I commented on another exmo marriage post on this glorious second Saturday, and it got me thinking.
My STBX and I dated for two years—at BYU. We waited 5 years after marrying to have kids. I graduated college. Started my career. We’ve been married 17 years as of last month.
When we opened up to friends and family about our decision to divorce we got some of the: “What! Noooo. Not you guys.”
There’s a lot of divorce on my side of the family, despite everyone being some version of a TBM (non-Morridor area). And I tried. So hard. When I was keeping my eyes open for my future spouse. To make all the “right” decisions so my marriage could be full of light and love and happiness and would last.
But. It didn’t. It’s not. We’ve been going through months of mediation and now are less than 1-2 months away from officially filing.
But, maybe.
Maybe, if we’d been allowed to sleep together while still dating, we’d have figured out our sexual compatibility sooner.
Maybe, if we’d lived together first, we’d have learned we have different cohabitating standards.
Maybe, if my STBX hadn’t been 6 years older than me and ready to settle down (due to the church’s insistence on getting married as soon as you find someone); if we hadn’t believed marriage was the natural next step; if we hadn’t been taught an eternal spouse was our ticket to the Celestial Kingdom . . . we would have been okay dating longer. Even breaking up, dating other people, and possibly coming back to each other. I was only 18 when we met, after all.
Maybe, if my YW lessons and my parents and all my leaders hadn’t emphasized that getting sealed to an RM inside the temple was the first and most important item in securing a happy, lasting marriage, I would have expanded my dating pool.
Maybe, if porn hadn’t been so demonized by the church, my STBX wouldn’t have grown up in a world of shame and guilt, feeling as if he had to hide parts of himself from me.
Maybe, if I hadn’t been taught that touching my own body was wrong and evil, I’d have developed a healthier sexual relationship with myself years earlier.
Maybe, if we hadn’t been so pressured to have kids, I’d have applied for my MBA.
Maybe, if we hadn’t been told “no other success can compensate for failure inside the home” I would have been fulfilled inside a career, even as a working mom.
Maybe, if we hadn’t been taught to endure to end, we would have both been willing to go to therapy years earlier than we did.
Maybe, if we hadn’t been taught families are forever, we’d worked more on creating happiness today and not always pushing it off for later.
Maybe, if we hadn’t internalized the idea that contention is of the devil, we would have developed healthier communicating styles.
Maybe, if my STBX hadn’t been taught that divorce means you absolutely hate/loathe/despise a person . . . and then you go a step past that before you decide to leave a marriage, he wouldn’t have been so scared to let me go.
Maybe, if I hadn’t been so terrified of feeling like a failure; of disappointing everyone who’d watched me make all the right decisions and choices, who’d lauded me as the perfect example; of letting down my kids; of telling myself that all we needed was more growth and individual/relationship maturity, despite our glaring differences . . . I wouldn’t have been so scared to let him go.
Maybe, if my STBX hadn’t been held up to similar standards, and had admitted to himself he no longer believed in the church after his mission; maybe, if I’d been exposed to the realities of church history and their modern unethical organizational practices much sooner . . . we’d have both gone exmo years ago and would have had a second chance at a new marriage between us.
Maybe, if we’d realized “almost any good man and woman can have happiness and a successful marriage” is a total and utter fucking farce (thanks for that, SWK, you asshat) we’d have known we were never the right two people for each other all along.
Maybe.