"Love is the ability and willingness to allow those you care to be what they choose for themselves without insisting that they please you." ~ Wayne Dyer
When I married my ex, he had the potential to be a fantastic husband.
To be honest with you, that's why I married him – I thought he could be anything I wanted from a partner at some point. I am not proud of it.
To be fair, he had a lot to offer. He was pretty and creative. He was generous and romantic. My ex was a real gentleman. He dressed well and was more grown up than any man I had ever dated.
He knew how to grow up and I found it incredibly attractive.
Still, he had an advantage that didn't feel right – at least not for me. His sweeping gestures felt fake most of the time, but try telling your friends that you want to break up with a man because he left a mixed ribbon on the windshield of your car, or because he wrote you a love poem, or because he wrote it insisted on the transfer of his seat to one of your (male) friends.
"You're just not used to being loved," they told me, so I thought about it and instead focused on letting love in.
Just about two months after our relationship, he asked a business colleague of mine how much money he was making each year.
I almost died.
If he had blown this question out in a moment of thoughtlessness, I would not have made it a meal, but that was not the case. He asked this question because he thought it was a perfectly reasonable question.
Right there and then I thought, no, that won't work. My limits are here. His are far over there. We are not compatible. I told him too, but he had a mission and only one mission: to love me.
"Don't worry," he assured me. "I would have no problem if someone asked me about my salary, but I understand that you are uncomfortable, so I will not ask such questions anymore."
Of course he did. He continued to work in his comfort zone, which was far outside of mine. I kept expressing my discomfort. Again and again he promised to adapt. And again and again I suppressed the concern that he was not the right person for me, and just hoped that at some point he would face the challenge that I was facing him.
For ten years I asked my ex to be the husband I wanted.
One who is able to follow basic social protocols. One that was picked up quickly and easily. I wanted him to care more about our long-term financial wellbeing, free people from his hugs when they felt uncomfortable, to make his public expressions of affection less public. The list went on.
Damn, I knew he had the potential to be and do all of this and more. He had the potential to be an excellent partner, but for me, despite my requests and despite his well-meaning promises, he wasn't.
One day he announced that he didn't feel like he did when he was in my company.
"How long have you been feeling this way?" I asked.
"For about ten years," he replied. About a year less than the total length of our relationship.
"When did you find out?" I asked. "Last week," he said. He was standing in the park opposite our suburban house, talking to a few suburban women and feeling perfectly comfortable – until I came along.
The moment I joined the crowd, he felt uncomfortable. As if he could no longer be just himself. I felt sick, but I understood.
How could he have felt in my company when I constantly wished he was someone else? Obviously, he couldn't. As I took on my role in this situation, I still felt buckets of anger over his.
Why, oh why, hadn't he told me where to put my expectations?
We were both to blame.
Shortly after this conversation, I found a phone bill that had mysteriously disappeared. This bill put the last nail in our coffin. I learned from this that my ex had spoken on the phone (sometimes twice a day) to another woman, my daughter's caretaker.
If you think this will take a dirty turn, I tell you now that this is not one of those stories where husband-wife-for-hot-boy-nanny stories.
She, the supervisor, was a married, ecclesiastical mother of three, who was only a few years younger than I was. While a physical attraction was probably one of the things that drew him to her, I guess the greater attraction was the freedom it gave him to be himself.
If only I understood what I understand now. You cannot base a marriage on potential.
My ex had the potential to be who I wanted him to be, but the desire to be himself was stronger. I also had the potential to have and hold it, for better and for worse, but my compulsion to change it was stronger.
In retrospect, he and I had no chance. Still, I don't regret it. Not only was my daughter born from this relationship, I am also wiser for this experience. I've learned that we people who don't want to change cannot change, and if we relate to that expectation, it will surely end badly.
Is it wrong to want more of those we love?
No, I don't think so.
There is nothing wrong with hoping that a relationship like a good wine will improve with age. Shouldn't we at least believe that what we make is enough to support us before we make a lifelong commitment? That the person we commit to is enough?
If we can start with a solid foundation of respect and acceptance, everything else will be icing on the cake. A nice, but not a deal breaker if expectations are not met.
I was wrong here.
I was not there for the cake. I was only there because of the icing.
About Vivienne Singer
Viv is a freelance writer, blogger, and life coach who strives to understand her own motives, actions, and responses to lead her most authentic life. In 2017 she started vivfortoday.com, where she blogs her heart out. Through her blog and coaching business, she helps others live with peace, joy and determination. If you want to learn more about Viv, subscribe to her newsletter or follow her on Instagram.
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