So, this whole “in a lonely marriage” thing. It’s not like some big dramatic movie scene where things crash and burn overnight. Nope. For me, it was more like a slow fade, something that just kinda crept in when I wasn’t looking.
I first started to really notice it during our everyday routines. We’d be in the same room, him watching TV, me on my phone, and the silence wasn’t comfortable anymore. It was just… empty. I’d try to share something about my day, something I thought was interesting or funny, and I’d get a nod, maybe an “uh-huh,” but his eyes wouldn’t leave the screen. It felt like I was broadcasting into a void.
Then I started to actively try. You know, put in the effort. I suggested date nights, like we used to have. Sometimes he’d agree, but it felt forced, like we were just going through the motions. We’d sit at a restaurant, and I’d be racking my brain for things to talk about, while he seemed perfectly content to just eat. The conversations, when they happened, were surface-level. Weather, work, what the kids did. Nothing deep. Nothing about us.
It’s a strange kind of practice, living this way. You practice being self-sufficient in a partnership. You practice finding joy in your own company, even when you’re technically not alone. You practice not getting your hopes up too high when you attempt connection.
I remember one evening, I’d made his favorite meal. I really went all out. Set the table nice, even lit a couple of candles. I was hoping, you know? Maybe this would spark something. He came home, said “Oh, smells good,” ate quickly while scrolling through news on his tablet, and then went off to his study. Didn’t mention the effort, didn’t really engage. I just sat there, looking at the flickering candles, and the food getting cold. That was a tough pill to swallow.
The Real Turning Point
The real kicker, the moment things got super clear, wasn’t even a big fight. It was at my friend Sarah’s anniversary party. They were so obviously still into each other, laughing, holding hands, finishing each other’s sentences. And I was standing there, next to my husband, feeling like we were miles apart. He was talking to some acquaintance about stocks, and I just felt… invisible. Utterly and completely alone, in a room full of people, standing right beside the person I was supposed to be closest to. That’s when the “lonely” part really hit me hard. It wasn’t just in my head.
After that, my “practice” shifted. I stopped trying so hard to force a connection that wasn’t there. Instead, I started focusing on myself more. What did I want? What made me happy, independent of him? I reconnected with old friends, picked up hobbies I’d let slide. It was less about “fixing us” and more about “saving me.”
- I started going for long walks alone. Just me and my thoughts.
- I joined a book club, something I’d always wanted to do.
- I even started journaling, just getting all those jumbled feelings down on paper.
It’s not a fairytale ending where everything magically resolved itself. The loneliness didn’t just disappear. But my relationship with it changed. I realized that while I couldn’t control his emotional availability, I could control my own response to it. I could choose to build a life for myself that felt fulfilling, even within the strange confines of our situation.
So yeah, that’s been my journey with it. It’s been a weird, often painful, practice. But through it all, I’ve learned a lot about my own strength and what I truly need to feel okay. And sometimes, that understanding is the most important outcome you can get.
