Walking Into Glass

You gave me a token ring. It was in a thin, small paper bag. You said, “I saw this and thought of you.” It was a peacock on a silver toned ring. I was touched you thought of me.  I tried it in on but didn’t dare put it on the ring finger of my left hand. We’ve been together for about 2.5 years I think. I met you when I was still married. I had been separated from my husband for 3 years when I was introduced to you. I shook your hand and felt a twinkle in me.

Sometimes I feel the wedding band I wore for 23+ plus years on my finger. It was a half inch pipe cut white gold band. I loved it. I touch the inside of my ring finger with my thumb and rub it like I used to when I felt worried I had lost it or forgot to put it on- like a phantom limb. I picked it out for myself. A boy I had a crush on went with me to pick it up. My soon to be husband was stationed in Wichita, Kansas. I was 21.

I am fifty now and that marriage has formally ended. We’re each off in own corner. Not what I had planned and also I didn’t have a plan. I think people are happy though, because it appears I rose from the ashes after being suddenly left, without consent, with a 13 year old daughter in the middle of a pandemic. I suppose that’s what it looked like.

Single mom. I would cringe at that label.

For longest time I couldn’t even utter the word divorce. It terrified me.

It took me about 6 months of waking up at about 5 am and laying in bed till about 11 before I could even muster the courage to sit upright and put my feet on the floor. It felt like my stomach would eat itself. That was my first meal.

Once I was up, I would take several walks throughout the day. I lost thirty pounds in about 3 months. It felt great to thin again. My daughter told me I had a glow-up about a year after her dad left.

Somewhere around 8 months I had a flash that I wanted to be fluent in images and decided to reapply to an art therapy graduate program that I had gotten cold feet on back when I was about 25.

All the while, I wished and I hoped my husband would come to his senses and see that I was a good wife and would make his life better if he just gave me a chance. That I was so sorry for being me, for complaining and wanting more. Yeah, I thought this and said it in every gesture I made.

I studied myself. Feminine communication. Where I went wrong. I made apologies, cleaned up “my side of the street”, and payed attention to couples that seemed to have some of what I so desired.

This hoping and self-study to “get my husband back” went on for about 3 years. Until one day something snapped in me. It was the moment I had been waiting for- that moment of liberation when I knew I was done.

That was November 20, 2023. Funnily enough, my husband’s birthday. A gift for both of us.

That Friday the guy who gave me a twinkly feeling amidst a brief handshake invited me and a coworker to join him at a climbing gym he frequented that evening. I thought he was being polite.

Later that day I saw him in the break room constructed of glass walls. I got so excited my body chose the shortest possibly distance to him and walked into the glass.

A clumsy efficiency of movement.

We were in that fishbowl alone and it went like this:

Him: So what’s the deal, are you married?

Me: Technically, yes. But we haven’t lived together for 3 years.

Him: Do you think you’ll get back together?

Me: (full body) NO.

He sampled some of my lunch.

The art therapy program I applied to ended up being a go and I was about 2 years in at this point. It placed me in that workplace for my internship. I had one semester left before graduating.

That evening I wandered down to the climbing gym on one of my walks. I had one of my best friends in my ears while I navigated this unfamiliar part of town and myself.  I looked around the parking lot trying to remember what his car looked like- no luck on that detail. I went in and stood in the doorway to the gym awkwardly. There he is. Will he see me? He bursts out: You came! He shows me around, invites me to climb. I decline, but ask him to show me what he can do. I stand back and watch him scale the wall. I snap a photo of his ascent.

It’s for sure. I want to climb him.

He comes over and asks me if I want a ride home since he’s not done with his workout. I feel embarrassed that I got it wrong. I said thanks, but I can walk. He insisted. I submitted. A mile up the road and awkwardly I say “thanks for the ride…”

Into my house I go and back in my ears is my friend. I guess he wasn’t interested I tell her. Oh well. She encouraged me to take it slow. That would be good. Within the span of our conversation, he found me on Facebook and messaged me:

Do you want to go for drink?

I. Would. Love. To.

Things galloped over the next few weeks. It was delightful. We’ve endured ups and downs, of course, during our time together. Turns out he really is my person. I thought I might marry him, because that is what I knew.  One of my other besties told me that is what people in heterosexual relationships do. They escalate. They next level. I felt confusion, because I really love this guy and now I really love myself. When I was married it was hard to love myself because I was always pandering to the elusive ideal of safety.

What does partnership look like when you no longer need to disappear to maintain it? It’s not clear to me.

A few days after he gave me the ring he stated he had no desire to get married again and assured me he is very happy with me. I said, “me either, especially on the heels of a divorce. Although, I am not adverse to it.” And honestly I didn’t feel any type of way about this conversation. If anything was felt, it was curiosity. I have recently learned about terms like Living Apart Together (LAT) and Apartnership.

A couple of weeks later, he came over on Thursday like he almost always does and noticed I put his coffee grounds in an airtight container. He said, “you’re such a good wife.” Later he asked me what my plans were for this weekend.

Me: I am bringing my daughter home from college on Friday. No plans for Saturday.

Him: I am looking forward to going home on Friday afterwork. My parents are flying in on Sunday. Do you want to come over Saturday night?

Me: Oh? They’re arriving on Mother’s day? I don’t think I can because it’s Mother’s day.

Him: Its Mother’s Day this weekend?

Me: Yes

Later that evening I felt sad because with all of his commitments and mine I determined I most likely won’t see him until Thursday for a few hours, we may not have any privacy and he’ll be tired from work. And then he’ll have his kids for the weekend while his parents are visiting to boot and it will most likely be a rinse and repeat for the next Thursday. Everything in me wants to cater to him, so I can feel loved, so I can feel safe.

I am called towards invention within the intimacy he and I have created. It requires examining the story I have lived and being present to the terror and depression I sometimes feel as a result. It is so uncomfortable and often unbearable. I want nothing more than to be free of it. It takes a fortitude of strength and presence to metabolize my fear without making it his punishment.

This is one of the assets of living apart.