How My Husband’s Sexuality Defined Our Marriage

And the lies I told myself

“Ya, I’d do Taylor, but not Dave. He’s just not attractive. He has that neck thing.”

This was my ex-husband’s observation while we sat on his landlord’s couch watching an old Foo Fighters concert.

That had become our new-but-exactly-like-our-old routine. I went over to his place and made him dinner while he critiqued the food I’d prepared.

Our reconciliation was like an amusement park, the new rollercoaster is only fun the first few times.

Eventually, you’re sick and dizzy and just need to rest and eat. So you jump to the next amusement park offering and get the funnel cake. The first few bites are mind-blowing, but the following bites leave you feeling nauseous and guilty.

Our time at the marriage amusement park had come to an end. I felt it because, finally, I was the one leading us out. I knew he felt it, too.

That comment from my husband about the Foo Fighters surprised me. Not the part where he’d contemplated being sexual with a man, but that he didn’t find Dave Grohl attractive and that he’d put some real thought into it.

It’s also rich coming from him, because compared to my ex-husband, Dave Grohl is well, David FUCKING Grohl. An actual rock star.

The first time I became aware of my ex-husband’s possible sexual curiosity was the winter of 2005.

We’d had a party at our house with my new friends, mostly Army Officers and Army Officer wives, whom I found through my habit of running.

My ex-husband hated socializing. He also hated Officers. And he really really hated Soldiers. That evening was the trifecta — Army Officers he’d never met at a social gathering. He did what he does to make himself comfortable- he got very, very drunk.

The excruciatingly, embarrassing scene he created was inevitable. My new friends quickly found reasons for why they needed to leave — the dog needed to be let out, we have to make it home before the back gate closes, we need to see if the grass has grown.

The drunkenness continued, but now it was just me. He became aggressive, physically and verbally. I’d been doing this sort of drunken babysitting for years, but I still wasn’t good at it. I was always scared and unsure.

It was during his very drunk ramblings that he told me he thought he was attracted to men.

I didn’t know what to do with the information, so I did what came naturally, I ignored it.

I found a way to get us both upstairs and into bed.

By the morning, I woke up to the very straight, anti-gay man I’d always known.

Later that week when he was at work, my curiosity compelled me to do an internet history search where, among the enormous amount of standard, straight-sex porn — an issue I’d ignored for years — I also found gay porn and male dating sites.

I didn’t know how this would change us, but I knew we would never be the same.

The subject was approached only one time after that night. It was during a marriage therapy session because I didn’t have the skills or confidence to approach him by myself.

That happened right before he was about to deploy for a second time to a war zone.

He insisted it was just drunk talk, he didn’t mean it, he’s not gay, next subject. Translation — my wife sucks, how can she fix that while I’m gone being a goddamn hero fighting for our country? For Freedom!

I was the clear loser that day. I lost me. I wouldn’t trust myself for the next 15 years.

It was that big loss that allowed me to endure the other stuff — cheating, racism, abuse, cruelty to our children.

Those things were louder and more familiar. They were normal in our life and in our social bubble.

The constant homophobic commentary that we lived in, hurled from both my husband and his Marine Corps brethren, created a solid gays-not-welcome environment.

It was clear that the only option was to be totally, one hundred percent straight.

So when my youngest told me their truth a year after their father left, I was filled with shame. I put my need to feel secure and have this facade of a perfect military family above the needs of my children.

Through my silence maybe I even encouraged that hate-filled environment.

Eventually, shame took a backseat to my overwhelming feelings of love and gratitude. Yes, my youngest spent their life up to that point denying, even hating, who they were. But, once their father was gone, I had done enough to make them feel safe and loved and accepted.

Enough that they gave me the privilege of knowing them, the true, beautiful human they are. This was one of many gifts I never expected my ex-husband would give us by leaving.

The Foo Fighters concert continued to play in the background.

I turned to him and asked, “Do you think you’re attracted to men?”

I’d been waiting to ask him that question since that drunken, winter night over a decade before. Of all my self-denials, I was certain of what I’d heard him say.

I knew I could trust myself. But I didn’t.

When you don’t trust yourself on something undeniable, it makes lying to yourself easy. Eventually, you go crazy.

But at that moment, I knew I wasn’t crazy. I was clear and focused and brave.

He answered, surprising me again, “I think we’ve both known that for a long time.”

Surprising because it was the first real, true thing he’d said to me in 20 years.

That tiny piece of honesty from him was another unexpected gift.

It was a start to repairing the damage I’d done to myself.

That truth was the first brick I would use to build a path. The path that I would use to walk away from him. The path that would lead me to my new house.

A house of trust.

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