The Day It Hit Me
So, “married but alone.” That phrase just smacked me in the face one Tuesday evening. I was sitting there, on our couch, the TV was on, but I wasn’t watching. He was in his study, tapping away on his keyboard like he always did. And it just hit me – we were in the same house, but miles apart. It wasn’t a sudden thing, more like a slow creep, something I guess I’d been feeling for ages but never really put a name to.
How We Got Here – The Slow Fade
I remember when we first got together, couldn’t keep our hands off each other, talked for hours about everything and nothing. Then life, you know? My job got super demanding, his too. We’d come home, both of us drained. “How was your day?” would be met with a “Fine.” Then it was dinner, usually eaten while scrolling on our phones or with the TV blaring, then bed. Rinse and repeat. The stress was a killer, honestly. Family stuff piled on too, a bit here, a bit there. We stopped doing the little things. No more date nights, no more silly texts just because. We were just… existing. Together, but not really connected anymore.
Trying to Bridge the Gap (or Not)
I tried, you know? I really did, for a while. I’d say, “Hey, let’s go out this weekend,” or “Let’s just talk, what’s going on with us?” Sometimes he’d agree, but then something would come up. Work. Or he’d just be too tired. Or worse, he’d look at me like I was speaking another language, like, “What’s there to talk about?” I even brought up seeing a counselor. I’d read somewhere that it could help, maybe we just needed some “TLC,” as they say, to explore what was making things so lonely. He shot that down fast. “Therapy? We’re not crazy. We’re just busy.” That was a gut punch. It felt like he wasn’t even willing to try, or maybe he just didn’t see the chasm I was seeing.
- The silence in the evenings grew louder than any argument.
- We started sleeping at different times; one would be in bed, the other still up.
- We shared a bed but it felt like there was an invisible wall down the middle. Strangers.
It wasn’t just family or work stress anymore, though those definitely played their part; it felt like we were the stress. The loneliness was a physical ache sometimes. Here I was, married, with a ring on my finger, and I’d never felt more alone in my life. It’s a weird kind of grief, mourning a connection that’s still technically there but feels dead and buried.
My “Practice”: Finding Myself Again in the Quiet
Okay, so what did I do? Well, for a good long while, I just stewed in it. Felt miserable, cried a bit when he wasn’t around, felt sorry for myself. Then one day, I was rummaging through an old box and found my old sketchbooks from before we even met. I used to love drawing. And I thought, why did I stop? So, I went out, bought some basic pencils and a new sketchbook. Started small, just doodling. It was… nice. Quiet. Just for me.
The Turning Point – The Forgotten Anniversary
The real kick in the pants, the moment I knew I had to change my approach, came on our anniversary. Not even a big one, just another year. I’d mentioned it a week before, maybe we could get takeout from that Thai place we used to like. He nodded, said “sounds good.” The day came. He worked late. Came home, microwaved some leftovers without a word about the date, and then settled in front of the TV. I waited. Nothing. It wasn’t malicious, I don’t think. He just… forgot. Completely. I sat there, the silence deafening, and that was it. It wasn’t even about the dinner anymore. It was about feeling utterly invisible, unremembered.
That night, I didn’t cry. I felt this cold, hard knot in my stomach. Then I got… determined. I realized I couldn’t change him, couldn’t force him to see me or want to connect if he didn’t want to. But I could change how I was reacting, how I was living my life inside this lonely marriage. This wasn’t going to be the “practice” of fixing the marriage anymore, because that felt impossible alone; it was the practice of saving myself from drowning in that loneliness.
So, my practice became about these things, step by step:
- Reconnecting with myself: More sketching. I started going for long walks by myself, listening to audiobooks. I even signed up for an online course in something totally unrelated to my job, just for fun. Small things, but they were mine. They filled up the empty spaces.
- Setting internal boundaries: I stopped trying to force conversations that went nowhere. I stopped expecting things he clearly wasn’t going to give or remember. Sounds sad, and it was, a bit. But it was also strangely freeing. Less disappointment when I managed my own expectations.
- Building my own little world of joy: Reached out to old friends I’d let drift away. Made an effort to call my sister more. I realized I wasn’t actually alone in the world, just profoundly alone within my marriage. So I started to nurture the connections outside it.
Where I Am Now
It’s still… complicated. We’re still in the same house. We still operate like two ships passing in the night, mostly. Some days are a bit better than others, a shared glance, a brief comment that isn’t just about logistics. The loneliness hasn’t vanished completely, that would be a lie. But it doesn’t own me anymore. I found a way to be okay, even if the “married” part feels more like a roommate agreement than a partnership. My “practice” became less about trying to fix “us” and more about rebuilding and tending to “me.” I’m still figuring things out, one day at a time. Maybe one day we’ll have that big, earth-shattering talk, the real one. Or maybe we won’t. But I know I can stand on my own two feet now, find my own pockets of happiness, even if I’m doing it while standing next to someone who feels miles away. It’s not the dream I signed up for, not by a long shot, but it’s my current reality, and I’m the one navigating it.
