My Marriage Was A Prison

We had hiked to the top of a mountain in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. The mountains were snow capped and the sky was a robin egg’s blue. It was the backdrop to what I thought was the most perfect picture I would ever have — my family in the center of the photo.

This was an extended stop on our big, cross-country, family vacation.

We were on our way to another trophy in the marriage display case. Twenty years.

I treated every year like it was an added layer of marriage armor, but really it was another bar added to the matrimonial jail cell we’d been living in. Imprisoned. Both of us.

Except, he was looking outside the barbed wire of the prison yard at all the things he was missing, and I had fooled myself to believe I was in a resort that would be amazing if they’d just improve the food and bedding.

One of the things we had in common was planning. His job — his life — had required it. And he was good at it. I had grown up in chaos. The need for something sure and steady would drive me to encourage his need to create a spreadsheet for every vacation.

This family adventure had become a year long planning calendar to our end. That summer we were entering our 20th year.

So when we found out his job would take him to Southern California — the place where we had started our family, our decades together — it seemed like the perfect opportunity to mix business with family. Especially since part of the bill would be covered by the United States Department of Defense.

When his dates were secured, we snatched up an adorable house less than half a mile from the beach. Close enough you could smell the ocean air when you opened the door.

We purchased the largest Thule car topper where our month’s worth of beach living would reside as we covered the over 2,000 miles from coast to coast. My VW wagon would take us, our two children, and two dogs from Virginia to the Pacific Ocean.

And everyone was thrilled.

Our oldest was entering adulthood. She would become engaged soon after we began the planning, and our youngest was less than two years from graduating high school and paving their path.

I felt the time slipping. I’d spent my entire life creating this all-star team. And now, we were going to lose the two most important players — the adhesive that had stuck us to each other all those years ago and then kept us together for two decades.

This was an accomplishment worth flaunting.

Facebook would show the world what a star I was. I’d reached my life long goal — marriage, family, financial stability. All the things I yearned for as a child.

I’d gone from a discarded baby, raised on food stamps and subsidized housing, to a wife of 20 years in a suburban, three-car garage home.

Look. At. Me. Now.

I had set myself up for the great fall. I had earned the hard landing that would happen just a month after I’d shown off that shiny trophy, holding it up like it was the Stanley Cup.

As I looked through the family photos from that trip, I came across one of the last photos I took of my ex-husband.

His profile is looking toward the patrons of the gastro pub where we ended up for our last just-us dinner after a month of creating memories as a fully formed family.

A culmination of a life played by the rules, evidence of doing it right.

It was evening and we were given another brilliant Southern California sunset. It never got old for me, but he chose to look the other way, inside to the people.

As I nursed my IPA, I realized I wasn’t worthy of being in this place, in my position, with this man.

Everything I had — all the experiences I collected with my kids, with my friends, with my dogs — I owed them to him.

We were surrounded by fit women with their salt air waves and suntan lined bodies.

He wanted all of them.

He’d say these exact words to me months later as I’d tried desperately to transform into a version of them. Lean, tan, stylish.

But even as I embodied these women — finally looking the part — he would say “I want to have sex with all the women who won’t have sex with me.” And that was not me.

I had always wanted him to want me.

And that repulsed him.

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