Okay, so, “break in marriage,” huh? Sounds dramatic, right? Well, lemme tell you, it was. Not like smashing plates and screaming matches dramatic (though, there was some of that), but more like…slow-motion train wreck dramatic.
It all started with this nagging feeling. Like a pebble in my shoe that I just couldn’t shake out. We’d been together for, like, forever – or at least it felt that way – and things had just…stagnated. We were living parallel lives, you know? Eating dinner in the same room, sleeping in the same bed, but not really together.
The first thing I did was try to talk. Big mistake. Every conversation turned into a blame game. “You never listen!” “You’re always working!” Round and round we went, like a broken record. It was exhausting.
Then I read somewhere – probably some cheesy self-help blog – that sometimes you need to create space to figure things out. Hence, the “break.” We agreed to a trial separation. I moved into my sister’s spare room (bless her soul) and he stayed in the house. Rules were hazy. We’d talk once a week, maybe grab dinner sometimes, but mostly, we were supposed to be solo missions.
The first week was weird. Really weird. Like, did-I-forget-how-to-cook-for-one weird. I missed him. Terribly. But I also missed the idea of him, not necessarily the reality of him. Does that make sense?
- I started going to the gym. Something I hadn’t done in years.
- I reconnected with old friends. We’d go out, laugh, and I actually felt like me again.
- I even started taking a pottery class. Turns out, I’m terrible at it, but it was fun!
He, on the other hand, seemed to thrive in the newfound freedom. He started going out with his buddies, fixing up the house (something he’d been putting off for ages), and generally seemed…lighter. Which, honestly, stung a little.
About a month into the break, things came to a head. I found out he’d been seeing someone else. Not a full-blown affair, but definitely crossing the line. That was it. That was the final nail in the coffin.
I confronted him. There were tears, shouting, and a lot of ugly truths came out. Turns out, the stagnation I felt wasn’t just in my head. He’d been feeling it too, but instead of talking about it, he’d been looking for an escape.
The break ended not with a rekindling, but with divorce papers. It was painful, messy, and honestly, the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But looking back, I don’t regret it. The break forced us to confront the issues that had been simmering beneath the surface for years. It allowed us both to see that we were no longer right for each other.
Would I recommend a break to everyone struggling in their marriage? Hell no. It’s a risky move. It can either bring you closer together or push you further apart. But for us, it was the catalyst we needed to finally move on. It wasn’t pretty, but it was necessary.
So, yeah, that’s my “break in marriage” story. Not a fairytale ending, but a real one. And sometimes, real is better than pretending.
