Read Online Harley and Me by Bernadette Murphy - Free Book Online Page A

more.”
    â€œThings aren’t so bad,” he says. “We’ll get through this.”
    â€œI’m not so sure.”
    He thinks that whatever is wrong will pass, that this is a phase I’m going through. And clearly, I’m the only one going through it. But night after night, I wake up and stare at the ceiling, feeling alone and alienated and unsure of how to proceed. I feel so distanced from him it hurts. I sleep on the couch most every night. Sharing a bed with someone who feels so far away creates a deep, abiding ache. It’s one thing to be alone. It’s another to be coupled and awash in loneliness.
    It’s not the first time we’ve sought counseling. I signed us up a few years ago when our middle son was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder and needed psychiatric care. The counseling helped a bit withmy feelings of abandonment in dealing with our son’s illness, but I had not then felt as desperate as I do now. Throughout the marriage I’ve been the motor behind things: deciding where the kids will go to school, what dentist we’ll use, where we’ll live, how we’ll spend our summers, what we’ll eat, how we’ll pay for college, when counseling is needed. This time, I need to not be alone making the decision. I ask him to make us an appointment, hoping he’ll recognize he’s got skin in this game.
    Weeks pass after the bathtub conversation. A month, maybe two. I bring up my request again. Eventually, he makes the appointment.
    My unhappiness in our marriage first came up more than a decade ago, but after discussing it with J a number of times, nothing changed. I wanted him to acknowledge that our marriage wasn’t ideal, that he held as high a standard as I did when it came to our couplehood. Once we were together on that same page, I thought, we’d come up with a plan to improve things. But my concerns were met with blankness, as though my unhappiness did not pertain to him. Sure, our relationship was not great, but whose was?
    So I simply stopped mentioning my despair. What’s the point in harping if a solution is not to be found? Besides, we were busy raising three children and keeping a roof over our heads.
    But this time feels different. I am coming to the end of my rope. I may already be there.
    â€¢ • •
    We talk about the things you talk about in couple’s counseling: the need to make time for each other, to go on dates, to partake in activities the other likes. We have both grown so used to doing what we want to do individually, this is a radical shift. He arranges an outing into the city to see a play, and I take his arm as we stroll to the theater. We play Frisbee at the park. I set up a beach day and we pack a picnic for two and bring the dog. I can’t see that he’s enjoying himself any more than I am.
    I feel dead inside. I suspect he does as well.
    I believe he views me as a wife and mother, not the interesting, creative person I know myself to be. He acknowledges me for the domestic tasks I accomplish, not for the human being I am. Likewise, I believe J has kept himself locked away in a shell of his own making, that he either doesn’t know himself well enough to share that authentic self with me, or he doesn’t care to. It’s hard to love someone who won’t show you himself, and it’s harder still to feel another’s love when you do not believe you’re visible.
    We try, but we fail.
    Long ago I stopped hoping that the obstacles we faced as a couple might pave a path to greater connection. Though marriage handbooks speak lyrically about how every challenge can be a door to deeper understanding, my experience has been the opposite.
    Instead of drawing us closer, moments of deep, frank discussion only push us apart, like the repelling ends of a pair of magnets. We keep digging ourselves in deeper.
    The truth is, we’re basically mismatched. I’m a writer who cares