Finding the Courage to Embrace Reality and Change

I found myself sitting with my then-husband in a booth at the Cheesecake Factory, waiting for a new couple to join our marriage mentor group. We hadn’t exchanged a single word during the car ride to the restaurant. As we sat there in silence, the engaged couple arrived, hand in hand, radiating smiles. I immediately transitioned into my ‘marriage mentor’ mode. Greeting them with a hug, I invited them to sit. My husband offered a slight smile, but I carried the conversation.

As they settled, a wave of exhaustion washed over me, knowing I would feign normalcy for the next hour. I initiated my routine, asking questions to learn more about them and outlining the group dynamics. Their questions followed: How did we meet? How long had we been together? How did we navigate disagreements? Then came the question I dreaded: What was our secret for staying together so long?

I don’t recall my exact response. Likely, it involved communication, patience, and choosing each other. Safe answers that fit the marriage mentor persona—but inside, I felt uneasy because the truth was I was lying. Happiness in my marriage had eluded me for some time.

By then, my corporate training role at Chipotle’s headquarters had turned me into a workaholic, leaving me little time to see my husband. Staying late at work, replying to one more email, or undertaking another project was easier than confronting what I knew deep down. Yet, loyalty defined me—I held onto it fiercely.

Fear shaped my reluctance to leave. I feared not only losing my marriage but also losing the identity I’d built within it. Without the ‘good wife’ label, I worried I’d become unrecognizable to myself. Then, there was the matter of others’ opinions. How would I explain a divorce to couples in the newlywed group I led? To my church? To my mother?

Nothing overtly wrong stood out. I wondered repeatedly, “Is this bad enough to warrant a change?” While moments of happiness persisted without abuse or infidelity, gathering evidence for dissatisfaction proved challenging.

So, I stayed. Gratitude became my mantra—I told myself I should be thankful, as many faced worse situations. Leaving would bring questions I couldn’t answer. I adapted, holding onto “It’s not that bad.” But pretending left me drained, both mentally and physically. Exhaustion permeated the facade of assisting others with their marriages while yearning to exit my own.

One late Friday evening, while my husband slept in our apartment, a friend and I sat on a blue couch in my building’s lobby. For the first time, I heard myself declare, “I have to get a divorce.” In that moment, it felt as if I had finished running a marathon, collapsing in relief.

Twelve years have passed since that pivotal Friday. I’ve left the marriage mentor group, found a partner who’s been my companion for a decade, and changed careers. The most significant shift has come from embracing my feelings instead of suppressing them.

I often reflect on the couple from the booth that day and their earnest inquiry about our secret to staying together. I wanted to offer them something reassuring, something they could hold onto during tough times. But the unanswerable question wasn’t truly about staying together; it was about maintaining honesty with oneself in the process.

My marriage lingered even after I stopped acknowledging what I truly desired from life. For years, I felt I needed an unassailable reason to leave. Now, I understand that being truthful with myself was reason enough.

Patti Bryant, a writer, explores life transformations when an outwardly perfect life stops aligning with inner truth. Follow her on Instagram @withpattibryant. All opinions in this article are the author’s own.