Should You Settle For a Mediocre Marriage?

Is it unrealistic to want more?

Not all that glitters is gold. Not all smiling marriages on social media are happy.

I can’t buy that all of them are unhappy. I know some friends’ relationships quite well and I have a solid grasp of their happiness quotient.

Is it asking too much to have what they have? I’m not aspiring for their remodelled kitchens or luxury vacations. I want the semblance of happiness. That will only happen if I leave my marriage.

Is having a happy marriage (barring the ebbs and flow of life) a realistic expectation for a union? For example, it’s certainly acceptable to ask for a spouse who isn’t violent. Everyone is entitled to physical safety. But are all marriages entitled to happiness?

I don’t want an unhappy, mediocre marriage anymore.

I’ve written a bunch about my wish for divorce; my husband is adamant we can make it work. Our bedroom is so dead that even the Grim Reaper stopped visiting for tea.

Am I irrational for wanting better when it comes to love?

Since my husband won’t willingly agree to divorce, the burden of this decision is on me. I feel like I’m selfish for not believing that his changes this year are permanent. His efforts are very, very much appreciated compared to his behavior in the prior 16 years. I want permission to want more out of a relationship despite the trauma to my children.

It’s late Saturday night and the kids are asleep. Joseph comes in and I tell him that my anxiety is through the roof as a result of our relationship status. Everything I throw at him to divorce has a rebuttal. There isn’t a “yeah, maybe you’re right” moment.

I tell him, “We could rent another place and just swap out. It’s called Birdnesting and there are mediators who could help us with rules.”

He replies, “I just think we can make this work. The kids deserve it.” The kid card is the ultimate, reusable card in anyone’s hand. Marriage counselling in over a year hasn’t made a dent; he’s working on blind faith.

I counter-argue. “Right now we’re in a good place where we’re not fighting like before. We could do this amicably and every study shows that a child’s emotional stability from their parents’ split relies on how much they put the needs of the kids first. We should do this while we still get along. And anyway, it can’t happen immediately because neither of us is going to leave when the kids are doing online school. ”

Joseph lobs another rebuttal. “This would destroy them. Our son is already terrified we’re going to divorce.” I look up, shocked. “When? Why didn’t you tell me?” Maybe this is why we should divorce, when bomb-dropping news like our autistic son talking about his emotions and fear of divorce aren’t even topics of conversation.

“A few days ago. He wondered if you were always mad because I was crying. Then he got upset and scared that we’re divorcing.”

Well…fuck. I barely managed to reply, “All I wanted was for my mom to divorce my dad. My childhood would have been so much happier.”

Again, another counter-argument from Joseph. He explains that if his parents had divorced, he wouldn’t have survived life in high school or college.

“I don’t trust you. I just don’t. And truthfully, you shouldn’t trust me. I’m serious when I say that I would have cheated on you this year.” I stop short of telling him that I already had an affair. “Seriously, I WILL CHEAT ON YOU. It’s not even a question.”

Without skipping a beat, Joseph replies, “Then we’ll deal with it when that happens. And we’ll work through it.”

Are you kidding me? How do I argue my way out of our union when he won’t accept an open marriage but will tolerate infidelity?

I point out that all year I’ve been a shitty, awful wife. Joseph pauses, then says, “I disagree. You’ve been amazing all year. The past few days you’ve been snippy but you’ve been great overall.” Well…fuck. Can’t use the resentment-turns-me-into-a-bitch card. There isn’t much left in my hand to play.

I’m begging. “I never saw a loving relationship model with my parents. I don’t want to show that to the kids. It’s probably better for them to see nothing than to see what we have.”

Yet another mumbling counter-argument from him. I’ve lost track of his replies. It’s Devil’s Advocate with a sprinkle of Mommy Guilt.

“I just don’t want to end up unhappy like my mom,” I start sobbing. “I’m just tired of a mediocre marriage. I want to be happy. And it’s just not going to happen when my husband is in the friend bucket. It feels awful to be married to someone and be platonic. I can’t force myself back into romantic love. If I thought that was possible, I would have agreed to an arranged marriage.” (My parents are religious and traditional but thankfully, never forced an arranged marriage as mandatory.)

He starts crying. As if on cue, my son sleepily walks in with his stuffed animal, and crawls into my bed. My failed attempts at separation are shelved for the night. Joseph is still at the foot of the bed with his hand over his mouth, sobbing inconsolably.

I hug him with a “there, there” pat on the back with all the emotion of a human rock.

Is it asking too much for a marriage, after almost twenty years, to be filled with happiness? Is it unrealistic to wish that you could look at your spouse occasionally and be filled with joy? Is it a pipe dream to want chemistry with your spouse instead of wanting to die each time he kisses you?

I don’t know if I’m being spoiled and unrealistic wanting a marriage that is more than simply mediocre. What is the standard drop-in happiness between the walk down the aisle to the twentieth anniversary? Is it 20%? Is it 70%?

What is the allowed ratio of marital misery before it’s acceptable to make your children unhappy?

Every day I wake up confident in my decision to end the marriage. At the end of each day, his arguments chisel away at my confidence that our kids will be fine without irreparable emotional distress. I don’t need him to start packing his bags tomorrow; neither of us can leave while we play coronavirus homeschool teachers. I’ll settle for him agreeing to a trial separation.

What more can I do? I’ve played every card in my hand. Misery isn’t a valid card in this deck. Neither is the I-want-a-satisfying-romantic-relationship card.

In a “fuck it” moment, I start booking an extended-stay hotel online. Then I remember coronavirus, shelter-in-place, and my kids’ full-time school home school schedule. With a sigh, I close my laptop.

All I want is for someone to tell me that it’s okay to not settle for a mediocre marriage. That I won’t regret pursuing happiness at the cost of my children’s emotional well-being.

I want permission to want more out of life despite the hurt it will cause others.