship with my husband, I guess, from Day One, was that his feelings always seemed stronger and more all-encompassing than mine, which early on felt very romantic and definitely not something someone should turn away from, especially when the person was kind, loving, giving, devoted, funny, fun, and all that. Another problem was that, from the beginning, his feelings were always so loud and clear that I felt overpowered and didn't know how to, or even if I should, listen to mine.

How, exactly, do I turn away from someone who has loved me through so much, supported me through so much, and who is eager to work on things and try to save our marriage? It all just sounds so ideal, like this is what marriage and commitment are all about. Why can't I get there? I have these endless fantasies about dating and having lovers and learning more about myself in the process, but I guess I keep wondering if I have the right to any of that, or if I'm being a big fool by letting a very good man go. I know this is heavy stuff. Sorry. Any thoughts are so welcome, you don't even know.

-- Lucinda

Dear Lucinda,

Running? Lazy? Work on it? Lucinda, if you had decided to leave because the Magic 8 Ball said to, that would be one thing. But you have read books, consulted websites, talked to good friends, done turbo therapy, gone to marriage retreats with french names and silent letters -- even confided in your mother -- and you wonder if you're throwing something away willy-nilly? What the dilly? Look, some relationships don't work out because one or both partners don't want them to, or because they just won't, which are the same. What can I tell you? Well, I won't tell you to walk away from your husband. But I will tell you that if you choose to, you've made a pretty airtight case for Having Tried.

How do you turn away from someone like your husband? That, my dear, is, like, the Breakup Question of the Universe. Isn't it galling? Someone is standing there, holding out his/her heart and saying, "Here," and you are saying, "No, thank you." It's unbelievably melancholy. If breakups didn't almost always, by definition, include that kind of turning away, me and those Ratatouille people would be out of a job

So if you do turn away, do so gently, firmly, clearly, lucidly. Knowing you've done all you can -- and everything you learned in the process -- will actually cushion the earth where his heart slips through his fingers; he will pick it up again. You may not measure six feet like our water girl, above -- but you are walking taller than most already, I promise.

Love,
Breakup Girl

< PREVIOUS LETTER   ||   START OF COLUMN >