The frustration bubbled up inside me, ready to erupt like a volcano of hurtful words. I fought to keep it contained, reminding myself that this argument would likely pass, just as they had before. But this time felt different; the constant fighting had become our routine, and I was utterly exhausted.
Disrespect and anger had taken over our relationship after 17 years of marriage, and I could hardly recognize what we had turned into. On days when my irritation at my husband reached its peak, I tried to conjure the joyful memories from our wedding day—the promises of love, honor, and cherish made in front of family and friends. “In good times and in bad,” I had said, with tears glistening in my eyes, my veil framing a fairy-tale moment.
Yet, those good times were becoming scarce. The past year had been tough, with home renovations, my new job, and our kids’ increasing activities. We had gone from prioritizing each other to competing over whose day was more stressful. We had lost the ability to be kind to one another, instead allowing resentment to grow in the chaos of midnight feedings and soccer games.
The moment my anger spilled over, I found myself saying the words I had never dared to utter in nearly two decades: “I’m leaving, and I think I want a divorce.” My husband stood there, stunned, his expression a mix of shock and pain. I looked at him across the kitchen island, cluttered with dinner dishes and the background noise of the television. I understood then what it felt like to declare that you no longer wanted to stay with your partner. It felt hollow, terrifying, and strangely freeing.
He replied, “So, that’s it? Twenty years together, and you won’t even try to fix this?” The disbelief in his voice matched my own internal struggle. I was filled with anger and hurt, convinced that separation was the only path left for us. But as we stood there, I couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to at least try to find a solution.
Despite my doubts about therapy, my husband took the initiative to look for a therapist. I was hesitant; talking to a stranger about our lives felt daunting. Would they confirm my fears that we were simply incompatible? Deep down, despite the bitterness, I loved him, but I detested what our relationship had become.
Leaving was easy. Facing the challenges of therapy and choosing to work on our relationship was the hard part. I wasn’t sure I could bear hearing all the ways I had frustrated my husband. I shared my fears with him, and we agreed to approach this journey together—to find the kindness in our relationship again.
A few weeks later, I decided to take a leap of faith. On a bright morning, I sat on a well-worn leather couch in a charming Victorian brownstone, sharing our story with a therapist. And to my relief, there were no bizarre objects hurled in anger. Just honest conversations with a man who believed in our potential to mend things. When our therapist suggested I view him as our marriage coach, I felt a glimmer of hope.
As I glanced over at my husband, I realized that all our struggles had brought us to that moment—working together to improve our relationship. We may not have a fairy tale ending, but we are crafting our own unique story, and therapy is guiding us through the process.
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Summary
After years of conflict and frustration, a couple realizes their relationship needs help. They confront the possibility of divorce, but ultimately choose therapy as a way to mend their marriage. Through honest conversations with a therapist, they begin to rediscover the love they once had and work toward a healthier relationship.