Dating Kit

Adventures of a Single Girl…

The day my husband married another woman

on June 2, 2016

So this Saturday is the day my husband got married.

It’s been almost four years since we split, and while I’m still single, dating madly, and sharing my stories with you all, he’s getting married to somebody else.

It’s not easy to be the one not getting remarried while the other one does- though I have my theories about his life since our marriage ended. But I thought I’d share our story for those who’ve been through it, or God forbid, still have to get through their own version.

We hear about the fights, custody battles, house settlements but when the ink has dried on those events, there are many others that have to be dealt with over time, and half of a marriage remarrying is one of them.

We never thought we’d end up splitting up, but we did. At the time, it didn’t occur to me that either of us would end up marrying again, but here that day is.

We had many good times, as couples do.

We were each other’s person. He knew me, and what made me tick. He used to just sit and hold my hand if I cried over a sad song, or an ad on tv. He always knew what I was crying about, and he never once told me to just get on with things and forget about it. He helped me get through one of the hardest times of my life the first few years after my mum died, and for that I’ll always be grateful. But that’s what spouses are meant to do, and he fulfilled that aspect of the role beautifully. Noone else could have done that, no one else ever has.

In the time since we split he came back to me time and time again for advice on the girlfriend he had at the time. At first I didn’t share too much of what was going on with me and men. Mostly it was because I hadn’t been in a rush to move on, as he clearly was.

That’s the sort of guy he is. The decision’s made, just go forward and replace, and move on to the next thing. For me, it’s not like that. I need time to heal. Pushing things aside and deal with later doesn’t work for me. I think it always comes back when you least expect it. So I stayed in the zone and tried to deal with the mourning, and gradually moved forward.

When I did tell him about the guys I was meeting, he was horrified about the way they were treating me, but then, in the way he has, he turned it into a huge compliment for himself, and said, “well, they’re all making me look great!” Except that I wasn’t dating him, and I didn’t much care how the girls he was dating looked at him when they’d been out with bozos like I had. I cared that there I was, reciprocating with my stories, and yet again, he’d made it about himself. Which, frankly, was how it very often was while we were married.

The biggest decision a couple can make together was largely made by him. And that’s a tough one to get over.

A few months after we got married, we moved into our house, and I became ill; it transpired that I had a disease which needed to be dealt with immediately. The disease I had put considerable strain on my heart and a pregnant woman’s heart is already strained by the carriage of her baby. So, it was decided that we weren’t allowed to conceive, so we put our plans for a family on hold.

Rest assured, he had health scares and injuries aplenty with which I helped him, but he was one to forget those and remember all he’d done for me, thus elevating himself to hero status.

I don’t know if I would have gotten the disease if I hadn’t been married, but I was, and while he’d helped me through it, maybe he was tired of helping me and being there for me.

Three years later and my disease was well under control. We were allowed to continue with our plans for a family, but it wasn’t the happy occasion and transition to the next step that it should have been.

Because, as so often happens, it didn’t happen. And didn’t happen. And didn’t happen.

I started to get the distinct impression that he no longer wanted to have children. I asked him, several times, and he denied it.

What often goes unsaid outside the realms of a marriage, is the pressure that goes with conceiving. The scheduling, the constant monitoring, double checking of cycles, calendaring, and of course, squeezing in ‘moments’ when both have to actually be in the mood. None of it’s easy, and it takes its toll. He felt too much pressure, but being slightly younger than me, and not having been ill for three years, I can’t imagine he felt a modicum of the pressure that I felt at that time.

And so came decisions he made which effected both of us. He flatly refused to have his sperm count tested, though it’s a fairly simple test by all accounts. He refused to entertain the ideas of adoption, fostering, IVF, even as back up plans.

And so then it was as though he wanted to have a child by fluke, because he certainly wasn’t doing his share of the job, as he felt our sex life had become all about that. And I can tell you, having someone make major life decisions on your behalf and expecting you to figure something biological out by yourself is neither a turn on or a bloody possibility. So yeah, I wasn’t exactly keen on adding turning up the seduction dial to my list.

So I made a decision for myself. I went and had an Anti-Mullerium Hormone test done. From birth, women have the maximum number of ova they’ll ever have, so basically, this test determines the viability of the eggs you have left. That’s my view but you can read more here:

The upshot of my testing was that I had minimal. Less than minimal. Check the graph- that’s me, sitting there by myself, in the ‘low for age’ range.

But just to be sure, I hit up a Fertility Specialist. She recommended I have a laparoscopy to try to clean up my bits and pieces. My husband didn’t want me to have it. He claimed it was unnecessary, as we already had the results and should just learn to live with not having children rather than endanger me by having surgery.

I disagreed and in the only time where I made a huge decision against my husband’s judgement (what bigger decision could there have been at the time?), I booked the procedure and the time off work.

He was still very anti, but accepted and supported, and arranged time off and stayed home with me and tended to me in his way.

But it changed nothing, and I still didn’t conceive. I didn’t regret having the procedure. I had needed to know that if my husband was making decisions about our future- by all the crosses he was making on our options list- that if we didn’t stay together, I’d know what my options were. I may have ignored my instincts until I had heard the words I was expecting, but I’m no fool. I did what I could to ensure that I had my ducks in a row.

And there I was, with the profound, absolute, confirmed, no going back, outcome, as well as the scars for proof.

I began seeing a counsellor for help in figuring out my life, my plans, what I could live with, what to do.

Not once did he ask me how my session went, though he knew I’d just come from there. I do remember him once saying it was causing more problems, because by that time, I was fighting back and raising topics he didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about. But again, in my way, I was making decisions for myself, regaining my power over my life, steeling myself for a battle. But I was also trying to give him the opportunity to see what I was going through. If ever he was going to change his mind about our options, it should have been then. But he didn’t.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not necessarily of the opinion that a person should change their mind, about such a serious decision, for someone else. But hold on a second, he was expecting me to do that for him. And, uh-no.

And then, one Friday late in April, I noticed he’d left his wedding ring at home when he went to work. I sent him a pic and we laughed about how silly he felt without it. But that night, as I sat at home while he partied, as he did most Fridays, he texted and said he was staying out a bit longer. Then he texted again and saying he was staying at Steve’s apartment on Southbank and would come home in the morning. And there I knew.02.06.16

Because there is no Steve, and I didn’t know of any of his friends who had an apartment on Southbank.

And therein lies the secret to him moving on so quickly after we split. Because he’d already started, beforehand.

We had a big chat that Saturday about our lives, but neither of us brought it up.

It was different on the Tuesday night however. And in the length of one conversation he admitted that he no longer wanted to have children. Those were the words that I both wanted to hear, and yet dreaded. I’d known it for so long and yet he’d- for whatever inexplicable reason- not admitted it to me.

And by the end of the evening we’d decided to separate and had made all sorts of decisions, and we were even able to laugh and joke about getting together once a year for a torrid affair. (As if.)

He swore he’d not cheated with the Friday girl, but frankly it didn’t matter. It still doesn’t. He’d made decisions for me that I found inexpiable, and I think in his mind he believes I’d done the same for me. There was no going back from that. It was no trial separation, it was the first step in two separate journeys.

My family never saw him again; he just walked away and left nearly everything behind, including the wedding ring he’d removed prematurely.

Looking back, I 02.06.16bcan’t help that think that if he’d really wanted to have children with me- as we’d agreed to very early in our relationship, and had affirmed many times along the way- there were things we could have done, in spite of my illness. He had medical knowledge. I could have done the AMH test earlier, frozen eggs if I had any then, or investigated going on full time bed rest; there are options. And he would have known some of them, and had colleagues who could have helped him research them. So, methinks that he’d checked out a long time earlier on the idea, and was hoping I’d change my mind too. But little ol’ me didn’t. I knew what I wanted, and wasn’t going to roll over and accept his decision for my life. The decision is too great, the cost is too dear.

I’ve moved on, as you know. I date plenty, and I’m still looking for the new guy in my life. I have even less chance of conceiving now, and search for other ways of life fulfilment. I try not to carry forth the issues from this previous relationship. I’ve had time to get through things and learn new ways. I don’t think he would have, as he’s hopped from girlfriend to girlfriend, to new wife. But that was his choice for his life, and in some ways, his new wife will have inherited him with those choices, for better or for worse.

I’ve oft wondered what I’m doing wrong, that he’s gone from relationship after relationship since we split, and now has gotten married again, while I’m still single, but then I realise I’m not doing anything wrong!! I’m moving at my own pace, and I’m on my own path, trying not to repeat history. I mean, isn’t that why we split, so we could do our own things, independent of each other? Yes, so no more comparisons.

Instead, on the eve of his honeymoon, I wish my ex husband and his new wife all the best. I hope she gets all the good stuff I got from him, and none of the bad. Because no one should have to go through that; not me, not her.

Xx Kit

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4 Responses to “The day my husband married another woman”

  1. Nic says:

    Wow, very moving Kit….a very big insight into your private life. Much love to you xo

    • Kit says:

      Thanks Nic, without hoping there are other women out there who’ve gone through the same, I do hope it helps some women. And, if it helps anyone who’s in a relationship to consider their spouse while reaching decisions, then it’s worth sharing my story with the world. Mwah to you!! Xx Kit

  2. Sotnos says:

    So honest, heartbreaking and absolutely beautifully written. You are so strong Kit. And you are so right, only compare to yourself, not anyone else. Thank you for sharing! xxx

    • Kit says:

      Oh Sotnos, thanks so much for your kind words. I’m stronger some days than others, but having supportive friends around has been a huge help. Thanks for reading, I hope you keep it up 🙂

      Xx Kit

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