No Fighting Please

We had a beautiful wedding. I’ve been looking at the photos. Happiness emanating from everyone who was captured on camera on that day.

If only someone could see inside his mind. Could see that there were doubts before that day. That while it felt good, just maybe it wasn’t good enough. Funny, I’ve dealt with issues of being good enough throughout my 39 years.

If only someone had a crystal ball. One that showed that 9 months after the wedding, we would create an amazing human being. That she would forever change our hearts when she arrived 9 months later. The crystal ball would show that months after she arrived, he would yearn for passion in our marriage that has faded (he’ll wonder if it was ever there) and over the next year he would struggle with it…alone.

I wish he’d come to me with these feelings. Isn’t that what marriage is? Working on things, through things, together? We’ve been through so many things together. Worked out so much together. Why not this?

So without a crystal ball, I have faith that what I feel will pass. That eventually we’ll work it out. When I do ask and he confirms these feelings, while I have hope, he doesn’t. But it’s not because he didn’t try. Or is it? Did he comes to me with this? No. He worked on it on his own. Didn’t trust me with his feelings after all this time.

Marriage requires two people working together. I didn’t get a chance to work on this with him. Because by the time I asked the question, The Special One had no reason to fight this with me. The Special One was already The Cheat. I’m supposed to take solace in the fact that it wasn’t frivolous, that this is real. I’m supposed to take solace in the fact that he loves me. He affirms this often enough. But he also loves her now. He loves her passionately.

So the demise of the marriage, this union, this family, isn’t because of the lack of passion or of no longer being in love. No. It’s because of not fighting for it when it mattered. It’s because of not trying then and there’s no point in trying now because there’s a new love in town. A fresh love. One unmarred by images of wiping shit up in the throes of the labour of love of birthing a child. Unmarred by images of a baby exiting a vagina. Unmarred by images of crusty nipples and tears because breastfeeding is hard. Unmarred by ageing of years and also deprivation. This love arrives fresh faced and bushy tailed having arrived in the world 15 years after me. No bumps and lumps. Her bed is free of a baby who requires that passion and intimacy take a backseat. But wait, this isn’t physical. Silly me.

My heart has shattered into a million pieces. But not in the form of confetti and fireworks. No. I’ll slowly piece it back together. It may not take the shape it had before but it’ll be a version of what was. Be strong. You have a child to think about.

The fight might have been futile, yes. But we’ll never know because we never tried. The elusive ‘they’ say that love conquers all, but for us, love wasn’t enough.

Thanks for reading x

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