He said he was leaving. She ignored him.

Let’s say you have what you believe to be a healthy marriage. You’re still friends and lovers after spending more than half of your lives together. The dreams you set out to achieve in your 20s — gazing into each other’s eyes in candlelit city bistros, when you were single and skinny — have for the most part come true.

O-Conell-and-Evey-movie-couples-16197664-1780-1167Two decades later you have the 20 acres of land, the farmhouse, the children, the dogs and horses. You’re the parents you said you would be, full of love and guidance. You’ve done it all: Disneyland, camping, Hawaii, Mexico, city living, stargazing.

Sure, you have your marital issues, but on the whole you feel so self-satisfied about how things have worked out that you would never, in your wildest nightmares, think you would hear these words from your husband one fine summer day: “I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. I’m moving out. The kids will understand. They’ll want me to be happy.”

But wait. This isn’t the divorce story you think it is. Neither is it a begging-him-to-stay story. It’s a story about hearing your husband say, “I don’t love you anymore” and deciding not to believe him. And what can happen as a result.

Here’s a visual: Child throws a temper tantrum. Tries to hit his mother. But the mother doesn’t hit back, lecture or punish. Instead, she ducks. Then she tries to go about her business as if the tantrum isn’t happening. She doesn’t “reward” the tantrum. She simply doesn’t take the tantrum personally because, after all, it’s not about her.

Let me be clear: I’m not saying my husband was throwing a child’s tantrum. No. He was in the grip of something else — a profound and far more troubling meltdown that comes not in childhood but in midlife, when we perceive that our personal trajectory is no longer arcing reliably upward as it once did. But I decided to respond the same way I’d responded to my children’s tantrums. And I kept responding to it that way. For four months.

“I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”

His words came at me like a speeding fist, like a sucker punch, yet somehow in that moment I was able to duck. And once I recovered and composed myself, I managed to say, “I don’t buy it.” Because I didn’t.

He drew back in surprise. Apparently he’d expected me to burst into tears, to rage at him, to threaten him with a custody battle. Or beg him to change his mind.

So he turned mean. “I don’t like what you’ve become.”

Gut-wrenching pause. How could he say such a thing? That’s when I really wanted to fight. To rage. To cry. But I didn’t.

Instead, a shroud of calm enveloped me, and I repeated those words: “I don’t buy it.”

You see, I’d recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. I’d committed to “the End of Suffering.” I’d finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. I’d seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it.

My husband hadn’t yet come to this understanding with himself. He had enjoyed many years of hard work, and its rewards had supported our family of four all along. But his new endeavor hadn’t been going so well, and his ability to be the breadwinner was in rapid decline. He’d been miserable about this, felt useless, was losing himself emotionally and letting himself go physically. And now he wanted out of our marriage; to be done with our family.

But I wasn’t buying it.

I said: “It’s not age-appropriate to expect children to be concerned with their parents’ happiness. Not unless you want to create co-dependents who’ll spend their lives in bad relationships and therapy. There are times in every relationship when the parties involved need a break. What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?”

“Huh?” he said.

“Go trekking in Nepal. Build a yurt in the back meadow. Turn the garage studio into a man-cave. Get that drum set you’ve always wanted. Anything but hurting the children and me with a reckless move like the one you’re talking about.”

Then I repeated my line, “What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?”


“How can we have a responsible distance?”

“I don’t want distance,” he said. “I want to move out.”

My mind raced. Was it another woman? Drugs? Unconscionable secrets? But I stopped myself. I would not suffer.

Instead, I went to my desk, Googled “responsible separation,” and came up with a list. It included things like: Who’s allowed to use what credit cards? Who are the children allowed to see you with in town? Who’s allowed keys to what?

I looked through the list and passed it on to him.

His response: “Keys? We don’t even have keys to our house.”

I remained stoic. I could see pain in his eyes. Pain I recognized.

“Oh, I see what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re going to make me go into therapy. You’re not going to let me move out. You’re going to use the kids against me.”

“I never said that. I just asked: What can we do to give you the distance you need … ”

“Stop saying that!”

Well, he didn’t move out.

Instead, he spent the summer being unreliable. He stopped coming home at his usual 6 o’clock. He would stay out late and not call. He blew off our entire Fourth of July — the parade, the barbecue, the fireworks — to go to someone else’s party. When he was at home, he was distant. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. He didn’t even wish me “Happy Birthday.”

But I didn’t play into it. I walked my line. I told the kids: “Daddy’s having a hard time, as adults often do. But we’re a family, no matter what.” I was not going to suffer. And neither were they.

My trusted friends were irate on my behalf. “How can you just stand by and accept this behavior? Kick him out! Get a lawyer!”

I walked my line with them, too. This man was hurting, yet his problem wasn’t mine to solve. In fact, I needed to get out of his way so he could solve it.

I know what you’re thinking: I’m a pushover. I’m weak and scared and would put up with anything to keep the family together. I’m probably one of those women who would endure physical abuse. But I can assure you, I’m not. I load 1,500-pound horses into trailers and gallop through the high country of Montana all summer. I went through Pitocin-induced natural childbirth. And a Caesarean section without follow-up drugs. I am handy with a chain saw.

I simply had come to understand that I was not at the root of my husband’s problem. He was. If he could turn his problem into a marital fight, he could make it about us. I needed to get out of the way so that wouldn’t happen.

Privately, I decided to give him time. Six months.

I had good days and I had bad days. On the good days, I took the high road. I ignored his lashing out, his merciless jabs. On bad days, I would fester in the August sun while the kids ran through sprinklers, raging at him in my mind. But I never wavered. Although it may sound ridiculous to say, “Don’t take it personally” when your husband tells you he no longer loves you, sometimes that’s exactly what you have to do.

Instead of issuing ultimatums, yelling, crying, or begging, I presented him with options. I created a summer of fun for our family and welcomed him to share in it, or not — it was up to him. If he chose not to come along, we would miss him, but we would be just fine, thank you very much. And we were.

And, yeah, you can bet I wanted to sit him down and persuade him to stay. To love me. To fight for what we’ve created. You can bet I wanted to.

But I didn’t.

I barbecued. Made lemonade. Set the table for four. Loved him from afar.

And one day, there he was, home from work early, mowing the lawn. A man doesn’t mow his lawn if he’s going to leave it. Not this man. Then he fixed a door that had been broken for eight years. He made a comment about our front porch needing paint. Our front porch. He mentioned needing wood for next winter. The future. Little by little, he started talking about the future.

It was Thanksgiving dinner that sealed it. My husband bowed his head humbly and said, “I’m thankful for my family.”

He was back.

And I saw what had been missing: pride. He’d lost pride in himself. Maybe that’s what happens when our egos take a hit in midlife and we realize we’re not as young and golden anymore.

When life’s knocked us around. And our childhood myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker-punch of them all: It’s not a spouse, or land, or a job, or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements, those relationships, can enhance our happiness, yes, but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be lethal.

My husband had become lost in the myth. But he found his way out. We’ve since had the hard conversations. In fact, he encouraged me to write about our ordeal. To help other couples who arrive at this juncture in life. People who feel scared and stuck. Who believe their temporary feelings are permanent. Who see an easy out and think they can escape.

My husband tried to strike a deal. Blame me for his pain. Unload his feelings of personal disgrace onto me.

But I ducked. And I waited. And it worked.


This essay originally appeared in The New York Times. Used with permission. All rights reserved. 

Editor’s note: On May 30, 2014, the author wrote an update to this essay on her blog.

[I]t was never about staying together. It was about taking care of yourself in a time when society says that you should suffer greatly, fight, splay yourself supplicant. I refused to do that. I felt that it was his crisis, and my job was to focus on what I could control and let go of the rest, which included the outcome of my marriage. I gave myself a stopping point. And eventually we stopped. And now we are divorced. Amicably. We are on to new chapters. All the players are thriving. And I’ve been given the opportunity to re-live the messages in my book/essay from a new angle. They still apply and they are still lifelines. And I can say that I know, without a doubt, that happiness is within. I’ll leave it at that. [Laura Munson]


Our Journey to Financial Peace

My husband Moses and I are busy again, but it’s a fulfilling busyness though. We are coordinating our 4th class and the first one for the New Year from Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University. You might ask, what’s our credentials to facilitate a financial class? None. But let me tell you about our journey and why we ended up facilitating a financial class.

In 2009, our friends in Florida who own a clothing company hired me to design their new office. So they flew me to Orlando, FL for a 3 day work excursion and when I arrived, I was so impressed as to how they progressed in their lives. On top of owning a thriving business, a 5 bedroom house, the latest BMW and Mercedes Benz and travelling around the world, I couldn’t deny the fact that I was envious. Then something caught my eye on their coffee table called Dave Ramsey’s ‘The Total Money Makeover. My friends who are Bible believers shared that although they are set up financially, they really don’t know the Godly ways of handling their money. I was inspired. She gave me the book for me to read and encouraged me to register for the Financial Peace University class.

fpu logo

I came back to LA and to my shame I never opened the book for awhile. Fast forward to 2012, Moses and I were struggling with our finances that was affecting our marriage. We didn’t know what we were doing. We fell into the bracket of debt-filled, ‘hopeIess’ Christians trying to survive from paycheck to paycheck. I woke up one day and was having extreme anxiety, I couldn’t breathe. I was anxious of not having enough savings, college funds, funds for Austria’s autism special programs, a retirement fund and a decent life insurance just in case one of us pass away. That same year, Moses was in and out of the hospital due to gallstones and swollen gallbladder and medical bills were piling up.

Being bipolar didn’t help because my anxiety was magnified 10 times more and I became resentful of my life and my marriage. Obviously, my faith in the sovereignty of God was out the door. I reacted to my emotions and did more stupid things that made our situation worst and hurt our marriage more. Deep inside, I was crying out to God for help. I was familiar with this feeling of hopelessness that I experienced in my 20′s when I thought of committing suicide before I knew about God’s salvation. He was just waiting for me to be still and trust that he is looking out for our needs. God was waiting for that moment of humility from us. We needed to be humble in asking for help because his answers to all our financial miseries and insecurities are all in the bible.

After all this, I remembered the book my friend gave me about Dave Ramsey. I pulled it out from my bookshelf and read it. I searched more about ‘handling money God’s ways’ in his website which led me to discover the Financial peace classes. I told Moses we need to register for this class and shared with him the hope that I have for our struggling marriage.

I remember on our way to our first class, we had an argument. I felt like I was more enthusiastic than him and i was just dragging him to this class. I cried with frustration, my eyes were red and puffy coming to the class. I did however consider the fact that he didn’t have the proper knowledge to deal with our finances and was overwhelmed as to how to lead our family financially.

During the class, I was praying, hoping that this endeavor would provide direction and enlightenment for us. Again, God was gracious for answering my prayers. After watching the first video, we looked at each other with mixed emotions. We were stunned, convicted, encouraged, enlightened and empowered. We took a deep breath, held each other’s hand, we hugged and since then there was no turning back. We were committing ourselves to a path of handling money God’s way.

“One definition of maturity is learning to delay pleasure. Children do what feels good; adults devise a plan and follow it. “                                           –Dave Ramsey

The next 13 weeks was a true journey. We laughed, we cried, we argued and we became unified. It challenged us to take personal responsibility, it corrected our character of being undisciplined, it showed us practical ways as to how to save, invest, set up our kids’ college fund, build wealth and secure our retirement. We fully embraced all the biblical, practical and relevant pieces of advice in the class. We tackled our debts with full intensity and saved tremendously. We ended up in better shape than we ever thought possible. There was a bit of regret, we wished we have known this earlier in our single years before getting married. :) The decision to do “FPU” helped increase our faith that God is taking care of our needs. But the most rewarding part of the class is capturing God’s heart of giving.

We felt refreshed going through the life saving series of classes. We were truly grateful that God showed us His answers of having true financial peace. Because of this experience, we were compelled and excited to share this with our friends. It’s like having that feeling of redemption when God forgave us of our sins. We realized a lot of our friends and members in our church who were also drowning in debt, struggling with giving or not even giving at all to church. On top of that, a number of them have marriage problems because of finances. So we made a decision, that we will share this to our friends and that we will not be defined by other people and by societies definition of what we have or don’t have in lives.

So if you ask, do we have financial peace now? Yes. Not that we have a million in the bank, a fully paid house or a diversified portfolio, but we have peace because we have a direction, a blue print as to how to get there. And for some who are already there, I believe that no matter how much money you have, you will still need to learn how to handle God’s money and how to give it away. :)

      “A good man (and woman) leaves an inheritance to his children’s children..” Proverbs 13:22

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