One Hour at a Time

My husband and I had been married for eight years when a casual conversation one night ended with him saying he felt disconnected from his friends and from me, and that he wanted to get into a car and drive off somewhere so he could leave behind all his responsibilities.

My husband loved his friends more than family and he had, I thought, loved me as well. I’d had no idea he was feeling this way, other than a lessening of hugs and kisses which I thought was related to the rigors of a new job. He had never brought up any problems he had or even hinted at any of these feelings when I mentioned he didn’t seem to be as affectionate anymore.

So I was alarmed by the sudden changes in him, and urged him to see a therapist. I asked if he would consider going to a couples’ therapist with me to work on what we were going through, and when he agreed, I made all the arrangements. He didn’t have a history of depression, either personally or in his family, but he sounded depressed and I was worried about him.

Less than two weeks later, after his second individual therapy session and within 10 minutes of our first couples’ counseling session, he said that he didn’t think there was any way of making our marriage work.

I did not take this news well. In fact, I cried, screamed, and swore. I thought we were going to counseling to try to make things better, I said. Why was he breaking this news to me now, in front of a complete stranger, and what was the point of us even coming to therapy together if he had already decided how things would be?

Because, he said, I just figured this out an hour ago and we had already made the appointment.

He moved out that night, and I was left grappling with what remained of my previously happy life. My husband had never volunteered any information about his feelings to me, and even the little information I now had was based on questions I had asked him. Apparently both of us, my husband felt, would be stronger people without the other. We had already tried, he thought, and failed. He was tired of making sacrifices, and by sacrifices, he meant being accountable to another person, having to tell another person when he would be home and where he was going, and having to plan his life with another person. He loved his new job, and hated the rest of his life.

It is a strange thing to go from being in a loving partnership, dividing the bills and chores, invited jointly to events, to suddenly being alone. What my husband sees as weakness — two people sharing a life, balancing work and enjoyment, and willingly making certain sacrifices, is what I saw as strength.

By necessity, you give up a part of your individuality when you get married. I gladly gave this up because in return, I got the chance to make myself a better person, one that was shaped by love, acceptance, and the sheer selflessness of learning to live with another person. My husband brought out the best in me, and now his leaving has brought out the worst.

I still don’t know if he is depressed and if the depression is clouding his real feelings, or if I’m just grasping for explanations and refusing to accept that he’s just been very, very good about hiding his feelings from me. I swing between wanting to call him and wanting to call a divorce lawyer, simultaneously worrying about him and weeping uncontrollably at the thought of my life without him.

If my husband, who can sound rational even when he is not, who is undergoing changes so drastic that no one who knows him can understand this, is depressed, I want to be there to support him. But right now I can only watch him push me away with his words and deeds while I wait.

I am not waiting for anything in particular — no specific event or miraculous occurrence that I expect to return my life to what it was before, only better and stronger. Instead, I am merely counting time. Day by day, hour by hour, I look at the clock and wait. One hour gone means one more hour I have survived with half my soul missing. These days, that is all that counts as strength.

Posted by: Supersonic Jane | June 27, 2009 | 3:01 pm
Posted in: This Life