In the beginning, I thought I had a good marriage. On the surface, it kind of was. It looked very good to the women I admired and who mentored me as a high schooler: he did have a romantic streak, and he showered me with attempts at romance and kindness: making dinner, flowers, candlelit baths, massages, etc. I focused on these gestures, and spoke of them to my parents and friends. Somewhere, I had picked up the piece of marital advice that wives should not complain about their husbands to their mothers or friends because they would not be there for apologies and reconciliation. Truthfully, this probably is somewhat good advice, but there are lines. Because of this advice, my separation was a complete shock for people who knew me. “We thought you were happy!” became a common theme. This is also probably one of the reasons why people became so quick to judge me as at fault in the demise: I left a perfectly good husband and wouldn’t really tell them why. It was actually somewhat reasonable. I don’t think their reaction was right in their lack of support, but I can understand where it came from.

There were some red flags. Before we were married, nobody told me that I shouldn’t marry him (at the time, I still adhered to the fundamentalist teaching of parents as authority even over their adult children, so I actually looked and waited for someone to tell me I shouldn’t marry him. Perhaps something deep inside me told me I shouldn’t. I think it probably did as I can remember once playing a game and having the thought, “This isn’t what I want,” but I dismissed it as pre-wedding jitters, my perfectionism, and too high expectations), but I did receive plenty of looks from my friends. A professor known on campus for his treatment of his wife noticed that Bob accidentally let the door shut on my face as we walked inside one day. He actually made Bob go back all the way outside and hold it open for me “properly.” We giggled over the incident.

Shortly after we married, I made plans to go on a field trip with my psychology department. I forgot to make them clear to Bob, however, and he scheduled a church interview for the same night. Determined to support my new husband, I informed the psychology professor in charge that I would not be attending. He asked me why, and I told him that Bob had an interview and I was going to support him.

“No!” he said sharply. “He should change his plans for you,” he exclaimed before marching off. I stood there completely stunned. I liked and respected this professor above all on campus, and he was not known for this type of outburst. Given this and a few other comments he made over the next two years, I know he did not like my husband.

To this day, I am completely embarrassed to show myself on campus. I have not talked to a professor since the dissolution of my marriage. Marriages at this school are not exactly known for their longetivity, and I still feel shame for the failure of my own. I had convinced myself that it would last because we were so committed to staying married, even through the hard times. I did receive one email from the wife of the professor who made Bob open the door for me. She is the counselor on campus and had done our premarital counseling. I gave her a brief rundown of what happened (the short, incomplete version of the story) and left it at that. I know that there were many holes in what I told her, and I have no idea what she made of it because I cut myself off from her directly after sending it.

I’ve had two other students from that school tell me that the professors all liked me and never understood why I married Bob. I do not know if that is actually correct or if they are just trying to help ease the humiliation. I would not be surprised if it is at least true that they didn’t like Bob–he had a rather poor reputation for his arrogance in class, but neither would I be surprised to learn that they actually didn’t like me too much either. I was always quiet and insecure, and my classwork usually came in sporadic phases of good and sloppy. Either way, I haven’t been back since, this time out of fear and shame as opposed to hurt.

Tags: Christianity, divorce, fundamentalism, marriage, young divorce

This entry was posted on Saturday, April 18th, 2009 at 3:03 am and is filed under Marriage, Divorce, Romance, Memories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.