My wife came to realize she needed to date women. That, and she had very bad anxiety that she began to refuse to treat. She had multiple screaming and crying breakdowns over simple social situations with my family. She couldn’t leave the house for months. I was working two jobs, taking care of our animals, and doing all the housework. She would lay on the couch and doomscroll all day.
I spent 40 hours on the phone with Kaiser Permanente trying to get her a therapist. When we finally did get her a therapist, the therapist told her that she was autistic, that the anxiety she experienced was just who she was, and that other people should just accept it.
We were going to couples counseling, too, and I said in one session that her anxiety was something she needed to work on with the goal of ultimately fixing it, because it was maladaptive and making both our lives really hard. The therapist cautiously agreed with me. Afterwards, she demanded to fire the therapist and moved out of the house. She stayed with my aunt and uncle for a month. I think she would have continued to drag it out, for a year or more, but I had no faith in the relationship anymore. When she sent me an email reiterating the same unactionable, generic criticisms she had always raised in couples counseling, I told her we should just get divorced.
The actual divorce was amicable. We had no kids and few possessions. I bought her out of most of it and we split the rest. No lawyer needed. She moved into a house with a group of lesbians and started over.
I struggled with feelings of failure and inadequacy for a few years after that: why couldn’t I help her? Why couldn’t I make her happy? It’s taken a decent amount of therapy, but I have come to understand that sometimes things end without a conclusive reason, and we don’t have full control over the outcome of our lives. I could have done everything right, and it still would have ended.
There were many good years prior to things unraveling. A blooming flower is no less pretty because it will wilt.
My wife came to realize she needed to date women. That, and she had very bad anxiety that she began to refuse to treat. She had multiple screaming and crying breakdowns over simple social situations with my family. She couldn’t leave the house for months. I was working two jobs, taking care of our animals, and doing all the housework. She would lay on the couch and doomscroll all day.
I spent 40 hours on the phone with Kaiser Permanente trying to get her a therapist. When we finally did get her a therapist, the therapist told her that she was autistic, that the anxiety she experienced was just who she was, and that other people should just accept it.
We were going to couples counseling, too, and I said in one session that her anxiety was something she needed to work on with the goal of ultimately fixing it, because it was maladaptive and making both our lives really hard. The therapist cautiously agreed with me. Afterwards, she demanded to fire the therapist and moved out of the house. She stayed with my aunt and uncle for a month. I think she would have continued to drag it out, for a year or more, but I had no faith in the relationship anymore. When she sent me an email reiterating the same unactionable, generic criticisms she had always raised in couples counseling, I told her we should just get divorced.
The actual divorce was amicable. We had no kids and few possessions. I bought her out of most of it and we split the rest. No lawyer needed. She moved into a house with a group of lesbians and started over.
I struggled with feelings of failure and inadequacy for a few years after that: why couldn’t I help her? Why couldn’t I make her happy? It’s taken a decent amount of therapy, but I have come to understand that sometimes things end without a conclusive reason, and we don’t have full control over the outcome of our lives. I could have done everything right, and it still would have ended.
There were many good years prior to things unraveling. A blooming flower is no less pretty because it will wilt.