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19th July
As expected, the counsellor had no solution. No words of wisdom. Not for this.
He wants kids. I don’t.
We’ve found pretty much the one thing that can’t be compromised on.
Feel totally depleted. Honestly have no idea how I’ve ended up back here.
I was doing so well. All that work, all that progress. And here I am. Back at the start of this stupid nightmare. Great job.
I let myself believe, actually let my dumb self start to hope, that it might work. The counselling. We were talking. It was friendly. He was being honest. Finally being honest. Even started to take accountability. Which is nothing short of a miracle.
Then came that question: “What do you want for your future?”
I spoke about my career goals, finding something I love to do. Freedom. Dancing. Getting a dog. Travelling. Financial stability. He watched me with this weird, helpless expression. I knew what was coming. I just knew.
“I really want kids.”
And boom. That was that.
The whole time leading up to this, I’d been telling myself that I don’t want him, don’t love him, can’t forgive him, it won’t work. Bla bla bla. Turns out I’m quite excellent at lying to myself. Because while I drowned in the suffocating silence that followed, two very clear thoughts formed in my mind.
We are never getting back together.
He is the only thing that I want.
Fun insights. Very sobering. Very real. Strange feeling. Chilling, crushing and freeing all at once.
Because. Why? What the fuck?!
We didn’t really know what to do then. Just hung out for the day. Ignored the child-shaped elephant in the room and built a time machine back to our prime.
Did all the things we used to do. Rewatched our favourite episodes of The Office. And Psych. The first shows we bonded over. Made food. Then ordered more. Listen to the whole Shrek 2 soundtrack. Danced. Cried. Lyrics took on a whole new meaning. Who knew Shrek was so profound? Not me.
It was really lovely, actually. Just us again.
Played a game “How well do you know your family?” Turns out we know each other pretty damn well. Don’t think anyone will ever know me like he does. Don’t think I want anyone to know me like he does. Ever.
We decided that, whatever happens, we want to be friends. Best friends. To stay in each other’s lives. Can’t lose each other. Walking away, saying goodbye, would feel so wrong. There’s too much history. Too much love. The cheating, the lying, everything. None of it matters anymore. Not really.
Didn’t want to leave. Really struggled to let go of him when we hugged. Was crying too much to take a bus, so just walked home in the rain. All hit me then. This immense, excruciating, overpowering grief. Like my skin was trying to twist itself inside out.
Feels different, this new heartbreak. Less shocking, less chaotic and confusing. Just quiet. Hollow in its finality. No choices to make. No hope to cling to.
Just done.
Seems really unfair. How easy everything was at the start. How our love story was so ridiculously perfect. For so long.
Now it’s like we’ve emerged on the other side of the fairy tale. After the credits roll. Once “happily ever after” has been achieved. Young love has grown up. And everything, the promises, dreams and visions that once seemed so tangible, are suddenly completely unattainable. Like our lifetime of happiness was only ever temporary.
Feels like a sadder end than if we had just grown apart. That we haven’t stopped loving each other. That we never will. But our dreams don’t align. So it doesn’t matter. It’s not enough.
But. Maybe we’ll figure something out. Maybe one of us will change our mind. Said we’d give it a few days. Think it over.
25th July
Work kinda sucks. I was right. Cormac is creepy. Hasn’t done anything real bad. Just subtle creepiness. Lingering too long. Throwing out rogue comments. Hard to put into words. But very uncomfortable.
Anyway. Least of my worries. All I can think about is Shane.
Back to not sleeping. Spent last night looking up ways to convince myself to want kids. Didn’t work. Obviously. It’s just not something I’ve ever wanted. Since I can remember.
Apparently, women are meant to get a feeling, some biological urge, once they turn 30 (ish). A baby fever that makes even the most staunchly child-free women broody. Doubts and fears shrivel in the face of a tiny pair of shoes or a soft little hand wrapped around your finger. I seem to be immune.
And I love babies. Love children. I see how happy they make people. How fulfilled they are by parenthood. It’s cute. Doesn’t change the way I feel. Don’t want it. Can’t justify the sacrifices. To my body, to my freedom, to my future.
People are asking why we didn’t talk about this before we got married. But we did. A lot.
He knew. I knew. We knew.
He said, at the time, that having me was more important than having kids. Guess that’s not true anymore. Do feel a little like he’s sprung this on me. Saying he wants kids in the next two years. Seems a little crazy. Very sudden.
Thought maybe it was a way to get me to commit. To him. Something like that. But at this point in my life, starting a family is the furthest thing from my mind. Every single part of my life has been flipped on its head and burnt to a crisp. Barely able to take care of myself these days. Realised yesterday that I couldn’t remember the last time I drank water.
And he wants to bring a child into this? Can you imagine? The poor thing.
I guess he’s looking for a purpose. Told him he needs to find that without creating a human. But anyway. If that’s what he wants, if that’s his truth. Can’t argue with it. No matter how flawed his logic seems to me.
He wants to meet up later. Go for a walk. Allowed myself to drift off into a fantasy. That he’d reconsidered. Didn’t last long. Because even if he tells me that he’s had a change of heart, facts are facts. He wants this. I don’t. Would become a weird underlying tension that runs through our lives.
It’ll be there every time a friend gets pregnant. Or we see a Dad playing catch with his kid. I’ll see it in his eyes. The yearning. The sacrifice. The resentment.
We’ll get a few good years. Maybe. But at least one of us will end up unhappy. Probably both. Either he’ll never get to start a family and will hate me for taking that from him. Or I’ll give in. Have a kid. Out of guilt. Or obligation. Which. Like. No. That’s awful.
And we’ll be older. Angrier. More intertwined. So yeah. There is no way out of this. No going back.
Anyway. We’ll be friends. We’ll both get everything we want. Separately. It’s a good solution. It’s perfect. Just two best pals who used to be married. I think that’s beautiful. No need to say goodbye.
People are telling me that it’s not going to work.
But it will. I think it will.
26th July
Yeah. So that’s not going to work. I can’t be his friend. Not now. Maybe not ever. Can’t pretend to be okay. Hang out as pals as if we’ve not just decided to end our marriage. It’s too weird. Too hard and painful.
He seems fine. Unburdened. Started pulling away from me. Putting up walls. That’s when it dawned on me. Don’t know how I didn’t see it before. Either I’m deranged, delusional or just plain dumb. But I finally came to my senses. This safe little fantasy world we’d created crumbled when I realised that he was playing with me to get everything he wanted.
Keeping me close, on his terms. This way, he doesn’t lose me. But also doesn’t have to take responsibility. Can run with the narrative that we broke up because of “kids”. The cheating is forgotten. The betrayal becomes a footnote. The months of torment he put me through are shrugged off, and at the end of the day, he’s still the nice guy.
Anger returned. Enveloped me in an ear-splitting, chest-clenching panic. Muscles knotted into painfully tense lumps. Made a very abrupt departure. Stormed off while he was talking. Didn’t say goodbye. Just walked away. Haven’t answered his calls. Stopped responding to him. Don’t want to talk to him. Ever again.
Called in sick to work. Cormac isn’t happy. I don’t care. About anything. I just can’t. Can’t do this anymore. Don’t trust myself. Or my judgement. Want to hand over the reins of my life to someone less naive.
But yeah. Long story short. We can’t be friends.
Keep Reading Here - Entry #13 - Into Raptures
This is raw and honest in a way that hurts to read. The progression from the hollow grief of the 19th to the clarity and anger of the 26th, that shift from "we'll be friends" to "we can't be friends" is so real. The way you describe the "child-shaped elephant" and the realization that he was keeping you close on his terms cuts deep. And the anger returning, not just at the situation but at the manipulation? That's the part that feels truest.
What do you think hurt more, losing him, or realizing you were being kept as an option while he got to rewrite the story?