"Can you still be my friend?"

H hopes that we can continue to be close friends. In fact she said once that she has probably thought of me more as a friend than as a husband the whole time. She says that losing me as a friend would bring more grief to her than losing me as a husband. She can't understand why I find that difficult and although I have said I am not able to engage in that sort of relationship, she continues to want it to be that way.

A while ago I showed her the lyrics to Lobo's "Don't Expect Me To Be Your Friend" and later asked her to watch a YouTube clip from the movie "Starship Troopers" (from about 6:21 to 8:30). She replied "I don't understand how men can't be friends". At least Kate Miller-Heidke understands, so it's not just a male-female difference.

There is no confusion in my mind about the possibility of being friends; no thought that maybe it might work. I simply will not do it and think it is unreasonable for H to expect it. I am angry about her believing that a transition out of marriage into a friendship could be so easy.

H doesn't like how I use the word betrayed, but that is how I feel. Betrayed, defrauded, discarded and crushed. Even if she doesn't understand why I feel that way, I wish she could accept that this is really how I feel. I am not exaggerating or being overly melodramatic or figurative. If you can imagine being treated that way by a person you have given your all to, would you want to be that person's friend?

Do you guys have similar experiences? Anyone on the other side -- i.e. who want to be friends with an ex-wife but she doesn't?

— Nat

Another N.W.Clerk on marriage vows

I can't believe that there's another N.W.Clerk writing a blog! Well, he was for a short time back in 2007 anyway. What he wrote on marriage vows is quite insightful, and since his blog has faded out and these words may be lost forever, I quote them here (mis-spellings and all) ...

When I promised myself to my wife, I merely articulated reality, that I was hers. I don't think it would have been possible to be otherwise. I be ready to make a vow of marriage, is to be already married, is to already have given yourself to that person. That commitment is always already present. Thus, I haven't yet kept my marriage vow, they've been descriptive rather than prescriptive.

One cay i may find myself in a place where my vows aren't descriptive, where I dont long to/want to be hers. At that point, and only at that point, does my marriage become living and active. Neverthelss not my will, but my word be done.

I was talking to my brother about a friend who has walked out on his wife. "You can live with a girl and no one cares, but if you're gonna marry her then you're in for the long hall" he said. Precisely. When men walk out on their wives (and vice versa) because they "don't feel in love" or "don't love her like I did" they have missed that magical moment where a farce can become a vow. Where a description can become a promise, where easy words become hard promises. Men who walk out when it becomes hard, when it requires sacrifice, or forgiveness, or change have only proved that they were never really married, that they spoke too soon, that they were tested and found wanting.

Marriage is an uncessecary promise made for when it will become necessary. It creates a void that will be filled with suffering rather than desertion, but that suffereing will produce hope and perfect faith.

No wonder the apostle Paul couldn't talk about marriage without talking about Christ and the church.
No wonder James told people suffering for Christ to rejoice.

One day when the gloss has worn off my marriage and life offers me a shinier, prettier, new, exciting other way and I turn aside and say "I can't I'm married" a little bit of me will rejoice, because for the first time I will know for certain I am.

Help make this a group effort

I am pleased to see the pageviews counter pass 200. On the other hand, I wish there were more comments. Since it is not my intention to simply record my journey through grief, can I encourage you to make this more of a dialog?

I believe there is great value in sharing pain, because through that we can also share joy. I’m not saying that sometimes we can share our pain and that in other, happier, times we can share our joy. Rather, the sharing of pain can itself enable a deeper kind of joy. The joy of releasing rather than suppressing. The relief at finding others who understand. The joy of giving and receiving comfort.

You don’t need to sign up and comments can be completely anonymous.

Please also feel free to contact me via email if you’d like some off-the-record conversation.

— Nat

The role of the penis

[Explicit Content Warning. Kiddies stay away.]

When we were first married and started enjoying sex it seemed to me that my penis was at last doing what it was  designed for. I experienced a deep deep joy, a sigh of contentment, a belief that my sexuality was at last able to be expressed in a wholesome giving to another. A sense that a longstanding longing had found it's true resting place. That my half had become a whole. That my sexuality could be the missing jigsaw piece in another's puzzle. That I could offer to H the ideal gift: one that comes from my heart (all good gifts are an offering of one's self) to nourish the joy in her heart. 

Now it's back to pissing and wanking. 

The very essence of sexuality is dialogue. But now my sexuality is restricted to a solo act performed in secret and shame. 

My poor imagination leads to H continuing to be the focus of my sex life. But unsatisfiable fantasies are hardly satisfying! And rather than provide any real release this just reinforces my loneliness and loss.

— Nat.

Documenting my anger

I probably have never been so angry as this. I feel so mis-used and betrayed. But who am I angry at? And where do I direct that anger?

I thought it would help -- and it did -- to write down what I am angry about. I listed 30 or so things where the anger was directed at H. Another half-dozen directed at God. And two directed at myself. (I wonder what that balance says about me, and I wonder how that balance might change over time?) The ones about H are the juicy one's that I'm sure you'd love to know. But it seems to me that the other categories are the more interesting ones.

Here are the two things I am angry with myself about...

• How is it that I have deceived myself about my own character? It seems that some attributes I held to be my highest virtues are actually failings that have damaged H and our relationship. What pride has preventing me from seeing that before? 

• How could I not have seen that H was not ready for marriage? Although we've been married 19 years, our problems go all the way back to the beginning. We were married too quickly and she did not yet have a solid enough self-identity to make a real comitment to me. I can't blame her for leading me on without also thinking that my own wishful thinking and my excitement at finding my "dream come true" was another example of self-deceit. 

If there's one thing I am going to be firm with myself about, it is that this pain is going to fuel a time of growth for me rather than a time of despair. So what can I learn from that self-directed anger?

—Nat.

Ground Rules

When H first said that she wanted to go her own way, many emotions demanded attention simultaneously and I was very confused about how to act towards her. But from early on, I set myself three ground rules: no begging, no impositions, no criticism. That resolve was mostly motivated by the well known aphorism: "If you love something set it free. If it comes back to you, it's yours; if it doesn't, it never was." It looks like she never was.

Later, as we discussed how to navigate the separation, we agreed that even though the marriage had failed, we would at least try to fail with grace. We would continue to be generous to each other. Continue to work together in caring for the kids. Continue to care for each other's well-being, accepting with patience that it was a hard time for both.

I have heard of rare cases where a couple can split "amicably", when both are happy to go their own ways. That's not us. I am shattered to the core and angrier than I have ever been. But neither my pain nor anger nor wishes nor love will bring H back and in reality my only option is to release her. Release her from any obligation to me, so that she can not be bound artificially to me by guilt. And release her from my heart -- much harder -- so that I too can move onwards.

—Nat.

Last thing at night

For me, the end of the day is normally the worst time. The quiet after my kids are asleep emphasises my aloneness and emptiness. I put off going to bed as long as I can in the hope of being so exhausted that I'll be able to fall asleep straight away. A friend of mine, divorced many years ago and still single, is a share trader. He said to me a few weeks ago that there are lots of lonely men up late at night watching foreign markets, trying to keep their sadness at bay.

The sadness of lying in bed alone makes me recall other times and reminds me what I am missing. With nothing else to do, my brain focuses on my loss, and I either cry or get angry. I haven't cried myself to sleep for 35 years! On a few occasions I have taken sleeping pills, with limited success. Last night I watched a movie on SBS purely because the introduction claimed it had a sex scene. (It didn't.) What I find more useful is some deliberate relaxation exercises, and a firm resolve not to end the day negatively.

Is it a tough time for you too? Any good strategies you can share?

— Nat.

A good day

Not every day is as bad as the others, and today was a good one. The sunshine while kayaking with my son, helping run a barbecue at a fundraiser for SIDS, an afternoon nap -- these help to push the pain of loss away for a while.

One of my strategies is certainly to keep busy. And the last few months have been unusually creative for me. Having been shocked out of my normal life and habits, I am trying to reclaim some interests that have been lost along the way, and find new opportunities.

Busy-ness is an interesting thing. It can be productive, meaningful and helpful for both ourselves and others. But we can also use it to avoid doing things or thinking about something uncomfortable. For myself at the moment, I think it's about sublimating the frustration and pain and sexuality towards something positive. Turning that inner energy outwards, rather than letting it consume me.

I hope you'll be able to do the same, because it can create the possibility of a good day amidst all the hard ones.

— Nat.

All options are dead ends

At the moment, my future looks bleak. I know, I know ... I'll work through the grief process and get to a point of acceptance, ... and some new opportunities will open up, ... and God will bring some good out of it. But in the midst of it, they is all useless platitudes. Knowing about the grief process is virtually no use at all when you're in the middle of it. Don't ever tell a grieving person that it will be alright -- we know with a great sense of immediacy that IT IS NOT ALRIGHT.

I can see three equally difficult and unappealing options: work through all the difficult issues to re-establish a relationship with H, take the risk of starting a new relationship with someone else, or becoming a lonely old man. The first doesn't seem at all likely and is out of my control. Could I trust her again anyway? A dead end. The second is almost (but not quite) inconceivable. I have given my heart fully to H. Even if that beaten and broken heart can be repaired, how could I possibly give it again to someone else? I don't want to. I want H. She is irreplaceable. A dead end. The third seems more likely, but unbearable. Can I actually survive without a partner? Without intimacy? Without sex? Another dead end.

— Nat