I’ve said, “I do”—twice. I meant it the second time but not the first time. The first time I had gotten pregnant by someone who was a better friend than lover, but I thought it was time that I matured and “did the right thing.” That led me to a year-long engagement, where I kept trying to find the courage to break it off and eventually a justice of the peace wedding. I don’t remember the wedding, only the feeling of dread and trepidation before and after I said, “I do.”
The second time I was wrapped up in the emotion of having found a man who walked right out of my dreams. Dark with light eyes and a thick Hebrew accent: he was mysterious, affectionate, demanding, and sensuous—traits that just made me lose my mind! Best of all—when I was with him, it was all about me. He doted on me, touching my face ever so slightly to show me how much he loved being with me. This seemed to be everything that I had waited for! He expressed some reservation about how we would make it with my five kids from three different relationships, but I reassured him and as he spent time with my kids, he soon offered to marry me and make us a family.
The offer of marriage may not have been whole-hearted. You see, I had been abstinent for two years and seven months, after a one-night stand led to my unplanned pregnancy with twins, who were born at twenty-six weeks (normal is forty) and were two pounds three ounces. No sex was good enough for those consequences. So that was my last time: my next partner would be my spouse. Soon after I declared this to my Jewish boyfriend, he began talking marriage. At first, I thought he was kidding, but then I realized that he was serious. He was raised in a strict Jewish household where sex outside of marriage was frowned on: with me, he found someone who could complete him. The only problem for him was that I was not Jewish and that I bore another man’s child.
It seemed for a while that love would conquer all because we couldn’t bear to be separated from one another. We made plans for a wedding only a month after meeting. It seemed so right that I ignored my many friends’ warnings. I plunged headfirst into this marriage believing that this time it was going to work.
But eight months later, I stood filing for divorce again; and ten months after we were married, I stood in front of the same judge that granted me my first divorce and severed my marital bond again.
Amidst the agony and grief that I was experiencing was the nagging thought that maybe I would never get it right—that I was unable to be in a healthy, successful marriage. That there was something wrong with me. Then as an attorney, I started to get one call after another from people close to me all wanting the same thing: a divorce.
It’s an epidemic. Are the men losing their minds or are we not equipped to make it last forever? Love in and of itself is not enough, but as I watch my dad and step-mom celebrate their 25th anniversary, I think to myself there are people who are making it. Just not me.
I went to one of my best friend’s second marriages recently, and honestly, I believe they will make it. They seem calm and collected around each other, not anxious or irritable, and they have a demeanor that shows true love and respect. I felt good being around them and feeling hopeful for my future. I love being in a relationship, and hope my epilogue will not read: single mother of five …
