It was a long and miserable December. I knew my marriage was on life support, and in my heart of hearts, I knew that despite our best efforts, it could not be saved. And yet, I remember walking the slushy streets to work, forcing a smiling face during dinner with friends, and trying to busy myself with every distraction that I could find, desperately repeating the weak lies to myself, hoping I could believe them:
I have put too much time into this marriage for it to end. If we split, all those years together will be a waste and will mean nothing.
Years, and what seemed like a lifetime later, I had nearly forgotten about those thoughts until one day I was having lunch with a group of girlfriends. One of them was going through a rough patch with her husband, and separation seemed inevitable. As we sympathetically listened, she said something that stuck out, triggering something I had long forgotten.
I have sacrificed way too much and invested way too much time into this relationship. I’m not just going to walk away from it.