A few months ago I read a Newsweek article written by a woman who was in the middle of a divorce. She and her husband had both come to the realization that the marriage wasn't going to work, so while they still remained friends they knew that divorce was inevitable.

Instead of splitting up the household goods, working out a custody arrangement for the kids, and then going their separate ways, they still lived together in the same house they bought as a married couple. They had separate bedrooms, but they still maintained the home concurrently. The kids knew the parents were divorcing at that eventually they would be split up into two households, but until the house sells they'll all stay together under one roof.

I remember thinking to myself as I read the article, "Is this feasible? Can two people who are divorcing share a house and not be freaked out the whole time?" I figured it must be an exceptional situation, and didn't give it much more thought until a friend recently told me about her neighbor who is doing the exact same thing. Apparently they're afraid to put the house on the market because of the current real estate environment, so they've set up separate bedrooms and they've already filed the divorce paperwork.

Does anyone else think this is weird?

If I filed for divorce I would not want to live in the same house as my husband. Maybe it's different for me because my husband absolutely does not want a divorce, so it would be weird to live with him and deal with the whole, "Are you sure you want to do this? Can't we work it out? How could you do this to me?" thing that I would probably get from him every single day. Not being able to be physically away from him would be bizarre, considering the circumstances.

The other day was a doozy. The kids were both stir-crazy because of the rain, and when they get stir-crazy they get awfully clingy and needy. I had three deadlines looming and I had to go to a meeting. The house was a mess and I couldn't figure out a time to go grocery shopping even though the pantry was pretty much bare.

All in all, it was the kind of day where I felt stretched to the limit and although I wanted nothing more than to curl into bed and hide from the world it just wasn't an option.

Too many obligations, and not enough of me to go around.

After the kids were in bed I sat down to punch out the work that I had to do. I figured if I worked for two hours straight I could get to bed before midnight, then the next day I could try to tackle the housework and maybe get to the grocery store if everything worked out.

I had been working for a few minutes when my husband stopped flipping through the television channels and looked over at me. "I need to talk to you about something," he said, and then proceeded to tell me that I wasn't paying enough attention to him.

Now that's bad timing.

I was already on edge because I was trying to deal with so much at once. Sometimes it gets overwhelming: kids, work, keeping up the house...I understand that when I have so much to deal with my husband's need for attention might take a back seat. There are just some times when I have to get stuff done and I don't have the time to fawn over him.

That either makes me a realist, or it makes me incredibly insensitive to my husband's needs. Or maybe I'm an insensitive realist.

I work hard. It would be great to end an evening with my husband saying something along the lines of, "I know you've been stretched thin lately. What can I do to help?" instead of, "Pay more attention to me."

If you would have taken a glimpse into my relationship with my husband a year ago and then had a look at it recently, you would probably notice something right away. A year ago my husband was a different guy. He didn't seem to care less if I was fighting a high fever, or if I had a deadline, or if the kids gave me a really trying day.

It didn't matter. He still wasn't going to lift a finger to help because keeping the house going was my job. Keeping the kids happy was my job. It just didn't seem to matter if I was wandering around in an exhausted stupor, because he was happy and had his video games to occupy him.

Cut to present day. Something about me trying to leave shook him up enough to where he does the things I always thought he should do be doing anyhow: he takes the kids when I have a lot of stuff to do, he'll make dinner once in a while if I'm running late getting home, and he'll encourage me to take a short nap if I'm not feeling well.

Those may sound like normal things a husband would do, but for me it's a 180 degree change from how things once were.

So what's the problem? Now that he's doing all the things I once wished he would do, why can't I just be happy? This is a question I have been struggling with for a while now. I think it all boils down to this: Why did it have to take me trying to leave for him to finally notice that something had to change?

For a couple of years I was obviously stressed out, exhausted and generally unhappy with the way things were. I told him things needed to change. I asked him to go to counseling with me. I begged him to cut back on his video game time. Really, if my bursting into tears at the drop of a hat wasn't a pretty good sign that things weren't working, what was?

I live far from my family. My husband's job demands frequent moves, so we go where his business is. I grew up in one part of the country and now I live in another.

Although the area we live in now is decent, I would probably not choose to live here of my own volition. I miss the beauty of my home state, and I miss my family terribly.

If I leave my husband, I'm going to find a little apartment here and stay in this area for as long as my husband does.

Yes, it would be much easier to pack up the kids and head back home, where I could undoubtedly stay with some relatives until I get on my feet. They probably wouldn't charge me rent or make me pitch in for groceries, and I'm pretty sure that they would be more than happy to take the kids occasionally so I could go job hunting or just have a few moments to myself.

So why won't I move back home? The main reason is this: Just because I want to leave my husband doesn't mean my kids want to leave him, too. They adore him. He's a good father, and my daughter favors him quite a bit.

Now don't get me wrong. I don't think that they would fare better with him if I granted him full custody. His patience with them is pretty thin after all-day exposure, but when he's gone at work all day and then comes home he's the coolest person ever, as far as the kids are concerned.

If we split up, it'll be hard enough for my kids, but if they're suddenly moved to an entirely different part of the country and never get to see the father who they adore, well, I'm pretty sure that's a recipe for therapy by the time they hit their 20s.

The plan is to stay right here in a town where I have no family and no reason to stay other than my husband, who — even if he becomes my ex-husband — is still the father to my kids. It will become really messy if he gets transferred to an entirely new location, but for now this is the only solution I can think of.

I once felt close to my husband. I used to feel like we were a team. It was no fun to have fights and disagreements with him, but when they happened it never felt like the end of the relationship was on the horizon. Instead, it just felt like we would someday have to figure out how to better communicate with one another, but it was nothing dramatic.

Then came what I like to call The Big Disconnect. He started ignoring me. I started resenting him. He started having a short fuse with the kids. I threw myself into my work. I tried to leave him. He told me he wanted to kill himself. After all that, I did my best to ignore my urges to leave and work on building the marriage back up.

The problem is this: I don't know how to reconnect. I've tried ignoring my feelings, but it's not working. How do you recover from being treated like a doormat? Heck, I know some marriages that have bounced back after affairs and all sorts of crazy stuff, so what is wrong with me? It's not like my husband has ever cheated on me, or smacked me across my face, or gambled away our life savings. Yet things still feel wrong. I can't shake the feeling, and I've done everything I can think of to reconnect with my husband. Am I just carrying a grudge? Do I just like drama? Am I trying to teach my husband a lesson? I don't think so. I mean, really, if I knew how to reconnect with my husband, I would have done it by now.

It would make everything so much easier if I could just flip a switch in my head and reconnect. How do I do it?

I had a pretty bad case of the so-called baby blues after my son was born. My daughter wasn't even 2 years old yet, my husband's work schedule had him going out of town quite a bit, and I didn't get much help at all, since both our families live in other states. From what I've heard, my mom dealt with post-partum depression to the point where she felt suicidal, so I knew that when I started to have the feelings of depression it was no joke. I figured I better tell my husband and we could figure out a solution together.

"I think I have some post-partum depression," I told him.

"Oh yeah?" he asked.

I didn't think he was getting it, so I let him in on an embarrassing fact. "Sometimes I fantasize about getting into a car accident just so I can spend some time in a hospital recovering. Maybe then I could get some rest and a little time to myself, as weird as that may sound."

He gave me a concerned look, and we made an appointment with my doctor. She agreed that I had some PPD and we decided together that I would combat it with exercise and wait it out to see if my hormones would stabilize.

The thing is this: After I intimated to my husband that I was so desperate for some time off from the kids that I was hoping for a debilitating injury, he still didn't step up any efforts to help me. I still got up every time the baby cried in the middle of the night. I still woke up every morning with the kids. My husband didn't offer to take the kids so I could get a nap once in a while. He never jumped in and took over some chores. In other words, the only thing that changed was that I had an actual diagnosis.

I eventually bounced back from my depression, but my marriage took a huge hit. It really opened my eyes as to what my husband assumed my role was, as well as his. I felt more alone during that time of my life than any other, and it shouldn't have been that way.

My husband is out of town on business right now. He's been gone for a few days and will come home by the end of the week, and I'm having a great time.  No, I'm not boozing it up at the bar or hosting wild parties. What I'm doing is working at night without having to deal with him sighing and complaining about all the writing I do.

I'm going to sleep at night without worrying that he'll want to have sex. Instead of huddling near the edge of the bed because he sleeps right in the middle of the bed, I'm sprawled out and sleeping like a baby. Instead of waking up wondering what tense situation I'll encounter throughout the day, I wake up with a day full of potential.

When I tell other wives that my husband is gone for the week, they give me a concerned look and ask me how I'm doing, as though having a husband out of town is the worst fate imaginable. I assure them I'm fine while on the inside I'm privately doing cartwheels. Should a wife really be this happy about getting some time away from her husband? Shouldn't I miss him terribly?

There is a big part of me that wishes that my husband heading out of town made me sad. I wish I could count the minutes until he returns, and welcome him home with open arms. Instead, I relish this time without him. I'm pretty sure that's not a good sign. Then again, maybe I'm just an independent type of woman who knows how to run a house without a husband around. Either way, it can't be good when I'm more relaxed without him around.

Months ago I tried to leave my husband. Those of you who have been reading my blog might remember that he played the suicidal feelings card and I haven't mentioned it since. Before I approached him with the idea of separation I prepared myself emotionally for the break as well as taking other steps toward going out on my own. One of the things I did was to stockpile some items I need on a regular basis so that when I left I wouldn't immediately have to go out and spend a bunch of money on stuff. It was like I was buying things for an extended vacation: extra contact lenses, shampoo, vitamins, all that sorts of stuff.

I didn't leave. I'm still not sure that I made the right decision by sticking around to try to work things out, and as if it wasn't hard enough to deal with this indecision I'm rudely reminded of it every day. When I open my medicine cabinet, there sits a stockpile of contact lenses. When I go into the linen closet, there sits a stockpile of toiletries. These items sit there unused, and if they could talk they would probably say, "Shouldn't we be somewhere else?"

Yes, I've reached the point where I think my toiletries are mocking me. Maybe I do need therapy.

My stockpile of goods remains untouched, and I can't decide whether using them will be cathartic or instead will freak me out. It seems to me, however, that I should be able to grab a shampoo bottle out of my closet without it sparking emotional turmoil. Really, who lives like this?!

I have a bad back. It's just something that developed after I went through labor with my son, but I guess if that's the worst thing to come from delivering a 10-pound baby then I'm still pretty lucky. My back problems come and go, but for the most part I'm okay as long as I don't try to lift too many heavy things too often.

Of course, my husband is familiar with my back problems. He's seen me stumble around in a muscle-relaxer-induced haze when my back is really bad, and he's footed the bill for the deep tissue massages I get regularly to try to stave off future back flare ups. In other words, he is well aware of the problems with my back.

Now let me tell you the correlation between my bad back and my contemplating divorce. Our laundry room is in the basement of our home, and so there are a couple of flights of stairs to navigate when it comes time to take the dirty clothes downstairs. We go through a lot of laundry in our house, so it's a constant battle to try to keep the dirty laundry from piling up in the bedroom hampers. I've asked my husband many times to please take the laundry down at regular intervals so I don't have to carry it down and risk aggravating my back. It seems like a reasonable request to me, but even though I have tried my best to assign him this chore -- which would be the only household chore he's responsible for -- he still ignores the piles of laundry unless I pull it all out into the hallway and ask him to take it downstairs.

I know all about the theory that you have to ask a man to specifically do something each and every time you want it done, but I truly don't understand why this particular task cannot simply be his responsibility without me constantly hounding him. I'm not asking him to do it because I don't want to do it myself. I'm asking him to do it because I'm supposed to avoid lifting heavy stuff.

It seems as though I've been in the process of deciding whether to leave my husband or not for such a long time. For some reason, I guess I just always assumed it would come down to one huge fight where one of us announced that the marriage was over. Then, after tears and discussion, we would go our separate ways. Ah, the naivety of youth.

It was about two months ago that I told Mike I wanted to separate, yet here I am, still in the marriage and still living with him. My goal has always been to make sure that I try absolutely everything possible before giving up, so that I can someday look back and know that I gave the marriage all I could. I don't want to look back on all this and think to myself that maybe, just maybe, it could have all worked out if I'd just tried something different. I don't look lightly upon the fact that I might be breaking up our family, and that someday I'll probably have to explain to my kids why it didn't work out.

So Mike and I go on dates almost every week. I'm going to counseling. I'm wearing myself out trying to keep the house in good order because for some bizarre reason I'm hoping that a clean house and dinner on the table will help the marriage.

I didn't realize how silly that sounds until I wrote it just now -- not that an orderly house doesn't help a marriage, but deep down I know that isn't the problem at all.

When is enough actually enough? At what point do I get to take a step back and say, "Okay, I've tried everything and I'm still miserable." Is there some huge epiphany that is supposed to hit me, or will I just grow tired of all this and give up?