My marriage is over and I am heartbroken. I am heartbroken but I am not sorry.
I am heartbroken because I committed to it with all my heart for the rest of my life. But I am not sorry that it is over.
For over a decade, we rode those waves with high hopes and (speaking for myself) great determination.
We have two gorgeous kids, I wanted more but he did not and I stomached it. I loved and I prefer to be happy.
We had unending challenge but I chose to think of all the other good things we had. And there were many. I prefer to be happy.
Twice I dug my heels in and said, “Beyond this place I CAN NOT go, unless choices are made and changes come.” But both times I gave in – because I loved, and I prefer to be happy.
In the end there was no marriage left to save. There was nothing to do but sweep up the glass. And it is heartbreaking.
But divorce causes you to think. To think hard. I myself am no walk in the park. I have tremendous faults like everyone else: I fail to communicate; I assume parity; I hold my breath and then explode. I “prefer to be happy.”
However, what happiness is that, truly? Suppressing my heart to control a marriage working? I rescued the other without rescuing myself, so that’s on me. I denied me the vows that were made and I reaped that choice. I didn’t want it to stop so I kept on going. So who is really responsible? Certainly both of us.
Being a divorced mother is a sad thing. It’s awful. I cannot be chirpy about it, but I can grasp the reality of it. And here’s the thing: it takes one person to divorce, but it takes two to marry. And I chose my marriage. I chose it.
Had I said, “No!” a long time ago, could I have changed the course of our river? Maybe. But who knows? There are so many unknowns and the what ifs will kill you if you don’t kill them first.
So, here I am. After everything I am heartbroken. But I am not sorry.
Because even though I am not sorry that the marriage is over, I am also not sorry that we married in the first place. I loved greatly. And I would not lose those years, those memories, that laughter, that growth, those children and, so often, real joy.
I refuse to be sorry for any of it: simply because it did not survive in the end.