Tag Archives: Separation

Poor Meal Planning Can End Your Marriage

(Image/quickenloans.com)

(Image/quickenloans.com)

“My DH (Darling Husband) makes me want to kill him over dinner. Kill him. I don’t know why 30 minutes that occur exactly the same way each day can drive us to such rage. Marriages would be so much better without dinner.” – A wife, speaking for many

Before my wife and I were married, we sometimes fought about dinner plans.

I thought it was stupid and wasn’t afraid to say so. Like: Just eat food! Who cares?! I thought.

Figuring out what to do for fun, making sure I was getting to class or work, keeping my schedule clear for Cleveland Browns football games—now THOSE were important.

Having a conversation about what we were eating later that night, or God forbid, later in the week? Who in the hell could ever know what they might want? Why would someone subject themselves to that? And why does it matter?

I didn’t care. It’s because I was 21, and peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, pasta with canned sauce, Hamburger Helper, fast food, pizza, Chinese takeout, and boxed macaroni & cheese weren’t just acceptable—they were awesome.

But she cared. “We can’t eat the same three things every night. People eat dinner, Matt. Eating dinner requires a little thought as to what might be needed from the store to make those meals.”

It all came back to me while reading this comment on an internet message board:

“My H seems to think that dinner is magic and just shows up. No planning, no groceries required, etc. When I ask him on Sunday at 8 a.m. what he wants for dinner, he gets all annoyed. Um, I have to defrost or go to the store. Thanks,” she wrote.

I remember getting annoyed about things like this, too. I’d be watching or reading or playing something, and then my girlfriend/fiancée/wife would have the audacity to ask me what I wanted to eat for dinner.

Sometimes the easy and delicious path of least resistance like ordering pizza would win the day. Other times it wouldn’t because she wanted to, like, eat vegetables and stuff.

On the list of Common Marriage Domestic Disputes I perceive wives to be “right” about that accidentally selfish shitty husbands should come around on if they want to stay married, Dinner was the first one to rear its head in my relationship, and one of the few I actually did a decent job of adjusting to through the years, but maybe that’s only because I have a legitimate passion for cooking.

Dinner is one of those things that starts the long, slow, nearly imperceptible fracturing and eventual breakup of marriages.

It seems like such a harmless and innocuous topic. An argument about dinner? DINNER?! That’s one of those topics boyfriends/fiancés/husbands get pissed about once it transitions from Typical Disagreement to Actual Fight.

Ummm. I LOVE you. LOVE. Stop starting fights over stupid crap like food! Your warped sense of reality is really disturbing!

We do love them, us oblivious guys. But we also think anyone who would FIGHT over what to have for dinner has serious issues. We think we’re cool for giving her a pass. We think we’re loving for staying with her even though this is one of those “batshit-crazy” moments.

Because someone linked to one of my posts in a message board thread, and I clicked on it to discover what it was about, I stumbled on this GBCN (Goodbye Cruel Nest) thread where the original poster asked the community if she was overreacting to a situation with her husband.

The quick-and-dirty version is that she does most of the domestic heavy lifting around the house, mostly taking care of their daughter, and mostly always taking care of housework and dinner prep. For a short time, their routine was interrupted when on Tuesdays, she couldn’t get home until 8:30 p.m. instead of the typical 7 p.m.

When she’d come home and there was no food prepared or thought put into dinner, she asked if he could do that moving forward, and was surprised he hadn’t thought of it on his own. For a few weeks after, he did.

Then, another Tuesday rolled around, and when she got home—no dinner. He forgot, he said.

“It just seems very ‘clueless husband’ to me to be all ‘oh, dinner? you don’t say!’ especially after I have laid out my expectations to him in the past,” she said.

I started reading through the thread.

I was struck once again by how common these Shitty Husband traits seem to be. I thought it was interesting how many wives reported “We’re married to the same husband!” but it didn’t really surprise me because these patterns emerge in divorce story after divorce story to the point where it all starts to look depressingly predictable.

Five different wives (speaking for many!) said essentially the same thing:

“I would be annoyed but that sounds like my husband exactly.”

“I would be mad, but this is totally something my H would do.”

“In short, yes it would drive me crazy, because I’ve seen it happen in my house before. But I’d probably just remind him (‘nag’) over and over in the future.”

“My husband is lovely, but spacey sometimes, so I find it most effective if I articulate expectations.”

“If I don’t spell it out, he’s clueless. He admits this and welcomes a list so he knows what to do. Why stuff that is so simple to us is so difficult for them, I’ll never understand.”

This is hard for wives to understand sometimes, and I don’t know how to explain it, but I’ve tried. I don’t know why it’s so common for men to be oblivious, thoughtless and clueless about things like this.

Probably some combination of parental enabling while growing up and poor boundary enforcement from their partners early in relationships.

Divorce. It’s What’s for Dinner.

Will she REALLY leave you, break up your family, and start a new life because you leave dishes by the sink?

Yep.

And she’ll do the same thing over your failure to help with dinner.

“It would bother me immensely. IMMENSELY.” – A wife, speaking for many

And divorce is so much shittier than meal planning. It really is.

The original author of the dinner post asked whether her anger was justified. Like, borderline-divorce-level pissed.

82% said yes. 93% said yes or maybe.

“The helpless husband act makes me rage. A grown man should be able to use his own brain and realize dinner is a thing that he needs to take care of.” – A wife, speaking for many

When husbands blow off their responsibilities around the house, no matter how innocent the inaction was, nor how irrational they consider their wives to be, they make her feel one of two things: Rage or Like His Mom.

As those experiences pile up, things tend to end badly.

Bad News—You Don’t Get to Dictate What Matters to Other People

I don’t know whether it’s because I was smart, but immature and unwise; or because I was a monumentally huge asshole with zero self-awareness; or because I was actually a dumbass moron, but I used to think my opinions about things were a fair metric for evaluating situations and how I should treat people.

I think I still do this, but tend to recognize it much faster than never, as was the case back then.

My wife was upset about DISHES. How petty! I’m right and she’s wrong, so now I don’t have to care about the thing that’s upsetting her!

My wife was upset about DINNER. Her capacity for love is smaller than mine, therefore SHE is the one who sucks! I know how to really love in marriage and she doesn’t as evidenced by her valuing silly things like meal planning!

The crash back to earth is painful and embarrassing, but I’d encourage everyone to try the life strategy of not automatically assuming you’re right about everything, which forces you to assume the worst about the intellectual and emotional capacity of everyone who disagrees with you.

It’s not a good thing, especially since you’re probably wrong.

My wife wasn’t REALLY upset about the dishes.

“Guys, the point isn’t that [she] and her H could eat a quick dinner. It’s that she cooks on ‘her nights’ (i.e. every night they don’t eat out) and he doesn’t even think of dinner if she doesn’t remind him. It is not on [her] to come up with quick easy meals because her H can’t/won’t cook.” – A wife, speaking for many

My wife wasn’t REALLY upset about the dinner thing.

“I feel like we are giving the H all these excuses for why there was no dinner. We are giving him an excuse that maybe dinner isn’t important to him or not something he cares about.
It doesn’t matter. It was important to [her] that she eat. So even if she came home and he said ‘here honey, I made you a bowl of cereal’ at least it showed that he considered that she may want to eat. He didn’t even consider her needs. She got home and mentioned dinner and he acted like she suggested they paint the living room
Sometimes I make some dinner for my [daughter] and I and I know it won’t last for reheat but I always ask my H when he will be home or I suggest he get something at work because I didn’t make him anything. I always consider his empty stomach.”
– A wife, speaking for many

My wife was upset because when I had numerous opportunities to demonstrate—not even GOOD partnership—but simply EQUAL partnership which would have almost kind of-sort of come close to giving her as much as I was receiving, I didn’t.

It wasn’t intentional.

That was always my defense. Accidental neglect.

Accidentally killing people isn’t nearly as horrible as intentionally murdering them, but the result for the innocent victim is always the same.

A husband must learn to see past the dirty dish, and see past the forgotten or neglected dinner.

A husband must learn to anticipate needs, and actively care and empathize enough to take action, no matter how inconvenient.

That’s what it looks like to shovel the coal necessary to keep the train moving.

Unless, of course, he really misses eating those peanut butter & jelly sandwiches alone every night.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

Maybe This is How My Wife Felt

Bill Murray throws golf club

This.

I want to quit my job even though I like many things about it.

It’s not just because I find traditionally structured 9-to-5s to be wholly dissatisfying, but because there aren’t cool-enough bosses (mine are mostly awesome) nor enough money in the world (I do okay) to buy my unquestioning loyalty.

In military, law enforcement, firefighting ladder companies, mountain climbing teams, space shuttle crews, and other applications, you’ll find an established chain of command. Not following—or even questioning—orders can be the difference between life and death. I understand this and have a fundamental respect for leadership structures and believe people in management deserve a modicum of respect by virtue of that chain of command.

The stakes tend to be less in for-profit business. I work for a private company. We sell things no one needs, but many people want. For better or worse, the bottom line is the bottom line, though our corporate culture is particularly people-friendly and community-minded.

By all appearances, inside and out, it’s an excellent company that is No. 1 in its market globally, has a reputation for being professional with customers and business partners, and has as many multi-decade employees as I’ve ever seen. I still want to quit.

I like my bosses and the vast majority of my co-workers. I still want to quit.

I like the actual internet marketing work I do and try to improve my craft every day. But I still want to quit.

And I think maybe there are a bunch of parallels here to how wives and mothers feel about their married lives, sharing homes with their husbands and children, and doing her best to raise good kids in a life where she’s being pulled in so many different directions.

I think maybe I feel about my job the way, in the end, my wife felt about me.

On Loyalty and Effort

I didn’t just accept this job five years ago because it seemed better than my old job, and come into it with a ho-hum work ethic and mindset.

This job, in many ways, saved my life.

On Jan. 1, 2010, I became another in a long line of laid-off newspaper reporters following the 2008 economic implosion. And because I’m never intentionally masochistic, I chose to move on from my journalism career and find another way to make money. I was jobless for 18 months, freaking out because I had a toddler son at home and a wife who clearly was not digging being married to an unemployable loser. I made money freelance writing, but with child and family healthcare costs, I needed to find something steady with a benefits package.

Eventually, I was hired into one of my company’s coolest and fastest-growing departments, and work with a bunch of good, smart people.

I went from total loser, to well-paid guy with a seat at the table for macro-level conversations about business strategy, overnight.

This job gives me the money to pay for my home and Jeep, and the money to support my son.

This job provided something steady during my divorce.

This job introduced me to friends I hope I’ll have forever.

This job gave me a real-world laboratory to study marketing and human behavior, and gave me a front-row seat to the constantly changing digital world where it’s sometimes hard to keep up.

I am grateful for this job. I LIKE my job. 

But I still want to quit.

And if my next career move wasn’t going to be me jumping off into entrepreneurial waters, maybe I’d already be gone.

Why?

Because the leadership at my company despite their best intentions are the business-world equivalent of shitty husbands, and no matter how many good things there are to appreciate and admire about them, I have—in metaphorical-relationship terms—transitioned to Apathetic Robot Wife mode, and recently realized: I’m done.

I’m done because I don’t care enough anymore. And the leadership at my company, even though they do so many good things for us and create a mostly nice place to work, is the reason why.

Husband: ‘Why Are You Doing This To Me?’

“Um. You did this to yourself,” she replies.

I was hired by my company to do a job. I write things—website copy, emails, blog posts—designed sometimes to educate and inform existing or potential customers, and sometimes to provide a very specific sales call to action. Buy this awesome thing right now!

They give me money in exchange for these services where I’d like to believe I make them a lot more money than I’m paid.

Like a newlywed bride, I was totally psyched to be here five years ago. I devoted a lot of time and energy to honing my craft, studying its impact, and generating new ideas. I felt emotionally invested in my work, proud of my contribution, and passionately spoke up in meetings about doing things “the right way” as I perceived them. Best practices = Success. I really believe that.

I came in early and stayed late. I poured myself into the work knowing I could make positive contributions, studying results, and always striving for incremental improvement.

Because in the digital world we can measure with decent precision the performance of a marketing email send, or blog post, or social media engagement, or web traffic, we don’t always have to guess how our customers respond to our work.

We often can see that doing X generates good results and more sales, and that doing Y does not.

My switch flipped to No-More-Fucks-Left-To-Give mode when my bosses made crappy decisions that costs us money for political and ego reasons, despite evidence supporting our protests.

Then we tried one more time and it happened again.

Surely, we’ll go back to doing the right thing with this overwhelming evidence we’re sabotaging our efforts, I thought.

And then it didn’t. And that’s when I felt a part of me shut off.

Okay, dicks. Have it your way.

One of my jobs is to write emails. Some people further up the corporate food chain probably don’t think it’s super-important. Kind of like how some husband feels about his wife’s efforts to keep the kitchen clean.

Our company makes a lot of money, so as a percentage, any individual email I write—some of which generate more in 48 hours than my annual salary—still might not register much with upper management.

Nonetheless, what I love about email marketing is that I can measure my impact on the company. If I write a subject line that gets 18 percent of people to open it and 2 percent of people to click to our website, that’s worth a certain amount of money. If I write a better subject line and copy, I might move 23 percent to open that email and 4 percent to click through. Over time, those incremental improvements are what I live for, professionally. I fight for those inches. If my effort and creativity improves those numbers just a point or two every large-scale email, over the course of a year, it means we sold a lot more stuff, and we make a lot more money, and I feel good when that happens.

I care. Not because they’ll give me a big raise if I do this. (They won’t.) Not because I’ll receive recognition or pats on the back outside of my annual review. (I will not.)

It’s because I take pride in my work, and I want to do it well. It’s because I’m part of something, and am invested in our success. It’s because I feel loyal, and it is my pleasure to make meaningful contributions.

I can live with the fact that no matter how hard I work, I’ll get little more than cost-of-living raises.

I can live with the fact that no matter how little someone else works, they will too.

I can live with the fact that I have to wear crappy business casual clothes that are neither casual nor particularly nice or professional like a good little cubicle soldier.

I can live with the fact that even though I can do my job from any internet-connected computer in the world, I’m not allowed to work elsewhere.

But I can’t live with the people I’m supposed to respect being given evidence their decisions cost us money and sabotage our work, and then watch them choose to stay the course.

They’re Not Doing It Purposefully

Making us feel shitty about our jobs, I mean. They’re not. They don’t know they’re doing it.

They’re good people. I’m sure if they REALLY UNDERSTOOD how their decisions affected the rest of us on a psychological and emotional level, they’d maybe do things differently. 

But they don’t get it. They expect us to work just as hard on the next project even though we know it can’t perform as well as it should. They expect me to care like I always have. They probably think because I no longer argue as passionately as I once did that I’m totally satisfied with things here.

Then, it hit me: My bosses are husbands who leave dishes by the sink.

And some of my co-workers and I are the wives who finally have had enough. I can’t keep giving THIS much of a shit for something that doesn’t reward the effort.

Maybe this isn’t what’s happening. Maybe they’re NOT stubbornly clinging to their I’m-The-Boss egos. Maybe they really believe they’re doing the right thing, and maybe they’re totally oblivious about how that impacts our job satisfaction, work performance, and office culture.

But if sure-as-shit FEELS like they’re intentionally doing things that undermine our efforts.

I could take it the first time. It didn’t faze me.

I could take it the first hundred times. There’s so much good here to be grateful for.

I could take it the first thousand times, even as frustration mounted.

But somewhere along the way, one of my bosses left one too many “dishes” by the sink.

And now things will never be the same.

I’ll write their things because they give me money to do so. But I used to write things with an attitude of wanting to give more than I take. That’s gone now, and I wish it wasn’t.

I want to believe in unconditional love in marriage, but I now understand there will always be some conditions.

If you wake up every morning, and your partner says to you “Hey! You’re a stupid, ugly asshole!,” and then punches you in the face, there are a finite number of times you’ll stand there taking the verbal and physical punch.

Sometimes, love dies.

I’m not sad about my job. I’m maybe a tiny bit angry. Mostly, I’m apathetic.

And no matter how comfortable I am, or how many fond memories I have, or how much I like and appreciate my job and wish things were different, I’m done now.

I don’t know whether I’ll leave in three or six months, or in one or two years. But I am leaving.

In my heart and mind, I’m already gone.

And no, the irony isn’t lost on me.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

Divorce is Bad, but Some Things are Worse

Escape the cage

(Image/Glogster)

Divorce is bad.

I wish it wasn’t a thing. I don’t mean Let’s ban divorce! I mean, I wish we didn’t live in a world where it was statistically likely that two people who invest their lives in one another, and share resources, and build their life’s foundation on top of this living arrangement, and often have children together, will eventually divorce and secretly wish they had never met their ex.

All of us who were married for a while privately roll our eyes at all those people who marry and divorce within a year or two. But really? They’re kind of lucky.

I was married nine years. Many other divorced couples were married MUCH longer.

And in a life where the clock always seems to tick louder with each passing year, we have a hard time reconciling the loss of that time.

More than a third of my life was invested in that relationship. And if my favorite little person on Earth hadn’t resulted from it, I’d have a hard time finding the silver lining in losing my twenties and early-thirties to an investment reminiscent of a Bernie Madoff dick in the ass.

At least I have a little boy to hang my hat on—to help justify the pain—even though my geography choices, finances and dating life suffer for it.

Childless divorcées have many more options as they take stock of their post-divorce lives, but maybe nothing of lasting value to pull from the experience.

Divorce is a necessary choice and freedom. Sometimes people find themselves married to mentally ill or straight-up evil frauds and abusers. Victims of domestic violence, sexual and verbal abuse, financial fraud, partners who endanger their children, infidelity, crime, and all the other sucky things that happen in this world, deserve the liberating choice to escape. To give themselves a new start where they can choose hope and reclaim their lives.

But I still hate it.

Divorce and all the accompanying shittiness are heavy contributors to most of the world’s wrongs.

There’s a huge (and growing) group of “progressive,” “enlightened” thinkers who believe everyone who gets married is simply brainwashed by hundreds of years of Puritanical influence, and that marriage and monogamy goes against our natural biological instincts as Eat-Sleep-Fuck mammals—that we’re all unwitting slaves to our primal urges.

I think they say that for two reasons:

1. For most people who never had to fight in wars, or stand in bread lines, or experience extreme violence or sexual assault, or lose someone super-close like a child or parent or spouse or sibling or best friend to an untimely death, divorce is the most difficult thing they have ever experienced.

I have a pretty positive disposition and, on paper, have lived a reasonably pleasant life. I like being alive and hope to stay this way for many years.

But throughout my separation and divorce, the thoughts and feelings I experienced were all so new and terrifying and unexpected. You either know what it feels like to completely lose control of yourself, or you don’t. You feel crazy. You hurt, fucking everywhere. Inside. Outside. In your chest. In your head. In your stomach. And no matter where you are. At work. Watching TV. The million times you wake up every night. During holidays. At parties. On dates with a stranger.

Everything feels wrong. And there’s no escape. We try to mask it with alcohol or sex or drugs or God or other forms of escapism. You don’t know as it’s happening that there’s no way around it. Just through it. And it feels impossibly long when you’re feeling it.

Once I realized I was going to feel that shitty no matter what I did—worse than I knew a person could feel on the inside, and no matter where I went, or who I was with—I finally understood how a person could take his or her own life. When there’s no escaping pain and horror, shutting it off somehow starts to make sense to a brain desperate for solutions. Just make this stop!

I never wanted to actually die. But I finally stopped being afraid of it. That oncoming semi-truck wants to cross over center and hit me head on? Bring it. I don’t give a shit anymore.

Once a human being has felt that, I can understand why they would be too afraid to put themselves in another vulnerable position to possibly feel it again. Self-preservation is a powerful instinct.

2. They don’t want to grow up. And I don’t blame them because I don’t want to grow up either. It’s juvenile and immature and impractical. But it doesn’t mean it isn’t a real feeling inside of us. We yearn for the innocence of childhood. Desperate for a life where all we have to do is hang out with our friends and play every day. Bottom line: Being an adult isn’t as fun as being a child. And some people (and I’m occasionally among them) are too selfish to choose responsibility over fun.

Brett and Kate McKay nail it in this excellent piece from The Art of Manliness:

“The world of children is made possible by the world of adults.

“When people say they don’t want to embrace adulthood, what they really mean is that they don’t want to be a grownup themselves, but they want to live in a world where everyone else is. They want competent, effective politicians to represent them; they want their journalists and doctors to be smart and level-headed with a comforting mantle of gravitas; they want their children’s teachers to be dedicated and on-the-ball; they want customer service to be friendly and efficient; they want police officers to be honest and fair. They want the world to be stable, predictable…so they can afford to be erratic and irresponsible. They want to be kids, but live in an adult world, where grownups are at the ready to take care of their every need.”

I think it’s possible to live in a society where most people have the smarts and know-how necessary to make their marriages an oasis of love and peace and goodness in their lives, rather than this unpleasant black hole of shit from which so many people crave escape.

I remain hopeful for a future where influencers take seriously the positive societal benefits of stable families and recognize the horribleness of divorce enough to start having real conversations about how to do it better.

All That Said, Yes, Your Spouse is an Asshole. GTFO.

The entire point of this post is supposed to be: Even though I’m a quasi-radical proponent of saving marriage and despise divorce, sometimes I’m like: What the hell are you WAITING for!?

I get lots and lots of blog comments and emails with awful marriage stories. Often, at the end of the story (sometimes people just need to tell someone), they ask for my opinion.

Here I am, a 36-year-old divorced guy hammering out pro-marriage messages on the internet. My mom and dad divorced when I was 4, and it probably fucked me up a little. My mom and stepdad divorced when I was 28, and it probably fucked me up a little more. My wife and I divorced when I was 33, and it felt so bad that suicide, while never an option (I promise), at least made sense.

I’ve never had a cause. But I think I have one now. I think this whole Hey World! Divorce is Horrible and You Seem to be Ignoring Just How Much, Which is Stupid, Here’s Why! crusade is the closest thing to a cause I’ve ever had.

It really matters to me. Because so much of it feels wasteful. Two decent people who don’t know better giving it their best shot without the information or resources they need to succeed in marriage. I think that’s most divorces. Those are the people I encourage to persevere. To choose courage. To choose love.

Two people who want to make it, can make it. 

But sometimes I get emails or blog comments from wives (and occasionally husbands) who have a different kind of story.

I’ll combine and paraphrase all of them into one, using the husband as the bad guy because that’s more than 90 percent of the stories I read: “My husband cheats on me and hits me and is never around and uses all our money to have fun and support his vices and affair partners. If he is home, he is never affectionate, doesn’t pay attention to the kids, and calls me a fat, nagging bitch (even though I’m trying to lose weight after bearing his children!) If I ever even hint at leaving him, he threatens me with money and the children. But I still love him and want to make it work! What should I do?”

First of all, everyone, ESTABLISH AND ENFORCE STRONG BOUNDARIES. Right now, please.

Secondly, it’s hard for me to understand how someone can be cheated on, physically or verbally abused, threatened, abandoned, neglected, and treated miserably by the one person in the world who made a spiritual and/or legal vow to love and cherish them forever, and still be like: “I’m just not sure what’s best! Maybe he’ll change!”

There are psychological and emotional forces at work I can’t begin to understand.

There are children. Innocent, precious little kids I’ll never meet who love their mommy and daddy just like four-year-old me did in 1983 when my father crouched down in front of me with tears in his eyes after a long day in court and said: “Matt. You are going to go live with your mommy far away in Ohio and you’re not going to see me very much anymore, but I want you to know how much I love you and that we will see each other every chance we get.”

And I think about those little kids who are going to carry all the same scars I did and probably still do. And I ask the mothers follow-up questions because trying to make it work for your kids isn’t as dumb a concept as some people think.

But then they write back and you just know. You know they have no chance.

Not because marriage is a failed idea. Not because humans are beyond redemption. Not because it’s just another example of two people falling out of love.

But because these men are not actually husbands.

Here’s how you can tell the difference:

Actions A, B, C and D cause your wife to hurt more than she has ever hurt before. She’s terrified and cries often. If you continue those things moving forward, you intentionally are choosing to inflict serious harm on her. By choosing those things, you lose her forever, and put your children through life-changing hell. By choosing those things, you lose everything.

When a husband/father figures this out, he strives to grow and change. He apologizes with unmistakable remorse. He demonstrates clear intentions to right his wrongs and makes choices moving forward that contribute to the welfare of his wife/family. That will happen 100-percent of the time.

Men like that are worthy of redemption. Tragically flawed, but good-hearted.

And then, there are the other guys.

The ones who figure it out, or already know, and continue to do A, B, C and D. Why? Because they want to.

That’s it. That’s the reason. Because they want to.

“That’s the whole thing? Those things matter more than me? Those things matter more than your children?”

And no matter what actual words come out of their stupid fuck-shit mouths, the answer is clearly “yes.”

These men (and women) have earned their inevitable comeuppance. You shouldn’t be aboard the same ship when it starts to sink.

Yes, I believe in honoring vows.

Yes, I believe in marriage and love (not the kind you feel; the kind you choose).

Yes, I hate divorce and think it is an underestimated destructive force in our world.

But sometimes, the union you’re part of isn’t an actual marriage.

And sometimes, people are in so much pain they can’t tell the difference.

We don’t want to be the ones to call it off. We don’t want to throw the time investment away. We don’t want to be the person “responsible” for ending the marriage by choosing divorce, and hurting our children, and disappointing our families, and creating dysfunction for our friends.

We want someone else to do the dirty work for us. Or maybe we just want someone to reassure us that it’s okay. Absolution that isn’t ours to give.

The moment you know your partner understands your pain and the real-world consequences of certain behaviors, but chooses them anyway?

Then. Right then. That’s when it’s time.

Run.

I wish it wasn’t a thing.

Divorce is bad.

But some things are worse.

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

Maybe It’s Time to Leave

I feel dirty suggesting that leaving a relationship might be a good idea. But honestly? It might be the only way he learns.

I feel dirty suggesting that leaving a relationship might be a good idea. But honestly? It might be the only way he learns.

My ex-wife reads this blog and probably often thinks: “Fuck that fucker,” even though she’s pretty nice to me most of the time.

Why?

Probably because I wasn’t like this when we were married, and sometimes when I write things, ladies will ooh and ahh because they believe I would make decent boyfriend material because I come off more enlightened than all the Neanderthals they date or marry because I am now more enlightened than most of them.

And she probably thinks the entire scene is a massive pile of bullshit.

Hard to blame her.

As with most situations in life, there’s a lesson to be learned here.

Sayonara, Hombre

Ignoring the fact I just sexed up Japanese and Spanish, and ignoring the fact that I REPEATEDLY have pleaded and begged and advocated for people to choose to love and be strong in marriage and fight the good fight even when it’s hard and inconvenient… I wonder…

I wonder whether leaving is the only way to know for sure.

To know whether he loves you.

To know whether he respects you.

To know whether he’ll fight for you.

I don’t know. I just wonder. Because that is how it worked for me.

I met my wife when I was 18—a drunk college freshman at a keg party. She looked, and was, spectacular in every imaginable way. At one point, in the middle of our conversation, I had to excuse myself to vomit in the bathroom. And she still married me.

There’s a joke there somewhere. But I’m busy trying to make an important point amid all the bad words and language-banging. A fantastic writer named Mark Manson made this important point first:

Most people only commit to action if they feel a certain level of motivation. And they only feel motivation when they feel an emotional inspiration.

I’ve won sympathy from hundreds—maybe thousands—of women here because I was crying and scared and missing my son and uncertain I could ever find someone to be with me again.

And that was real. I wasn’t faking. I actually cried. I was actually scared. Still am.

“And they only feel motivation when they feel an emotional inspiration.”

You weren’t there all those nights. Countless nights. Dinner was through and the kitchen was cleaned. And there she was on the couch, presumably open to suggestion. Presumably waiting for me to take the lead and show initiative. To do something together.

Anything, really. Talk. Laugh. Hold. Hug. Kiss. Cum.

But, hey! She was busy watching HGTV! I’ll go do this other thing I like to do!

So, I’d play online poker or watch football or go do this other thing that didn’t involve my wife—the person I loved the most but clearly wasn’t motivated to show in any meaningful way.

Sometimes we’d talk and she’d cry when things got hard. I’d try to comfort her but it wasn’t authentic because I felt secure in the relationship as demonstrated by just how much I took the entire thing for granted.

So, she was never comforted.

The hurt and frustration continued to build.

Me watching 24 on Netflix. Me playing poker. Me immersing myself in pursuit after pursuit, but never pursuing her.

Men don’t always realize it because we’re so focused on infidelity as the primary breach of trust in a relationship and a marriage’s worst crime. And it, along with physical abuse, is VERY bad. But men don’t always realize that emotional abuse can sometimes hurt worse.

Men leave their wives alone in the marriage. Physically, emotionally and spiritually.

I left my wife alone in our marriage.

And then one day, it all breaks.

Au revoir, marito.

Fuck that fucker.

But I Am Different Now

There is a fundamental part of me that will never change. We are who we are. But we do have an incredible capacity to grow and change and evolve as we learn and experience new things.

And I’ve learned new things. The hard way. And I’m a better person for it.

And maybe most people have to learn things the hard way for changes to stick.

I am a father. And I was a husband. And these things mattered to me very, very much. They defined me, which is why I felt so lost when one of those things went away.

I felt lost and sad and broken and angry. You know what that is? Emotional inspiration! And it works.

From Mark Manson: “And we’ve all slacked off for lack of motivation before. Especially in times where we shouldn’t. We feel lethargic and apathetic towards a certain goal that we’ve set for ourselves because we lack the motivation and we lack the motivation because we don’t feel any overarching emotional desire to accomplish something.”

Emotional Inspiration → Motivation → Desirable Action

My beautiful, crying wife feeling sad and alone wasn’t enough to get me to take desirable action.

Fuck that fucker.

So, without even trying, my wife did the perfect thing to help me finally overcome lethargy and apathy. She checked out, and eventually left.

And now? I’m me. Nice to meet you.

If you’re a hurting spouse or girlfriend, you’re just like millions of other women who fell in love with millions of guys like me. I want so badly for him—especially if he’s a father—to love you the way he’s supposed to. To keep your kids’ parents together. To show your sons how to be a man. To show your daughters what love is supposed to look like. To stand as an example to friends and family and neighbors for what it means to do love and marriage the right way.

Because that’s what we’re called to do. To serve something greater than ourselves. To lead through service. To love through action.

But, we are, inevitably, human.

And sometimes the inertia is so strong, and you’re out of tools in your arsenal to try to get him to move, and you’re out of energy to look for another way.

It’s against EVERYTHING I want to stand for. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t the only thing that will work: Maybe it’s time. Maybe that’s the only way to inspire real change.

It took her leaving for me to ask the right questions. For me to recognize some truths I’d been running from.

And maybe it will for him, too.

There’s only one way to find out, and it doesn’t have to be forever.

But today is today and he’s not the man he promised to be. He’s not the man he’s supposed to be.

I wasn’t either. So, I can’t begrudge her resentment.

Fuck that fucker.

But look at me now.

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

One Year Later, Vol. 2

You don't have to be tall to stand tall.

You don’t have to be tall to stand tall.

I’m back in Illinois, where my father lives and where I typically visit twice a year to catch up with family and friends I rarely see since I live in Ohio.

One year ago, I brought my young son on this Fourth of July trip with me—the first time we made a father-son trip together after his mom and I stopped living together.

One year ago, I sat poolside, day drinking a little and reflecting on my life.

Terrified.

No sense of direction.

No idea what might happen next.

I only knew that my life had unexpectedly changed forever and I needed to deal with it. Getting away from my house and immersing myself in family had a profound impact on me.

This blog was less than a month old. My fingers were still learning this dance. My mind still trying to wrap its way around the words needing written and the life needing lived.

I had been so sad and so angry for the three months since she left.

Here I found peace. Not inner peace. But outer peace. In this place. Plush, green, open acreage.

A bunch of important things collided.

Love and support from family.

The realization that I had what it takes to care for my son alone.

A healthy change of scenery from the bleakness that was my now-empty home.

And the words were working their way out from me for the first time. What will come out next? From this place deep down inside. I was coaxing things out I didn’t know were in there.

I was mostly screaming with the keyboard. Crying and blaming and finger pointing.

I needed to do it. I needed to be mad and throw a tantrum. There’s still a child in here angry at the unfairness of his own parents’ split three decades earlier. My own divorce pulled all that anger and sadness to the surface.

From day one, writing here has felt like being on the proverbial couch. Divulging all that festers inside. Occasionally turning myself inside out and letting people see the ugly.

From where I sit now, I see the poolside table and chair where I sat a year ago and wrote An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 1.

It’s not particularly well written. But people liked it. People like when others accept responsibility for their lot in life.

Up until that post, I hadn’t done any of that.

Up until that post, I had been a victim.

When you accept responsibility, you become empowered.

And that’s the day I became empowered as a writer. That’s the day I gave myself a real chance to contribute something positive. To turn a selfish exercise into an unselfish one.

Is There a Point to All This?

I hope so.

I hope there is a percentage of people out there who have gotten to know me throughout this process. Who have watched—for lack of a better term—a metamorphosis. From me spazzing and freaking out. To whatever this is now.

Maybe I’ve earned a smidge of credibility with some of you whose broken hearts are healing. From people who felt cheated. Or abandoned. Or broken. Because the person you loved and trusted most made choices that made you question everything you ever believed about them and yourself.

Fear and anxiety keep you from living when you lose yourself. When you don’t know where “you” went.

You remember being a certain way. And now you’re not that way.

You remember feeling good. And now you don’t feel good.

You remember having confidence as your life progressed in ways you expected and that made sense to you. And now you’re not confident. Now all your plans and dreams are derailed.

You’re in mental, spiritual and emotional limbo. And you’ll stay right there until you’re not anymore.

I Think I’m Back

I’ll never be like I used to be. I’m forever changed. Hopefully for the better.

But I’m me again.

I was in agony. I was terrified. I was crying.

And now I’m not.

I faked hopefulness.

And now I have it for real.

I felt broken and shitty. Every single second I was awake.

And now I feel stitched together and somewhat whole. I don’t feel shitty.

Everything is going to be okay.

One year later, I can measure progress.

One year later, I can see and feel change.

One year later, I know that no matter what happens next, I can handle it.

I’m going to spend the next couple days thinking about what I did and about the things I think helped me along the way in case you feel like you’re dying. Like you need something—anything—to hold onto. And maybe some of the things that worked for me can work for you.

Maybe the calendar can be a tool. Maybe time can be your friend. Maybe you don’t have to feel like you’re doing this alone.

I think maybe it’s okay to not know what’s going to happen today.

As long as you give it every chance to be better than yesterday.

Tagged , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: