It’s a time we don’t necessarily bring up at family gatherings, or giggle about when reminiscing about our past together (like that one time in an elevator in Vegas). Sure, we think about it, but we rarely ever talk about it. My heart literally shudders at the mere recollection of words spoken between us once upon a time about four years ago. I hate thinking about what we *almost* did.
We were married a mere 8 months when we entered the oilfield family. As I’ve told you before, I fought it every step of the way. Deep down I hoped it would give us the life we have today, and it has, but back then I wanted no part of it. Any of it. I was appalled that my husband wanted to enter a job that took him away from me for so long. We had just gotten married, my heart was finally happy, and this was about to ruin it all. It was then our marriage began to change.
Sure, we knew that our marriage would evolve over time, as each of us would certainly change as well. I didn’t think I’d be this angry so soon. I was still so insecure and so dependent on him. I was angry enough that the boom was turning our entire town and community upside-down, now it was making my marriage spiral out of control. The oilfield, initially, turned me into a crying mess and my husband into an (excuse my language) asshole. What?! It’s true, and many of you know it! It changes them. But, that’s for another time.
Anyway, fast forward a year and a half later. We bought our first house and became parents (because newlywed stress and jobs weren’t enough excitement). We were sleeping in separate bedrooms, me co-sleeping with a colicky baby, and him trying to get as much rest as possible between shifts and hitches. We might as well have been roommates. It isn’t that we hated each other, nor had we fallen out of love. We were exhausted, stressed, and just trying to make it day to day.
One evening we had both had enough. I can’t speak for him and what he was feeling, but I was done. I was done feeling “alone” all the time. I was done being exhausted. I was done missing out on the traditional “family” gig that I had always dreamed of. I was done with his attitude, his job, and everything that made him the man I swear I didn’t marry. “I want a divorce!” he screamed at me from the guest bedroom. “Thank God! So do I!” I shouted back. Relief. There, we said it. The words that had been haunting our minds for months. We didn’t speak until the next evening.
The time between those words and the next time we spoke felt like a grief-stricken eternity of past break-up hell. It was excruciating. I didn’t mean it. Did he? Was this really happening? Surely we can work this out. There’s got to be more than this! More to say. More to do. Something’s got to happen. I don’t remember what we said, but I do remember knowing that it was never going to happen. From that moment on, everything changed.
We never really spoke about it. We could look at each other and apologize with our expressions. We also knew we both never meant for it to get that far. We were wrong, and we were sorry. We were finally on the same page. Life and the stresses of continued, but we learned new ways to cope. We came out stronger. Happier.