How To Be Single Again

My husband’s out having passionate sex and a “deep connection” with a new woman right now. The break-up was my choice, but still — it stings. He and I separated this past December, but we continued spending time together as friends and lovers for another six months after that. We still love each other.

The split-up wasn’t acrimonious, it was inevitable.

We’d first made plans in January 2020 to separate. Then, on March 13, when the world shut down, we found ourselves on lockdown with my eleven-year-old and his college-aged daughter in a two-bedroom house. Close quarters but cozy. We cooked together, watched movies, played games and rediscovered our backyard. We drove to see poppy fields and snow-capped mountains near our home in Los Angeles. Our little family unit made a terrifying time in history a lot less scary and a little bit fun.

We began to think that perhaps this pandemic saved our marriage.

Since we were able to defer payments on the cars and mortgage, my husband and I didn’t have the usual financial strain that had been driving a wedge between us for years. Our finances have always been our Achilles heel. Without it, we probably could have weathered most any storm together. Two years later, when the world began to get back to normal-ish, unfortunately, so did our relationship.

Our approach to money as a couple was flawed from the start.

We never quite figured out how to co-mingle our finances, and to tell the truth, I’m still not sure how we should have gone about it. What I do know is that our differing approaches to handling money highlighted all the areas that didn’t work between us. It was like a splinter you’re unable to get out and the more you try, the deeper it buries itself until you can’t reach it at all.

By the end of 2021, after nearly ten years of financial sturm und drang, I issued an ultimatum: he needed to heal his relationship to money and get off his eternal hamster wheel of financial chaos. If he could make just one tangible change, I’d feel like he was fighting for our marriage. He couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

Time of death: November 5, 2021, 5:32pm

At this point, a new narrative formed in his mind. He now recalled all the aspects that hadn’t work between us over the years and decided the separation was for the best after all. A few weeks later, he found an apartment across town. By the end of 2021, he moved out.

We remained friends.

Now that we lived in separate spaces, we found ourselves enjoying each other’s company more. He helped me pick out new furniture for the house, hung pictures and built my coffee table. We had sleepovers and watched our favorite shows together. I suggested that perhaps the separation had been necessary and healthy for us after ten years of accumulated detritus. Our issues had become so indelibly encrusted, it was hard to know how to dismantle it all without a wrecking ball. Perhaps this separation was the shake-up we needed to eventually grow back together.

It felt like the perfect solution.

“We don’t have to do it like everyone else,” I’d said. We could still spend time together, date and even vacation together. We were excellent travel partners and compatible lovers. We remained each other’s support system through difficult times. We’d always be family. Only now we’d be able to focus on ourselves and maybe — hopefully — come back together as a stronger, healthier couple. After all, when I’d met my husband, it felt like winning the lottery. He was handsome, romantic, spontaneous, senstive, smart and kind. Our communication was excellent, the passion and connection between us electric.

Separating seemed to bring us closer.

He slept over the night my daughter’s hamster died. He dug a grave in the backyard, and I was grateful he happened to be here. We felt like family again. The following week, he came and made dinner for us in my kitchen, like the old days.

His phone lit up with texts from a woman I didn’t know.

This was not uncommon, as he often received texts from film production crew whose names I didn’t recognize. However, I had an intuition about this one. As we settled into the bedroom later to watch a show, he continued typing into his phone. I asked if he was texting the woman I’d seen flash up on his screen earlier. He admitted that it was. A friend had introduced them, he said, and they’d been texting. He found he enjoyed getting to know someone again. He was surprised because he didn’t think it would ever happen again.

The mood turned sour and he went home.

Three days later, on the phone, he told me he was now “seeing” this person he’d only met once.

“Have you slept together?” I asked.

“No, but we have a really deep connection. I can’t explain it.”

“I don’t want you to,” I responded. “I don’t want to know anything about it.”

I hung up and wept.

“I don’t understand,” I said to him the next day. “I thought we talked about continuing to spend time together, that maybe this was a good thing.” He explained that he’d processed the break-up differently than I had.

The grief process began for him when he moved out.

He felt rejected and pushed away. He was the one to leave and live by himself in a one-bedroom apartment while I remained in the house with our dog and daughter. Not much had changed for me, he pointed out, while everything changed for him. His head was in a different space now. It made sense to me, but it also hurt.

Now, it’s my turn to grieve.

It’s been a month since he declared himself off the market. He and I continued talking for a few weeks after that but mainly because the new woman was out of town. I knew that when she returned, I wouldn’t hear from him as much, but I wasn’t prepared for his abrupt disappearance, which is what happened this past week. It’s better this way, I tell myself. The six months following the separation had been our gentle transition period. It was time to move on without my husband (“wasband”) as a crutch.

Radio silence

It’s hard not to hear from someone you’ve talked to every single day for over a decade. He wasn’t even active on Instagram, his primary addiction besides online shopping. Was he dead? Or too busy having sex day and night with this new woman, like when we’d first met? It was too painful to think about the latter, which was the likelier scenario.

I had to remind myself there was a reason we split.

It wasn’t just about money. It’s complicated, as most break-ups tend to be. If I’m being honest, we’d thought about separating for nearly half the ten years we were together. After the first few years of bliss, aggravation often overrode exhilaration. Unless we were on vacation together, where we excelled at compatibility. The day-to-day stuff, not so much. Still, we were comfortable with each other. Familiar.

We’re soul mates, but soul mates don’t always stay together.

I need to remember that when he moved out, it felt right. There was sadness but also relief, a sense of divine order to this move. I tend to second guess myself. Then fear steps in to remind me of all the good qualities in our relationship and that I might never find them again.

While I’m not yet open to sharing my life with another partner, I know at some point I will be. Until then, I need to focus on my child, my work and my own well-being.

Learn to love yourself blah blah blah.

That’s the common wisdom and let’s be honest: it’s the absolutely truth. It’s certainly something I used to proselytize to my single friends while basking in the security of my marriage, grateful not to be on dating apps or going through the process of getting to know someone new, let alone sleeping with them. My husband was my best and favorite lover of all time. And now he’s sleeping with someone else.

We’ll be friends again at some point. Right now, I need a little time to heal.

How do I be single again?

I focus on gratitude for good friends, my work and more time with my daughter— who, ironically, wants less time with me now that she’s a tweenager. [Note to self: write follow-up to Love Letter to My Daughter — Before She Starts Hating Me.]

Cry when I need to. Let it all out.

Appreciate the time learning to love myself. It’s a tricky and elusive process sometimes, but I know it’s the key to finding a match down the road. I’m sure some day I’ll be ready for a new lover and companion. How I’ll go about that — I have no fucking clue.

I’ll fill you in when I figure it out.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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From The Good Men Project on Medium

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The Internal Struggle Men Battle in Silence

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