After we married, we weren't just together—we were together in the eyes of the law, God, and all our friends and family. We weren't just together but TOGETHER FOREVER. Pressure, anyone?
I wasn't commitment-phobic. I loved the security of always having my husband there. But what we had between us wasn't ours anymore. It was everyone's, and everyone was watching. Were we fighting? Was I cooking? Was he bringing home the bacon? Was that a baby bump? Why not? When would there be one?
A multitude of issues led to our final breakup. His parents expecting us to care for them in their old age and his mother's declining health (she had advanced stage Parkinson's disease). Our conflicting views on money and status (he cared, I didn't). His untreated depression and rage, my building resentment and bitterness. Finally, his affair and his mistress's pregnancy. The Frisky: Is Cheating Worse When You're Married?
Surprisingly, after all that, I still believed in love. After a few months of solitude, I started internet dating. In my ad, I wrote that I had been married before and knew it wasn't "all that," and if I ever got hitched again, it'd have to be in Las Vegas conducted by an Elvis impersonator.
After three years of bad dates, good dates, guys who were too busy, afraid of commitment, afraid of babies, and neurotic, I fell in love again. Tall, black-haired and blue-eyed, Alex was a computer programmer who played jazz guitar. He was smart and funny. He turned cursing into an art form, and had the purest soul I'd known.