Why So Lonely?

“I’m so lonely,” he told his colleagues. Then he got the courage to tell his wife.

After 13 years of marriage, my husband shared his growing feelings of loneliness. Something was wrong with our marriage. Because we had made a commitment to each other, we chose to attend couple’s counseling. He did his homework. I did mine. Together, we did our couple’s work. Things got better. But the therapist said to me, “He doesn’t seem to care about you like a husband generally cares about his wife.” It turned out, however, I needed a different genital package to make the marriage work. In some ways, it was a relief when my husband told me he was gay. I was relieved because I realized there wasn’t anything wrong with me, and I wasn’t the cause of his loneliness.

We believed our marriage was a partnership rather than a hierarchy with rigid gender roles; and for many years, we lived like it was a partnership. And I’d like to think that when one partner faces some big changes or struggles, they would say to the other, “Hey, I’m struggling to understand my identity and sexual orientation. I’m having these feelings and desires, and I want you to know so we can process it together.” But in our case, my husband wrestled with his sexual orientation alone for years before suddenly announcing, “I’m gay, and I am ready to move out.” I get why it was hard to come out, but I wish I could have been part of the conversation all along.

I’m glad my ex-husband could move on with his new identity and life, but the end was too abrupt and devastating for me. The end felt like, “Hey, thanks for supporting me while I finished my doctoral degree. Now while I pursue my ambitions, you can grieve the loss of this marriage and our family. Plus, you can take on the role of single parent and figure out how to survive on a small income while working at a dead-end job. Oh, did you have dreams? Well, good luck with that!”

The next five years I struggled with major depression, physical disabilities, and homelessness. I didn’t see much of a future until the extended grief period finally ended. Then one lucky day, I found myself in a fun relationship with a straight man. It started out a bit awkwardly because I had to get used to the “simple-nature” of a straight man. My new partner explained he didn’t think about things as deeply as I seemed to do, nor was he bothered by much, so I didn’t need to check in with him like I was doing when I felt like something was wrong between us.

But similarly to my marriage, after 13 years, he announced he felt so lonely around me and that he had been miserable for the past three years.” What? “You’ve been miserable for three years and you’re just now telling me?” I kept thinking, “Didn’t he say men were simple creatures and that he wasn’t bothered by much?”

I thought of us as partners even though we never got married. We had lived together for 12 years and owned a house together for the last five. So as partners, I think one partner might say to the other, when hard feelings arise, “Hey, I feel lonely in this relationship. I think we need to make some changes.” If a partner would do that, both people could work together to improve their quality of life before too much damage was done to the relationship or too many bad feelings had roared under the bridge.

Still, we tried couples therapy. The therapist thought our relationship was salvageable and she could get us back on track. She asked us what we wanted. He said, “I want to have fun and feel the magic. So she had us start date nights. I said I was tired of feeling dismissed. So she had him plan the first date night. Then to resurrect the fun and magic in our relationship and to prevent me from feeling dismissed like a leftover, he spent all weekend partying and playing with his work buddies and friends and on Sunday afternoon called me to see if I was still going grocery shopping. If I was, could he join me? That was our date! I could feel the magic ripple through my veins as he watched me pick out organic orange juice. I didn’t feel dismissed at all. He wanted to play and party with his friends all weekend, but he wanted to go grocery shopping during the final hours of the weekend with me!

Because of his continued dismissive actions, I determined my partner wasn’t interested in me anymore. This time I had the right genitals, but he wasn’t interested in them either. His interest stopped six years into the relationship. When I first asked about the waning attention, he said he was really tired. Apparently, he was really tired for seven years. When I brought up the sexually dismissive behavior once again before we split up, he seemed surprised. I know he made a conscientious decision not to touch me again, but somehow, after seven years, the lack of intimacy was a total surprise to him.

And that magic he wanted so much to feel. When did it end? Did it falter when he stopped touching me? Did it fade when he stopped kissing me passionately? Because, well, passionate kissing can lead to sexual activity. Did it go into hibernation when we stopped snuggling and spooning seven years earlier? Because, again, those things can lead to sexual encounters. And did it ultimately come to a halt when he stopped sleeping in the same bed with me because he chose to do nothing about his snoring. Nevertheless, I extended a hand of joy to him month after month, which he seemed to welcome and enjoy while he passively lay there without touching me in return…for seven tired years. As it was with my first husband, I can boldly say, I was not the cause of his loneliness.