The thing that finally made me face my marriage was a dream. An ex-partner was talking to me with tenderness, sweetness, and attention. Nothing elaborate happened. Someone was simply being gentle with me, and when I woke up, I knew I had to leave.
We’ve been together fifteen years, married for ten. Early on, I moved into his family home and adjusted to having almost no sex life. I treated it as something the circumstances required. Then we moved out. Eventually we had our own home. The circumstances changed, but that part of our relationship barely did.
The last time we had sex was roughly two and a half years ago, when we were both very drunk. Before that, I couldn’t tell you how long it had been. I’d become embarrassed about asking. Over time, being turned down also changed how I felt about him.
I bargained quietly with myself. Could I live without sex for the rest of my life? Was this just what happened in your fifties? That explanation required overlooking the fact that it had been happening throughout my forties, too. Friends would talk about their sex lives, and I would remember how much I used to enjoy that part of mine.
Harder to admit was the absence of emotional closeness. I had spent years trying to connect, asking for what I needed, and feeling those efforts go unanswered. I could name the lack of sex more easily than I could take in all the tenderness that was missing.
The dream brought that missing tenderness close enough to recognize. It felt as though a wall in my mind had come down. I think I’d kept it standing because knowing the full truth would mean having to act on it.
I spoke with a divorce attorney. I earn much more than my husband, and I had carried the work and expense of building our house, with very little contribution from him. The attorney explained that I probably wouldn’t get the amicable financial outcome I wanted. Leaving could cost me a lot.
I sat with that news. Then, to my surprise, I felt energized. I’m in my mid-fifties, and the prospect of changing my financial picture no longer feels as frightening as continuing this life. The money matters. I just find myself ready to make the moves anyway.
