I've been keeping a secret. It's not exactly a total secret because several people who know me in real life know it. And I've hinted at it here. But I've never come right out and said it. I wasn't keeping it to be deceptive. Mostly I hadn't said anything because I wasn't ready to fully put it out there and because I wasn't sure how I felt about it. However, now I have a better understanding of myself and the situation and I am ready to share.
Mike and I are separated. Again. We have been living apart for almost three months. I won't speak for him, but I was saddened and broken to be having two separate residences less than a year after we moved back under the same roof. This time around has been really difficult for me (not that the last time was any cakewalk). I've spent a lot of time thinking about what is best for our family, what is best for me, and ultimately, what I want.
I've done the sad thing. I've done the angry thing. And I've done the "I don't care anymore" thing; I think that's been the most scary of all. I've had plenty of confusion. I've imagined life as a single parent even as I've been living it. And I've had a few spots of clarity where I've thought that what I really want is to live in realistic happiness with my husband and our children, all together as it should be.
So about 10 days ago, when I received an invitation for me and a guest to spend two days experiencing White River State Park, I had to really think about who to invite. My first thought was to invite a girlfriend. Then I thought about inviting Mike. Honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to include him in my fun. But ultimately, I decided that some time away (even if it was in our own downtown), without the pressure of work and to do lists and carpools to coordinate, might be good for us. Give us a chance to reconnect -- or, more accurately, to see if there was still any connection there at all.
It wasn't long after we arrived at the hotel that we were laughing. His sense of humor is what attracted me to him over 20 years ago. He jokingly told everyone else in the group that he was there as my personal assistant. At the first museum we visited, he climbed aboard a replica stagecoach. He's always been one to be in the middle of the fun.
When he returned to the hotel as we headed to our second venue, the NCAA Hall of Champions, I understood. I didn't find myself irritated or being short with him -- and I was surprised at my tolerance. He rejoined the group about 30 minutes later and we good-naturedly poked fun about each other's athletic abilities.
Later in the afternoon, as we prepared to board our Segways, he teased me about my previous missteps with exercise/recreation equipment and I was reminded that we have so much history together. He asked great questions of the project manager on our hard hat tour of a new hotel under construction and I remembered the early days of our marriage when he was an eager reporter.
I'd be lying if I said it was all sunshine and lollipops. He did make me nervous as he wandered away from the group in the "bone room" at the Indiana State Museum. I was sure he was going to touch something he shouldn't. He spent $5 at an "art-o-mat" machine and I rolled my eyes, wishing he wouldn't waste the money.
Mostly, over the course of the two days, we held hands, we smooched, we enjoyed being together. And that gives me hope.
I know that those two days were an idealistic setting. No dishes to do. No kids to tote. No bills to pay. I know that everyday, ordinary life comes with bumps and roadblocks and responsibilities that aren't nearly as fun as having fun. I know that the long-term survival of our marriage depends on plenty of hard work on both our parts. But I also know that there still is something there between us, a spark, a shared past, a bit of the love we felt when we were college sweethearts, and yes, even a future.
Mike and I are separated. Again. We have been living apart for almost three months. I won't speak for him, but I was saddened and broken to be having two separate residences less than a year after we moved back under the same roof. This time around has been really difficult for me (not that the last time was any cakewalk). I've spent a lot of time thinking about what is best for our family, what is best for me, and ultimately, what I want.
I've done the sad thing. I've done the angry thing. And I've done the "I don't care anymore" thing; I think that's been the most scary of all. I've had plenty of confusion. I've imagined life as a single parent even as I've been living it. And I've had a few spots of clarity where I've thought that what I really want is to live in realistic happiness with my husband and our children, all together as it should be.
So about 10 days ago, when I received an invitation for me and a guest to spend two days experiencing White River State Park, I had to really think about who to invite. My first thought was to invite a girlfriend. Then I thought about inviting Mike. Honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to include him in my fun. But ultimately, I decided that some time away (even if it was in our own downtown), without the pressure of work and to do lists and carpools to coordinate, might be good for us. Give us a chance to reconnect -- or, more accurately, to see if there was still any connection there at all.
It wasn't long after we arrived at the hotel that we were laughing. His sense of humor is what attracted me to him over 20 years ago. He jokingly told everyone else in the group that he was there as my personal assistant. At the first museum we visited, he climbed aboard a replica stagecoach. He's always been one to be in the middle of the fun.
When he returned to the hotel as we headed to our second venue, the NCAA Hall of Champions, I understood. I didn't find myself irritated or being short with him -- and I was surprised at my tolerance. He rejoined the group about 30 minutes later and we good-naturedly poked fun about each other's athletic abilities.
Later in the afternoon, as we prepared to board our Segways, he teased me about my previous missteps with exercise/recreation equipment and I was reminded that we have so much history together. He asked great questions of the project manager on our hard hat tour of a new hotel under construction and I remembered the early days of our marriage when he was an eager reporter.
I'd be lying if I said it was all sunshine and lollipops. He did make me nervous as he wandered away from the group in the "bone room" at the Indiana State Museum. I was sure he was going to touch something he shouldn't. He spent $5 at an "art-o-mat" machine and I rolled my eyes, wishing he wouldn't waste the money.
Mostly, over the course of the two days, we held hands, we smooched, we enjoyed being together. And that gives me hope.
I know that those two days were an idealistic setting. No dishes to do. No kids to tote. No bills to pay. I know that everyday, ordinary life comes with bumps and roadblocks and responsibilities that aren't nearly as fun as having fun. I know that the long-term survival of our marriage depends on plenty of hard work on both our parts. But I also know that there still is something there between us, a spark, a shared past, a bit of the love we felt when we were college sweethearts, and yes, even a future.
