more of the story

Almost two weeks ago, I posted the following text to this blog:

Those who are on The Facebook are probably already aware that there have been difficulties in my marriage. We're taking what may well be the harder road and trying to mend fences. Our reasons may or may not be good, but they're ours and that's good enough.

This was in direct response to a post by Jo on Facebook in which she revealed that she had had an affair with a man who was once my friend. It began as online friendship, then developed over time and became (very briefly) physical. She shared that because I had, earlier that day, discovered what was going on. I was far from in a safe and healthy state of mind, but when she asked what she could do to start earning my trust back, I requested that she do something so big and public that it could never be undone. Time will tell if I was right to ask this, but it seems to have had two major effects: there are no more awkward conversations with people who don't yet know that something went wrong and there are a lot of awkward conversations, sideways glances, or judgmental pauses from folks who do know that something went wrong.

As I told my mother on the phone a couple of days after everything was made public, everyone keeps forgetting to ask why this all happened.

Before I more directly address that, I want to take a short detour into something that Jo posted a few days ago on her own blog:

The very first time I met Papa Nate, he told us to always put "us" first; before our jobs, before our kids, before our families, before the bills, before everything. Us first. It's strange to look back and wonder when we stopped doing that. It's even stranger to try to figure out how to get back into the habit of doing it again.

Papa was our great support and counselor. He had a way of quietly making sure that we had what we needed, whether that was a positive word, a strong reminder of the right thing to do, or whatever else the situation demanded. I know that he was not a perfect man and had his failings, but it is tempting to
think that our marriage might look very different if he had not died when he did.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped putting "us" first. I became focused on my job, keeping things running at home, trying to feel as though I was getting enough time with the kids to still feel like their father. Jo seemed to always be present, so it was easy to not worry about whether our relationship was OK. We shared the same bed every night, we ate dinner together most nights, and we made sure that all of the domestic stuff was done, so everything was alright, right?

Well, maybe not.

Stephen and I have a mountain before us to conquer and I think we'll succeed. The fact is, it took both of us to fall so low and it's going to take both of us to scale to new heights. We know this and we're preparing for the journey. We have loving families and amazing friends, we have compassionate children who bring us perspective and we are in therapy, but most of all, we have each other and we have hope.

When we moved to Alaska, I made a commitment to leave work at 4:30 every day. I made this commitment because we moved here for our family. Where we'd lived before, the kids would not have had access to preschool at all nor to quality elementary schools nor to a large number of kids their age. Though Jo and I were both useful, she felt marginalized and we were both ready for a place that would be accepting of all of the members of our family. I frequently worked insane hours in both of the jobs that preceded our move to Alaska, so it was a very conscious decision that I would avoid that.

I really couldn't pinpoint when I started to backslide. In my first year, I was good. There were no extra clubs that I ran, I didn't do a pep band, and I only attended the bare minimum of school dances. I dipped my toe into a few activities in town, but didn't go overboard.

In my second year, though, I started regularly hosting my own radio show, joined a barbershop quartet, sponsored a radio club at the school, and began another club. I also started up a pep band that "only" attended half of the basketball games, even though I received no stipend for it. This was probably when I started being too extended. Hell, it sounds exhausting just to read. I was still leaving school at 4:30 each day, but I frequently left only to return again a few hours later or to come back on the weekends.

I honestly cannot speak to what was happening with Jo at that time as it was three years ago and my memory just isn't up to it at the moment, but I know that this is the time that she frequently identifies as the time when things started to go sour for us. In March of that school year, Papa Nate died. We spent most of the summer in Cleveland, helping my parents sort through all of his effects. It was a very frustrating time for everyone for a pile of reasons and probably didn't help us much.

Somewhere in the midst of all of this, I lost sight of my wife. It is a devastating thing to realize that you share a bed with someone whose hopes and dreams you don't understand, and I imagine it's just as devastating to realize that you share a bed with someone who doesn't understand your hopes and dreams. From what I understand, Jo also believed that I didn't care. Eventually, she felt like she had nothing to lose from seeking solace elsewhere.

The road from here is not clear. We could use a mentor, like Papa Nate. We will certainly attend counseling and we're going to fight for this marriage. We have had some nasty moments in the past couple of weeks and some absolutely transcendent moments. We've looked at each other in complete honesty, possibly for the first time in years. We've been to the depths of despair and we're also learning how to laugh together again. We hurt each other, mostly unintentionally, but we've also offered comfort and care. We're relearning how to be us, and reappraising all of our priorities as a result.

I don't love this journey, but it's the only journey I can accept right now. We chose it together and that will do.