thelesbianlifestyle.com

So I was avoiding work and surfing random sites this week when I stumbled upon an Oprah show advert link entitled “Five Words That Can Save Your Marriage.” Naturally I clicked.

The show’s actual topic, “Forging Spiritual Partnerships”, centered around creating a truly honest, truly balanced, spiritually rooted alliance within your relationship … and to help determine the cosmic validity of viewers’ situations, guest author Gary Zukav suggested writing down– quickly and instinctively so as to remain organic– the five words describing your present partnership.

Mine were:

troubled

flailing

sick

heartwrenching

sad

Doesn’t take shrink therapy, much less Mr. Zukav, to determine the spiritual rootedness of my present partnership, now, does it?

Obviously, my wife– I call her my wife because we held a (legally invalid) commitment ceremony five years ago– and I are in the throes of marriage dissolution.  Though far from ideal and far from what I envisioned the day I nervously recited those long, eloquent vows, writing this list unequivocally confirmed what I have been loathe to admit for at least six months: that.we.are.over. 

And as an admitted accomplice, I did little beyond watch the dissolution progress to its present point beyond the thresholds of repair, counseling, and hope.

Seven quick years and one beautiful daughter into our union, it’s come to this: daily fighting, nasty snubs, calculated digs, below-the-belt-jabs, mocking, taunting, parroting, slamming, yelling, silence, iciness, tears, and tumult– not to mention longstanding sexlessness.  Yet for all of that, I fail to pinpoint a specific reason for the demise of the formerly blissful marriage that was the envy of our formerly wide circle of coupled lesbian friends.  Of course, none of them are still together.

But whatever the reason(s) (lack of money? lack of sex? lack of chemistry? my “selfishness”? her instability? OR, her drug-addicted 20-year-old felon son who has stolen thousands from us over the years and who caused the first of a series of rifts and chasms as early as six years ago?), we have arrived at a resigned, if not altogether calm, acceptance.  That is, we have amicably agreed to endure the upcoming holiday season and then list the house for sale in January.

So, seven years into my failed marriage, I’m on the cusp of a new life– a life that is, I’m convinced, resplendent with possibility and independence and the really, really frightening reality of single motherhood.

And you know what? I couldn’t be happier.  Thank you, Mr. Zukav.  This jarring, sad, life-affirming, perception-rich little list now hangs by my computer.  It is, after all, a testament to the possibilities of my new and necessary life chapter.

by Elisa Garcia