“Traditional wisdom encouraged me to remain in my marriage if I wanted to work on my marriage. For once, I disregarded instructions.

On Mother’s Day of last year, after years of trying to become pregnant, I still wasn’t a mother. I stopped attempting to work out the kinks in my marriage with Jesse when we saw that they had become into knots. I sent him a letter that I had been writing and rereading for two weeks because I was tired of trying to sort it all out and tie it back together. I was prepared to undo the knot we had made eight years before.

Jesse began by saying, “I’m blindsided,” something I had heard often in previous chats. I had expected him to understand my sentiments without my overtly revealing them to him.

How could he have missed this? How could he have gone months—no, years—without seeing me drifting away? I had to go out in part because of it. He spent so much time attempting to patch things up that he didn’t even realize I had left.

Others didn’t either. From the outside, we seemed to have the typical high school romance and the ideal lifestyle: fulfilling employment, time for travel, active social lives, loved local families, and the “freedom” to live without children.

We had everything, but I didn’t want any of it. Why was I acting strangely?

But if you peel back just a little bit further, you’ll see that the framework of our life swallowed our marriage whole. And in the setting of our marriage, I no longer recognized myself. Although we shared a roof, it appeared that over time, none of us had consulted the other before redecorating the walls in our thoughts.

Jesse brought up money. I fantasized of relocating someplace far. He wanted to go golfing. I wanted to dine leisurely while strolling across the park on a terrace in the sun. He chose TV by default. My go-to choice was books. Even though our lives were inextricably entwined, I had problems recalling the initial connections that had brought us together.

Cheating was a symptom of our estrangement, not its root. We both engaged in it. We each spoke the truth. We also made an effort to fix what was broken.

We began chatting and walking together instead of depending on drugs or drink to give us a false feeling of connectedness. We began expressing how we were feeling and why instead of assuming the other person could read our minds. We stopped arranging arrangements with other people and began scheduling date evenings instead.

However, the effort was unsuccessful. Sparks did not fly. Pressure and resentment increased. My body’s biological clock started to alert.

No one plans to divorce before being married, yet over half of us do. And more than half of those who remarry will also remarry after a divorce. What do we neglect to alter? What exactly do we not learn?

I didn’t try a different strategy till the epidemic. One of Jesse’s closest childhood friends unexpectedly moved in with me as a roommate during the epidemic, and I did a lot more work from my kitchen counter and less traveling. I quit my challenging corporate career and then took a position that was much more challenging. It was a fully unconnected existence while being hooked in.

However, I managed to ask for assistance—something I had never learned how to do. I began looking for advice from a variety of sources. Initially, see a private therapist. Next, a perceptive life counselor. eventually find Jesse and I a couples therapist. In between were women’s organizations, literature clubs, and psychics.

These strangers questioned me on things I had never thought to inquire. Why was I afraid to go? Was I displaying the openness I assumed he would have? Why did I not think well of myself? What characteristics in a spouse were my non-negotiables, and which ones were missing? I became aware that I could have been more estranged from myself than from my spouse as a result of these issues and my inability to provide solutions.

After spending thousands of dollars and having several lengthy chats, I finally found myself.

I thus focused more on searching inside myself and spent less time asking for advice from others. My marriage served as both a stressor and a rock for me.

I was afraid of being alone myself, but I had to go.

I escaped Jesse’s trap. My own trap had been set. My whole existence was based on what I was “supposed to” do and what other people expected of me. Make wise decisions, achieve academic success, get a nice career, find love, have kids.

According to conventional thinking, you should remain married if you want to work on your marriage. For once, I deviated from instructions.

I eventually worked up the guts to ask for what I wanted—space and time to find who I was and what I wanted out of our marriage—which was another thing I’d never learned how to accomplish. Jesse readily accepted the request. He overcame his dread of our separation out of love for me.

I shut my home door less than 90 days later and prepared to travel alone for a month in Tucson, Arizona. The temptation to weep struck me as I pulled my vehicle out of our driveway, but none flowed. I had a full tank of gas but was completely out of fuel. I was tired of acting the part and focusing only on my “commitments.”

I worked too much and slept too little in my rented one-bedroom shack, but I never felt more alive. I went on my own. Standing alone in front of the stove, I had macaroni and cheese. I went alone exploring the town. In dive pubs, I listened to live music alone. I rediscovered my passion for living alone. I rediscovered my love for being alone myself.

I missed Jesse’s qualities that I had ceased valuing. Things like bringing water to my bedside every night, placing his hand on my back while I slept off, and putting out the garbage are little gestures. But I didn’t miss our dinner table talk, which was followed by three minutes of blank stares across the table. I didn’t miss pacing the house on Saturday morning as I got ready to go errands while waiting for him to come out of bed. I didn’t miss deciding to have sex when there were other things I would rather be doing. And here I thought I was “supposed to” miss my hubby more when I was away.

I felt better when I got home, but the marriage didn’t. The delight I felt alone seemed to reinforce that I “should” be single, if anything. I could feel Jesse nesting as I was subconsciously running away as I welcomed him in the driveway with my arms outstretched in a welcome-home embrace. I loathed the prospect of getting him to think anything other than, “Our work here is done,” as he was thinking. I didn’t want to harm him any more than I already had.

The thrill of finding myself again was replaced with remorse for abandoning the marriage I was meant to be repairing. But remaining was far crueler than leaving, particularly if you don’t feel a connection. I was certain that someone else would value the individual I overlooked. We continued to attempt in an effort to uphold our history and commitment to one another: more walks and conversations, but no more chemistry than before I departed on the first trip.

A year later, still feeling guilty but confident of my need for solitude, I departed once again for a mountain retreat in northern Arizona. We referred to it as a separation this time.

Jesse also reconnected with himself throughout that month. He tried his hand at cooking, read books on dating advice, walked the dog further, went to the gym more often, and painted by numbers while vinyl records played in the background.

I left my corporate job, cleared my social schedule, went alone to my closest friend’s wedding, and neglected most of my friendships all in the same month. I applied to Teach for America in an effort to prioritize my goals before money, as well as other jobs to build a safety net, and I read and meditated more than ever before. I was taking apart the webs I had created with the larger goal of unraveling the knot when I returned.

To my amazement, the Mother’s Day divorce discussion from the previous year evolved into a vow-exchange that would be kept if we made the decision to divorce. We spoke about each other in the same ways that we would speak about our friends and relatives. We also stated things about each other that we would never normally say. We were only ever discovering the brightest light in each other at our darkest, most difficult times.

We also discussed how much progress we had accomplished together. We had shared a childhood. Together, we had traveled the globe. Every step of the way, we had been there for one another. We had attempted to become pregnant but had no luck. We remained the best of friends.

He caressed my back and held me in his lap while he made it obvious that he did not want to give up on us but that he wouldn’t stop me from finding a new partner if he was no longer able to make me happy. It was like he finally noticed me when he finally grasped how I felt.

The marriage seemed lighter than ever as the threat of divorce hovered in the air.

Your marriage is exposed as what it is made of by a controlled fire. In our situation, it showed that there was fresh vegetation emerging from the ashes. The branches and trunk were disfigured and burnt, yet the roots buried in the ashes remained firm.

Sunlight was now shining on what was formerly hidden. The vegetation was removed. The truth came to light. That is the truth’s beauty and wonder. However, you cannot burn it; you may attempt to bury it or cover it up.

You don’t always need a new spouse, the fact is. Sometimes all you need is a fresh connection. first with yourself, then with your partner.

I didn’t learn about Jillian Turecki’s dating advice until lately. She firmly believes that when you rekindle your relationship with yourself, your spouse will do the same. She exhorts individuals to examine the portions of themselves that are clinging to neglect, the things they’ve stopped doing, and the places they’ve ignored. What stimulates your sense of life? She advises doing more of it as “you can only love others when you love yourself first.” Included in it is “having more fun and spending time apart.”

We only notified a select group of our closest relatives and friends each times I traveled for my month-long vacations. We were on guard while they were anxious. I now know that I may want to worry about them. They can be disregarding parts of themselves. Perhaps they are trapped in a loop of accepting the common wisdom that tells us to put our marriages and families before our own interests. Or maybe they’re simply afraid.

I think that what I needed the most was also what I dreaded the most. I would be more alone now than I ever was throughout our break if I had continued to live with Jesse at our apartment. I still need to untie a few knots, but I’ll have to do it on my own.

We both came to realize that saving our marriage required going through the challenging but exciting process of discovering the wilderness inside.

Mother’s Day this year seems to be nicer and different than we had anticipated. We’re in love, but we’re not quite out of the woods. And we’re trying once more—to have a child and to save our marriage. Whether or whether it is required of us.

As it happens, the job is effective. Simply said, digging up your own emotions, ambitions, and goals is more difficult than uprooting other aspects of your life. And asking for the freedom and security that marriage may provide wasn’t too much to ask.

However, we had to let go of each other first. That is what draws us back time and time again.