The 4 Words That Made My Marriage Crumble
I was hiding from my husband, until I could hide no longer.
Peopleimages.com - YuriArcurs | Canva Last year, on a cold October night I found myself sitting in my grandparents’ kitchen at 5 a.m., writing to another man. It was the loneliest night of my life. Crying, tears streaming down my face, I wrote, "I feel powerless and alone."
Many thoughts raced through my head that cold night at the kitchen table writing an email to that other man. How did it get this far? I thought my husband and I had a good relationship. I thought we could talk about anything — why was I feeling so alone?
I kept writing, ignoring the tears that blurred my sight. Something deep inside me told me not to write such personal things to a friend I’d met only a month ago. But it was all I could do. Surely no one else would understand me. Not even my husband.
So, I wrote, "Maybe I’ve been trying to carry around a weight alone for too long. I just feel like there was no one to turn to who thinks the same."
The more I wrote, the more I cried. Feelings of guilt and shame overcame me.
Why am I confiding in another man that's not my husband? What happens if he finds out I wrote all this to another person instead of telling him? Will he feel betrayed? Will he ever forgive me? What if he never trusts me again?
Olena Yakobchuk | Shutterstock
But my loneliness was stronger than my fears. If I carried around the burdens alone any longer, I would cave. I needed to share the load with someone before I collapsed under its weight.
So, my fingers restlessly kept tapping the keys.
I know Nathan can and might read this and I feel afraid to send it. But I’ve reached a point where I think things cannot go on like this. I’m so tired of lying in bed without being able to fall asleep. I’m not kidding when I think this could kill me if it doesn’t change. If there’s any time I need to sleep well, then it’s now, feeling my head pounding even when I’m just lying in bed trying to sleep.
After rereading the email repeatedly, I pressed send, went back to bed, and fell asleep. Finally, I could sleep.
Only an hour later, unexpected noises woke me up: A beeping microwave, the monotonous churning of a citrus press, and the local morning news brought me back to reality. My grandparents and the sounds of their breakfast routine roused me from my sleep.
My head pounded heavily. Unable to move my limbs, I lay in bed for hours, weakened by the insomnia, the tears shed, and the weight of guilt and shame. The morning floated by unnoticed.
But I couldn’t stay there forever. My grumbling stomach forced me to get up to find something to eat. The pounding in my head intensified as soon as I rose. How could I make it to the kitchen? Step by step, I entered the kitchen. A sandwich, carefully prepared by my husband was waiting for me on the table — did I deserve it?
With trembling hands, I picked up the bread. I forced myself to take a bite. The door swung open.
“Ruth dear, how are you?” Granny exclaimed, kissing my head while stroking my shoulders. “Girl! What’s going on? Are you unwell or something?” added Grandpa.
With the bite I just took still stuck in my throat, I mumbled a hasty reply. Must they talk to me now? Why do they keep touching me? I finished the sandwich within seconds — I needed to get out of there. I washed my plate as fast as my hands could manage.
Suddenly everything became too much. The apartment looked so small and cluttered and everyone was getting on my nerves.
Frantically, I looked for my husband. “Do you want to go for a walk?”
Outside, I expected I could escape the anxiety but the guilt and shame followed me with every step. Could a walk last any longer than this? Words failed me.
The heaviness and tension in the air made it hard to think. Why didn’t he say anything? Did he read the email? Was he simply tired? The flow of questions overwhelmed me, filling me with dismay. Not knowing the answers — was there a worse feeling than this?
I don’t know how we arrived at the park. The heavy atmosphere distorted my sense of time, turning minutes into hours. People rushed by as if in a different timezone from us. But we stood still, floating in a bubble of unknowing, separated from the world around us. Two people stuck in time and space, haunted by our doubts and fears.
We sat down on a cold wooden bench. Sitting side by side but at the same time miles apart; the distance between us on that park bench made my husband seem further away than ever. I tried to catch his glance but our eyes didn’t meet. Deafening silence filled the air. He knows.
How we got back to the grandparents, I still don’t know. But we remained silent and with every minute the distance between us grew. How much longer could I bear this? Exhausted, we lay down in bed to rest. But the rest didn’t come.
Time dragged on forever, until, suddenly he broke the silence with four words: I read the email.
My breath stopped. A numbing dread overcame me. Those four words made my world crumble. "I don’t understand," he said. "Why didn’t you tell me? Why were you hiding from me?"
I couldn’t find an answer. The hurt and pain in his voice pierced my heart. How could I betray him? Taking a deep breath, I uttered the only words that came to mind. "I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought you wouldn’t understand."
He sighed and after a long pause, replied, "When I read that email, I thought I’d lost you. You seemed so far away from me, I felt so alone. But if you think I can’t understand you, then what’s the point?"
He started scribbling nervously on a piece of paper. The reality of the situation slowly dawned on me. He left the note on the nightstand, got up, and started heading for the door — shoulders hanging while avoiding all eye contact.
For seconds I stood there paralyzed, but one thought flashed through my head, I needed to hug him. If not now, I’ll lose him forever. We stood silently in what seemed an endless embrace. Then, the tears started flowing.
After he read the email, I thought I’d lost him. Instead, we grew closer together than ever before.
We talked about everything. I told him about my silent struggles of the past years. He said all he wanted was to know how I felt and what I needed. I could confide in him with everything.
The heaviness started lifting. My head no longer pounded. Our eyes met again and we found each other. Finally, rest came and we fell asleep.
What happened to me and my husband can happen to anyone. It doesn’t matter how strong your relationship is or how much you love each other: When one becomes afraid of open communication, you start heading down a slippery slope.
There’s a story mentioned by the psychologist Jordan Peterson in his book 12 Rules for Life. It’s about a dragon on a bed. A young boy one day finds the mythical animal in his room — it’s not scary because it’s small in size.
When the boy tells his mom, she doesn’t want to believe him. With the lack of open communication, the dragon remains, growing bigger every day until it runs off with the house.
When a problem isn’t openly talked about, the issue grows bigger than anyone can handle.
In the worst case, the family ends up losing their home. My husband and I were heading down that path because of a lack of open communication.
Although it caused both of us heartbreak, the email I sent, opened the conversation between us — one we so desperately needed to have — and once all feelings were out in the open, they lost their power.
Silence is a secret destroyer. It creeps up on you unnoticed and strikes when you least expect it. Sometimes, the hit comes when it’s already too late. The sooner we gather the courage to open up, the less the problem can grow.
I don’t mean to tell anyone what to do. I know relationship dynamics are incredibly complex. Oftentimes, there are children involved or the partner is not considerate of the other person in the relationship.
But silence never resolves the issue, however complicated it is. When problems are left unhandled long enough, the consequences are far greater than when they are brought out in the open.
If you feel like your burden is too heavy, seek out (professional) support.
Ruth Alva is a writer who runs a storytelling business and recently started writing for YourTango. She started a Medium blog where she frequently appears in publications like Modern Women and Mindful Mental Health.