The indentation remains on my ring finger. Eventually, it will fade and disappear, the last physical vestige of my connection to her.
On Saturday, my wife of 10 years — 15 years in a relationship — told me she wants a divorce. A combination of disease diagnoses and the pandemic caused me to check out — "check out" her words. And, she's mostly correct in that assessment. But it's also true that she's always on her phone, to the point that the kids have to ask a question twice before she notices they've asked.
Things have been a bit strained in the last year, I'll acknowledge. I would have gone to marriage counselling, I told her, but it's also true that I had a hard time going to a counsellor for my own self. I'm not blameless, but I would have appreciated a little more conversation or even confrontation before she dropped this steaming pile of dogshirt in my lap.
I left that evening and drove around for hours before heading to a bar. Watching couples have fun together made me sad. I checked into a motel and tossed and turned all night.
Our oldest seemed to have been OK when my wife told her. But it's going to tear up our 8-year-old when she tells her.
My mom lives with us, so she's getting out, too. The logistics are a forking nightmare.
It's going to suck to go back to being poor. It's going to suck to have my kids over to a shirtty house or apartment. It's going to suck that all the plans I had for our future are now dead and gone.
It sucks.
I've been wrestling with whether to post this. I don't really go into personal details on here, because the last thing I want are thoughts and prayers or ... or ... or. But it's a little therapeutic to at least type it out.
Peace, y'all.
On Saturday, my wife of 10 years — 15 years in a relationship — told me she wants a divorce. A combination of disease diagnoses and the pandemic caused me to check out — "check out" her words. And, she's mostly correct in that assessment. But it's also true that she's always on her phone, to the point that the kids have to ask a question twice before she notices they've asked.
Things have been a bit strained in the last year, I'll acknowledge. I would have gone to marriage counselling, I told her, but it's also true that I had a hard time going to a counsellor for my own self. I'm not blameless, but I would have appreciated a little more conversation or even confrontation before she dropped this steaming pile of dogshirt in my lap.
I left that evening and drove around for hours before heading to a bar. Watching couples have fun together made me sad. I checked into a motel and tossed and turned all night.
Our oldest seemed to have been OK when my wife told her. But it's going to tear up our 8-year-old when she tells her.
My mom lives with us, so she's getting out, too. The logistics are a forking nightmare.
It's going to suck to go back to being poor. It's going to suck to have my kids over to a shirtty house or apartment. It's going to suck that all the plans I had for our future are now dead and gone.
It sucks.
I've been wrestling with whether to post this. I don't really go into personal details on here, because the last thing I want are thoughts and prayers or ... or ... or. But it's a little therapeutic to at least type it out.
Peace, y'all.