21 years ago, tomorrow, is the anniversary of my first marriage. Not the marriage that I’ve highly spoken of, that aided and abetted two wonderful children; a marriage that I more refer to as a wedding. Full stop. When I say that I regret very little in my life, and I feel like all moments lead into the one we’re in, and make us who we are (blah blah blah), I don’t know that I refer to this piece of my history, or maybe I do and I don’t recognize its impact on my character. I do, however, see that period in time as one of my deepest regrets. Not especially for the outcome, but for the behavior that I wish I could take back and the pain I wish I never caused another person.
May 19, 2001 I had a wedding. I married a man, who I knew in my heart I didn’t want to marry, but the invitations were sent and the venue was booked and I had just turned 23 and couldn’t do what I needed to do to stop the train that had already left the station.
I met him at 20 or 21 years old and I loved his eyes. He was deep and we could talk for hours. He was smart and different and quiet. He was 2 or 3 years older than me, maybe 4, the details like that are fuzzy, although I still remember that his birthday is February 28 (I do tend to remember birthdays). After 6 months we moved in together. He showed me new shows and movies, and was philosophical. I liked his intelligence and that I felt like I saw a side no one else saw. He was bad with money and bad with jobs. I discovered later that most people found him condescending and kind of an asshole, but I never felt like that. I thought I was happy. I thought I was in love. Maybe I was, but looking back I would say that I’ve truly loved three men, and he isn’t one of them.
When he asked me to marry him I said yes. I mean we’d been together for a couple of years, we lived together, and it was the obvious next step. Somewhere in me I knew I didn’t want his children but I just thought that maybe I didn’t want any children, or at least not for a number of years. Stuff it down. This all makes sense. You love him.
We had a fun time generally. He was very different than me. We had a nice social group and did fun things like getting together every Sunday for X-Files or The Simpsons or South Park, or whatever the hell it was. One of my (still) best girlfriends was with one of his best friends, and it was awesome. (She and I honestly became better friends well after the fact, and our 20+ year friendship has withstood her subsequent marriage to said friend and both of my subsequent marriages…)
I don’t know what was “wrong” but as I look back, I don’t recall what was right either. We were engaged and I got to planning a wedding! I loved his parents and his sister was fantastic. I made my wedding dress and it took me months. I made my bridesmaid dresses and they were not amazing but they were a nice colour. I made the invitations and the favours and planned and planned and arranged and had a wedding for 60-ish guests and a venue and all the stuff for near to $2000. I was a machine!
In the meantime I met my children’s father and who would become my actual husband for the next 17 years. He and I shared an immediate connection. He reportedly fell instantly. I was not available and didn’t really let myself go there. But we talked and talked and it became apparent to me that I looked more forward to seeing him than my existing mate. I knew we were in love with each other but I couldn’t admit it to myself or anyone, and I was getting married in a matter of months. So, as the day approached, I pushed it down and moved ahead because I felt like I had no choice and maybe I was just having “cold feet” or being young and naïve to the weight of my decisions. I wasn’t in a “bad” relationship. I was happy and fine and obviously just confused. Invitations were out! People were excited and my fiancé loved me.
I did what seemed like a plausible option, and attempted to set this other man up with one of my friends, if only to live vicariously through her. They were not a match. She said later that he just wanted to know about me. Which made me far too happy at the time. Then, three days before my wedding day I made a conscious (but cloaked in denial) choice to visit and spend a fun evening with the other man. I think I knew what could happen…ok, I know I knew what could happen, but I somehow told myself that I had to see, I had to be near him, I had to discover this road untaken.
As you might well assume, poor choices were made. I cannot say that I regret the moment and the time, but the choices and betrayal and moral succession was unbecoming of who I believed myself to be and who I currently know that I am. The drama of the following day was haunting and painful and like a sickness I’ve never felt. The weight of my guilt was consuming and palpable. A fight ensued, obviously, and as I am minimizing and summarizing the following day. It was rightly horrible. At one point he struck a hole in the wall beside my head and I’d never been so scared in my life, up until that moment. I hurt him in a way that was deplorable and I was sorry.
However, in a turn of events, we returned to our regularly scheduled programming. He loved me and wanted to marry me and I assumed this bout of “cold feet” was just that and I’d needed one moment of “something else” before this lifetime ahead of us began. We got married. The ceremony was lovely and it was easy to get swept up in the moment and the weekend, and stuff the elephant in the room far back into a dark closet to deal with later. I told my dad. He subsequently told my mom and basically everyone (that hurt me). I think I told my best friend. I don’t recall. I am not a “secret” kind of person, but this was a huge and painful burden that I wasn’t looking to transfer on my wedding day.
*If I sound like I’m minimizing the pain I caused or the impact of my actions, I don’t mean to. The time that’s passed and the memory has made it sort of feel like someone else’s story; and also, I don’t know that all of the minor details are the point.*
When I got home from getting married, the other man was happy to see me, assuming that I’d called it all off and we could now be together. When I said I couldn’t see him anymore and that I had gotten married, he was shocked and hurt also. As the dust settled, I began to see that I’d made a major mistake. I told my new husband that I needed time to sort my feelings out and I went and stayed at a friend’s house. I realized that I didn’t want this marriage and I had to end it before it began. After a couple weeks and much heartfelt discussion and fighting and grief and pain, I ended that relationship.
The time was stress and pain, and I didn’t know if I could ever forgive myself for hurting someone so badly. I felt embarrassed and stupid and like I was the statistic of why you never marry young. I had so much stress at one point; I was peeing blood and even got into a car accident. I was the villain. I was evil and a cheater and not to be trusted. I held that belief for years. It took me years to forgive myself for making that choice and realizing that I wouldn’t have changed ending up with who I did, or ending that initial marriage; but that the true mistake was not ending the engagement to begin with; and especially not ending the relationship once I knew in my heart that I loved someone else. That would have been the more kind and the less hurtful path. I should never have caused someone the pain of betrayal. I never saw him again after that summer. Last I heard, I think he may be married and is hopefully very happy and cherished in his life.
I think of this seldomly now. In fact I’d nearly forgot a few years back when (as I had hastily changed my name…in all sorts of layers of denial!) our most recent mortgage broker asked about another last name that came up in my credit report and I literally had to think for a second and went….ooohhh yah, I did have another last name for about 15 seconds 17 years ago! (That relationship was about 2 and a half years long in total).
The stress at the end of my long term marriage was the highest level of stress I’ve ever felt, and the days of peeing blood and suffering extreme guilt in hurting someone back in 2001 shadows in comparison. The subsequent 17 years together were not a failure in my eyes. That is a long marriage and I tried my best with what I knew, and who I was at the time. I know now my part in the breakdown, and his as well. We have wonderful children and a relationship that can only be categorized as somewhere between sibling and best friend. I love him and he drives me fucking crazy. I cannot be married to him but I sure hope he finds someone who can (bless the creature who can take that man! haha) He deserves love again.
This week I dropped off the papers to get our divorce underway. We have been separated for four and a half years and it’s time. I want to move forward. I love my partner and he has never once made a line in the sand about my marital status being a weird grey area between separated/divorced/common-law (although, technically I am all three).
When I left my marriage, I did not see it as a failure or a waste of time. 17 years is a good go! Most of our adult life spent together. I didn’t think I’d ever even consider remarrying because why? Now I’m not so sure. Never say never. I do feel like there is weight in the person you would choose at 40 versus who you would choose at 22. Once you know yourself, and own your shit. Once you’ve hopefully recognized yourself as someone you love and trust.
The other day my sister flippantly said that she hopes I don’t ever get married again, and implied that I am maybe not the marrying kind, as I’ve had a couple goes at it. I was a bit taken aback by this and said that I have had two weddings but one marriage. A wedding at 23 because I was too young and stupid to call it off, followed by a marriage of 17 years, does not a “trend” make! But maybe she’s right. I know enough to know that we can’t predict the future and we can only make the best choices we have with the information we have at the time.
The best advice I’d give the young me is to follow your instincts and call off the damn wedding! The embarrassment and loss of a couple deposits pales in comparison to hurting another person (and yourself) so horribly. And also…maybe don’t get married when you’re 23, but that’s just my opinion. I see myself with my current partner for the unforeseeable future. He is one of the three I can say that I’ve loved (that I do love!) I know my sister only meant “why?” And she’s not wrong. Are we conditioned to think that marriage is the natural progression? Is it even necessary, does it just prove some point, and to whom? Is it about romance or about legality? We are no longer wards of our fathers passed on down to our husbands! And if you are not religious, there isn’t that aspect. I guess all of those things bring up questions.
But anyway, I am on the road to being a divorcée for the second time and I have no embarrassment about that. I guess it has made me who I am today. How lucky I am to have loved and lost (or been loved and been lost, I suppose, also).
*As an aside, I started writing this and realized that tomorrow was May 19th! The date and timing were a coincidence that only occurred after the fact, not as a specific “anniversary” consideration*
Periscopecake 