Finding the Courage to Be Honest About My Unhappy Marriage

I was at the Cheesecake Factory with my husband, silently awaiting a couple joining our marriage mentor group. We hadn’t spoken the entire drive. When the couple arrived, smiling and holding hands, I slipped into my mentor role, greeting them with hugs and guiding them to sit. My husband smiled lightly, but I led most of the conversation.

As they settled, I felt exhaustion wash over me. For the next hour, I would pretend all was well. I initiated questions to know them better and explained the group dynamics. They inquired about how we met, the duration of our marriage, how we managed disagreements. Then came a question that caught me off guard: What was our secret to staying together? I likely mentioned communication, patience, and choosing each other. I said something safe, suitable for a marriage mentor to say.

I forced a smile, though a knot formed in my stomach. My body tensed because I was lying. I hadn’t been happy for a long time. Immersed in my job at Chipotle headquarters, I saw my husband rarely. It was simpler to stay late, respond to another email, or accept more work than to face the truth at home. But loyalty was embedded in my identity, and I clung to it. I crafted justifications for not leaving. One fear loomed large: losing the version of myself tied to being a ‘good wife.’ Who would I be without that identity? I feared becoming unrecognizable.

Then there was the judgment of others. How could I explain a divorce to the couples we mentored? To my church? To my mother? Nothing seemed bad enough to warrant drastic change. We shared good moments. There was no abuse or infidelity. Proof of my unhappiness was elusive.

So I stayed, convincing myself to be grateful. Others faced worse situations. Leaving would invite questions I had no answers for. I adjusted, convinced myself, “It’s not that bad,” and became exhausted from the pretense. I felt drained leading others in building strong marriages, knowing I no longer wanted mine.

One Friday evening, as my husband slept, I sat with a friend in my building’s lobby. I finally voiced, “I have to get a divorce.” I slumped over, depleted.

It’s been 12 years since that evening. I left the mentor group, found a new partner of a decade, and changed careers. The greatest transformation was accepting my feelings without resistance. I sometimes think of that couple in the booth, eager for our secret to longevity. I wished to offer simple, comforting advice. The true, unanswerable question was not about staying together but staying honest with oneself during the process.

My marriage persisted long after I ceased admitting the truth to myself about my desires. I thought a justified reason to leave was necessary. Now, I understand that honesty about my feelings was sufficient justification.