Maya here. It’s been a few months since I’ve posted — time to bring the community an update.
It turns out the endless agonizing over the question to leave Rob or not, and the constant wavering back and forth, did settle out after I stopped methodically writing about the state of my mind and marriage. But other forces are at work as well.
My father’s Alzheimer’s Disease has progressed at an alarming rate, a dear friend has been diagnosed with stage IV cancer, I lost my grandfather, work became stressful, and anxiety (when I was younger, present in sufficient amounts to be called a “disorder”) has crept back up a bit.
When life is rough, beggars can’t be choosers. I have accepted Rob’s help and support and I have loved and appreciated it. And him!
But this is not to say that only when times get rough and I can’t make it on my own do I appreciate my husband. First, that’s not true. I’m pretty confident and I can manage a lot on my own.
I’m unsure how things will go as I push ahead with therapy and life with Rob, but I’m ready to give it a try without writing as I go. As I wrote around the New Year, perhaps not reporting on our (lack of) progress will free up some mind space to see things in a new way. It’s a new strategy, and one that I’ll stick to only as long as it serves me. Will I be with Rob forever? Still not sure, but I’m not ready to give up yet.
What have I learned as a FWW blogger? That I’m not alone, but I’m also unique. I’ve learned that I share parts of my story with some of you, but not every part. I’ve learned that I am quite easily (interestingly but unfortunately) ashamed of my lack of progress in my relationship with Rob, as if the only mark of a strong woman making her way and getting what she wants in of this world is steady change at all times, at all costs. But as embarrassed as I sometimes felt, I didn’t let it keep me from telling you the truth: that I’m often uncertain, often left wanting more, often not sure how to get it. I move slowly, but I don’t lie.
Rob and I are on our way back from the brink — quite literally. Just hours ago we stood at the rim of the Grand Canyon, gaping at the void.
The contrast between utter geologic beauty of the canyon walls and vast nothingness between is almost too great. Standing at the edge, my heart pounded in fear, and yet I only wanted to stay right there, quiet, gazing, forever. And I'm glad I was there with Rob.
I never could have dreamt up a man more capable of change, more supportive in deed. He has grown up and stepped forward to be at my side this past year. With work he has worn away of outer layers of habit to reveal depth and nuance of character, and this transformation has buoyed our relationship.
And yet, there is the void. Our sex life remains underdeveloped despite the change and the therapy and the good intentions. Meaningful partnership with no physical intimacy is a lot to bear, and the sheer size of the nothingness brings to mind time. If I'm choosing Rob, is this really it for me, forever? How have I become okay with that, and how will I remain so?
Traveling for work: What does that do for a lackluster marriage? Does absence make the heart grow fonder, or does it provide a safe chance to test the waters of independence?
When you're in Phoenix from Boston, it's not the latter, there's not much to do here as compared to my home city. After each day's conference sessions end, a group of bored co-workers heads to a mediocre restaurant. And there's not enough energy left at the end of a long day to make more of these evenings out.
There is some flirting, for sure, among the youngest attendees — particularly the students here on scholarship. And why not? This is an atmospheric sciences convention, a gathering of geeks; they need to get it while they can.
But the researchers wish they were home with their families; the product peddlers are here to wine and dine; the National Weather Service folks are relieved for a break from the field, but someone has yet to show them how to clean themselves up. The NASA and Lockheed folks are aloof — who knows what's going on there.
I'm planning another trip with Rob and it feels so strange. How can you keep a straight face when you are planning what is essentially a romantic getaway with a guy who is only best buddy (even while he is your husband)? It's awkward, to say the least.
This trip is on honor of Rob's birthday, and we're tacking it onto a business trip I'm taking to Phoenix. Rob will join me when my week is done, and we'll drive up to Sedona for a couple of days. We'll check out the Grand Canyon as well.
Fun! The awkward bit is the hotel room in Sedona. Since it's his birthday, I made a big deal of checking out the options online together. Like an out-of-control snowball we went from wanting a "nice place" to "cool room" to "with fireplace" to "with Jacuzzi." The options were there, and we have the money, so the whole thing just sort of blossomed and now we're staying in what can only be called a romantic suite.
"Love actually is...all around." When Hugh Grant's character narrates the opening of the movie Love Actually, he admits love — the love in evidence at the arrivals gate of Heathrow Airport — is not particularly dignified. It's awkward and pedestrian. But it's pervasive.
Shot after shot of homecomings and reunions reveal something profound in everyday love. Siblings, grandparents and their children, and old friends reach out for each other, smiling and crying. They hold each other dearly.
By nature love is exponential. It multiplies to the beat of a steady drum. It keeps families together, protects us, and makes the world go round. It is quiet and vital.
Love actually is also...terribly hard work. Things get in the way — like thinking love should move me and elevate me to star status. For years I suffered under the girlish delusion that love means having it all — drama, attention, and romance. Even older and wiser I haven't truly let go of what I think love should be long enough to see what love is.
I've written about our happy days and sad, our intimacies and lack thereof, our dreams and traditions, and how those things have changed. Rob and I have both enjoyed each others' families and been hurt by them. Sometimes we've put each other first, and sometimes we've neglected each others' need entirely.
Rob has drunk himself near to death, stopped drinking altogether, and then found a balance. I've both searched for apartments so I could move out on my own, and gave my all to couples therapy in hopes we'd find the key to a happier marriage.
I've written extensively on my doubt, and shared my wavering heart as honestly as possible, even when my wishy-washiness seemed a terribly embarrassing mark of weakness.
In the throes of the holidays, with the New Year approaching, I've been playing my part as usual. Rob and I are having family and friends over tonight.
Who knows how we'll seem to some of them who don't know the troubles we've had, and who don't know we have a sexless marriage. Perhaps we'll seem the perfect hosts, with the perfect demeanor, with the perfect relationship.
