Thirty years of Marriage. Time to Leave?

How do you decide whether it's time to leave a relationship? Where do you go?

In the throes of a messy conversation about whether we should stay together or go our separate ways, we asked ourselves, 

“Is this all there is?” 

The answer to that question would upend our lives forever.

We’d been sitting together on the gray sectional in our family room watching TV before heading to bed. 

“I’m thinking about joining the Peace Corps,” I said casually, hoping to spark conversation in an otherwise dull evening. 

“Are you serious?” My husband looked at me uncomprehendingly and turned off the TV. 

“Why not?” I answered lightly. “I love to travel, and it’s not your jam. So, you can stay here and when…”

“Go to hell,” he said and strode out of the room. 

I sat frozen.  I’d sparked conversation alright. But I hadn’t expected to start a fight – especially not one that could end my marriage. And yet, perhaps this fight had been slowly burning, its embers moving undetected like groundfire through the decaying roots of our relationship until finally finding its way to the surface.

Photo by Landon Parenteau on Unsplash

We were rounding the mark on the thirty years of marriage. I’d always assumed that after so many years all the rough edges of a relationship would be smoothed out. We’d have figured out how to communicate. I would’ve learned to overlook his tendency to procrastinate, to drive blocks out of the way to avoid a left turn, and to clear his throat every two minutes. He would’ve forgiven my desire to control, my tendency to say whatever was on my mind, and my habit of leaving the bed unmade despite being the last one up. Nope. 

Did we have a fundamentally good marriage marked by a few rough spots; parenting two kids under two and then precocious teens – those were some tough years –– or were we a dysfunctional couple that should call it quits? I didn’t know. All I knew was that our marriage was hard work. 

So-called "gray divorces" for adults over 50 have nearly doubled since the 1990’s even as divorce for other groups has declined. I finally understood why so many people with seemingly rock-solid marriages got divorced at the 30-year mark. Our kids were grown. We both had jobs that allowed us to make it on our own. For the first time, there wasn’t a reason – other than desire –  to stay together. 

As my husband walked out of the room, I wondered if he was taking the first steps away from our marriage. From me. I thought about the many years we’d spent building a life together. All the things we’d acquired in our quest for stability: fairly successful jobs, a home, kids, a dog, and of course, mountains of stuff. None of it turned out to be exactly what I’d envisioned. 

I wondered if our best days were behind us.

Deep in thought, I didn’t see my husband standing in the doorway until he spoke, “If you’re entering the Peace Corps, I’m moving on. We’re either a couple or we’re not.”

I looked at him, my mind flying back to the day we’d met on an airplane. He’d sat next to me, and by the end of the two-hour flight, I knew I’d met the man I would marry. Six weeks later, we were engaged. 

The lyrics to Joni Mitchell’s song, “All I ever want our love to do is to bring out the best in me and you, too,” had been the thread woven through our relationship. It had been a long time since those words had rung true.

“I don’t know what I want out of life, but I know this isn’t it,” I answered. “Is this all there is?”

That’s when the real conversation began. As the evening mellowed, an intimate layer of vulnerability melted away angry accusations. We offered up our disappointments in what we’d done – or not done – with our lives. 

“When I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me and, I’m not sure I even like her. She’s resentful. Insecure. And, she’s gained a ton of weight. Is it Menopause? Depression? I don’t know. I just know that life feels totally beyond my control. Everything is about what I should do. What I have to do. There isn’t any space for what I want to do. I’m in my fifties, and I don’t know what the hell I’ve done with my life.”

My husband had recently been diagnosed with a serious, but treatable medical condition. He listened and then took a deep breath. 

“I’m scared,” he admitted, “I feel like the clock is running down.”

“Yes!” I wanted to shout. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to say. We’ve got to start living – now.” 

Something in both of us realized that we weren’t asking the right question. It wasn’t a matter of whether we would stay together or go our separate ways. We’d invested too much of ourselves in the relationship. Our lives were as enmeshed as the roots of two Redwood trees growing side by side. The question was how to breathe new energy into lives and a relationship that had started to wither. 

Ready to hit the road. Eager to see where life takes us.

That night we decided to answer the question, “Is this all there is?”  by throwing everything we knew up in the air. We’d quit our jobs, leave home, and give ourselves a chance to see what we wanted to carry with us into the second chapter of our lives. We didn’t yet know where the path would lead, but we were excited to begin the journey.