#ltr — Public Fediverse posts

If you have an impression of me as a dignified, non-relationshippy, uncomplicated, non-fucked-up human who rants about politics and creative stuff and data analysis, and you'd like to keep that impression, maybe stop reading here.

I've been married twice. The first time, I was in my early 20s and she was even younger. Seven years later it was over, with a string of deal-breaking actions and betrayals blowing up what had never really been an amazing relationship. That's how it goes, sometimes, with personality disorders.

The second marriage lasted the better part of 20 years (2026 would have been our 20th anniversary). It took her a really long time to realize or tell me that she is actually, quite seriously, non-negotiably gay.

I often feel--especially with my 2nd marriage--that I was robbed of something. That I missed an important opportunity. Sure, I spent two decades investing in a relationship that not only wouldn't but couldn't be even in the ballpark of what I wanted it to be. But there's something else: the earnest struggle and resulting growth.

Growing up with my parents and hundreds of couples, mature and less so, left me with the expectation that marriage is hard, often unpleasant, sometimes agonizing, occasionally quite boring, and ultimately worth all of this because you go through it together and you grow and learn and whatnot.

I never wanted happily ever after--I stopped believing that in adolescence--I wanted a sincere struggle alongside someone who was in it for me as much as I was for her.

Spouse 1 was, I think, incapable of that, because it implied vulnerability. She could be a martyr, a screaming banshee, a contemptuous cool kid, an adorable pixie, and many other things, but she could not be a person who took actual emotional risks of any kind. If you've lived with someone suffering from borderline personality disorder, you know.

Spouse 2 was, on the surface, perfect, but within a year or so things felt off. I assumed (I had many waves of this over 16-18 years) this was something we could work on. I believed the "of course I love you," "I'm definitely attracted to you," "We're great for each other," etc. responses I got when I shared my feelings and concerns. Eventually, she didn't even believe these, and we moved to a more authentic space.

We are/were a good coparenting team. We are good partners. We've been admired by lots of people saying our marriage is sooo awesome, etc. However, when one party lives in daily/hourly fear of too much physical intimacy (and that eventually became a very small amount, despite a lot of emotional work over the years), this places a tiny but critical limit on... everything. Every experience is tainted by the knowledge or feeling that your partner isn't really in it the same way you are. You might look like a team, but you're not equal; one partner has their hand on the ejection seat lever or some metaphor like that.

I never wanted the fairy tale; I wanted the difficult job next to someone else doing a compatible and also difficult job, happy to be doing it because we were together. I wanted the exhausting years building a small business together. That's another metaphor; I don't want to build a business with a romantic partner.

I think of committed long-term relationships (marriage or other) like business partnerships in many ways. Maybe I can make that model work for my marriages.

Marriage 1 was like a co-owned business where my partner would regularly scream and throw coffee at the shareholders and customers. And fuck some of them.

Marriage 2 was like a co-owned business, too, and everything looked great, but my partner--who went into the widget business professing passion for making widgets with me and repeatedly telling me about her lifelong dream (just like mine!) to sell our special widgets in our little town's retail establishments--never really seemed to fully commit to any business plan (though she showed up to all the meetings and even wrote some of the plans), manufacturing approach (though she did plenty of the tooling and design with me), or any other aspect of the business. She went through all the motions and responded with earnest protests if I ever suggested her heart wasn't in it. But it started to seem like she really didn't want to make widgets at all, with me or with anyone else. At some point, 15 years into the partnership, she finally told me she has never had any interest in making widgets, or in a partner like me. Instead, she dreams of providing whizzbang services with a different kind of business partner--a curvy, pretty partner with a vagina who lives in the PNW. Sorry, baby, never really wanted to do widgets or you. My bad. oops.

If all you got from this is that I made one woman lose her mind and made another one gay, OK. Sometimes that's my takeaway, too.

#relationships #marriage #ltr #divorce #separation #life #ItDidntWorkOut #TooMuchInformation #ShutUp #YouDontKnowMe

If you have an impression of me as a dignified, non-relationshippy, uncomplicated, non-fucked-up human who rants about politics and creative stuff and data analysis, and you'd like to keep that impression, maybe stop reading here.

I've been married twice. The first time, I was in my early 20s and she was even younger. Seven years later it was over, with a string of deal-breaking actions and betrayals blowing up what had never really been an amazing relationship. That's how it goes, sometimes, with personality disorders.

The second marriage lasted the better part of 20 years (2026 would have been our 20th anniversary). It took her a really long time to realize or tell me that she is actually, quite seriously, non-negotiably gay.

I often feel--especially with my 2nd marriage--that I was robbed of something. That I missed an important opportunity. Sure, I spent two decades investing in a relationship that not only wouldn't but couldn't be even in the ballpark of what I wanted it to be. But there's something else: the earnest struggle and resulting growth.

Growing up with my parents and hundreds of couples, mature and less so, left me with the expectation that marriage is hard, often unpleasant, sometimes agonizing, occasionally quite boring, and ultimately worth all of this because you go through it together and you grow and learn and whatnot.

I never wanted happily ever after--I stopped believing that in adolescence--I wanted a sincere struggle alongside someone who was in it for me as much as I was for her.

Spouse 1 was, I think, incapable of that, because it implied vulnerability. She could be a martyr, a screaming banshee, a contemptuous cool kid, an adorable pixie, and many other things, but she could not be a person who took actual emotional risks of any kind. If you've lived with someone suffering from borderline personality disorder, you know.

Spouse 2 was, on the surface, perfect, but within a year or so things felt off. I assumed (I had many waves of this over 16-18 years) this was something we could work on. I believed the "of course I love you," "I'm definitely attracted to you," "We're great for each other," etc. responses I got when I shared my feelings and concerns. Eventually, she didn't even believe these, and we moved to a more authentic space.

We are/were a good coparenting team. We are good partners. We've been admired by lots of people saying our marriage is sooo awesome, etc. However, when one party lives in daily/hourly fear of too much physical intimacy (and that eventually became a very small amount, despite a lot of emotional work over the years), this places a tiny but critical limit on... everything. Every experience is tainted by the knowledge or feeling that your partner isn't really in it the same way you are. You might look like a team, but you're not equal; one partner has their hand on the ejection seat lever or some metaphor like that.

I never wanted the fairy tale; I wanted the difficult job next to someone else doing a compatible and also difficult job, happy to be doing it because we were together. I wanted the exhausting years building a small business together. That's another metaphor; I don't want to build a business with a romantic partner.

I think of committed long-term relationships (marriage or other) like business partnerships in many ways. Maybe I can make that model work for my marriages.

Marriage 1 was like a co-owned business where my partner would regularly scream and throw coffee at the shareholders and customers. And fuck some of them.

Marriage 2 was like a co-owned business, too, and everything looked great, but my partner--who went into the widget business professing passion for making widgets with me and repeatedly telling me about her lifelong dream (just like mine!) to sell our special widgets in our little town's retail establishments--never really seemed to fully commit to any business plan (though she showed up to all the meetings and even wrote some of the plans), manufacturing approach (though she did plenty of the tooling and design with me), or any other aspect of the business. She went through all the motions and responded with earnest protests if I ever suggested her heart wasn't in it. But it started to seem like she really didn't want to make widgets at all, with me or with anyone else. At some point, 15 years into the partnership, she finally told me she has never had any interest in making widgets, or in a partner like me. Instead, she dreams of providing whizzbang services with a different kind of business partner--a curvy, pretty partner with a vagina who lives in the PNW. Sorry, baby, never really wanted to do widgets or you. My bad. oops.

If all you got from this is that I made one woman lose her mind and made another one gay, OK. Sometimes that's my takeaway, too.

#relationships #marriage #ltr #divorce #separation #life #ItDidntWorkOut #TooMuchInformation #ShutUp #YouDontKnowMe

If you have an impression of me as a dignified, non-relationshippy, uncomplicated, non-fucked-up human who rants about politics and creative stuff and data analysis, and you'd like to keep that impression, maybe stop reading here.

I've been married twice. The first time, I was in my early 20s and she was even younger. Seven years later it was over, with a string of deal-breaking actions and betrayals blowing up what had never really been an amazing relationship. That's how it goes, sometimes, with personality disorders.

The second marriage lasted the better part of 20 years (2026 would have been our 20th anniversary). It took her a really long time to realize or tell me that she is actually, quite seriously, non-negotiably gay.

I often feel--especially with my 2nd marriage--that I was robbed of something. That I missed an important opportunity. Sure, I spent two decades investing in a relationship that not only wouldn't but couldn't be even in the ballpark of what I wanted it to be. But there's something else: the earnest struggle and resulting growth.

Growing up with my parents and hundreds of couples, mature and less so, left me with the expectation that marriage is hard, often unpleasant, sometimes agonizing, occasionally quite boring, and ultimately worth all of this because you go through it together and you grow and learn and whatnot.

I never wanted happily ever after--I stopped believing that in adolescence--I wanted a sincere struggle alongside someone who was in it for me as much as I was for her.

Spouse 1 was, I think, incapable of that, because it implied vulnerability. She could be a martyr, a screaming banshee, a contemptuous cool kid, an adorable pixie, and many other things, but she could not be a person who took actual emotional risks of any kind. If you've lived with someone suffering from borderline personality disorder, you know.

Spouse 2 was, on the surface, perfect, but within a year or so things felt off. I assumed (I had many waves of this over 16-18 years) this was something we could work on. I believed the "of course I love you," "I'm definitely attracted to you," "We're great for each other," etc. responses I got when I shared my feelings and concerns. Eventually, she didn't even believe these, and we moved to a more authentic space.

We are/were a good coparenting team. We are good partners. We've been admired by lots of people saying our marriage is sooo awesome, etc. However, when one party lives in daily/hourly fear of too much physical intimacy (and that eventually became a very small amount, despite a lot of emotional work over the years), this places a tiny but critical limit on... everything. Every experience is tainted by the knowledge or feeling that your partner isn't really in it the same way you are. You might look like a team, but you're not equal; one partner has their hand on the ejection seat lever or some metaphor like that.

I never wanted the fairy tale; I wanted the difficult job next to someone else doing a compatible and also difficult job, happy to be doing it because we were together. I wanted the exhausting years building a small business together. That's another metaphor; I don't want to build a business with a romantic partner.

I think of committed long-term relationships (marriage or other) like business partnerships in many ways. Maybe I can make that model work for my marriages.

Marriage 1 was like a co-owned business where my partner would regularly scream and throw coffee at the shareholders and customers. And fuck some of them.

Marriage 2 was like a co-owned business, too, and everything looked great, but my partner--who went into the widget business professing passion for making widgets with me and repeatedly telling me about her lifelong dream (just like mine!) to sell our special widgets in our little town's retail establishments--never really seemed to fully commit to any business plan (though she showed up to all the meetings and even wrote some of the plans), manufacturing approach (though she did plenty of the tooling and design with me), or any other aspect of the business. She went through all the motions and responded with earnest protests if I ever suggested her heart wasn't in it. But it started to seem like she really didn't want to make widgets at all, with me or with anyone else. At some point, 15 years into the partnership, she finally told me she has never had any interest in making widgets, or in a partner like me. Instead, she dreams of providing whizzbang services with a different kind of business partner--a curvy, pretty partner with a vagina who lives in the PNW. Sorry, baby, never really wanted to do widgets or you. My bad. oops.

If all you got from this is that I made one woman lose her mind and made another one gay, OK. Sometimes that's my takeaway, too.

#relationships #marriage #ltr #divorce #separation #life #ItDidntWorkOut #TooMuchInformation #ShutUp #YouDontKnowMe

If you have an impression of me as a dignified, non-relationshippy, uncomplicated, non-fucked-up human who rants about politics and creative stuff and data analysis, and you'd like to keep that impression, maybe stop reading here.

I've been married twice. The first time, I was in my early 20s and she was even younger. Seven years later it was over, with a string of deal-breaking actions and betrayals blowing up what had never really been an amazing relationship. That's how it goes, sometimes, with personality disorders.

The second marriage lasted the better part of 20 years (2026 would have been our 20th anniversary). It took her a really long time to realize or tell me that she is actually, quite seriously, non-negotiably gay.

I often feel--especially with my 2nd marriage--that I was robbed of something. That I missed an important opportunity. Sure, I spent two decades investing in a relationship that not only wouldn't but couldn't be even in the ballpark of what I wanted it to be. But there's something else: the earnest struggle and resulting growth.

Growing up with my parents and hundreds of couples, mature and less so, left me with the expectation that marriage is hard, often unpleasant, sometimes agonizing, occasionally quite boring, and ultimately worth all of this because you go through it together and you grow and learn and whatnot.

I never wanted happily ever after--I stopped believing that in adolescence--I wanted a sincere struggle alongside someone who was in it for me as much as I was for her.

Spouse 1 was, I think, incapable of that, because it implied vulnerability. She could be a martyr, a screaming banshee, a contemptuous cool kid, an adorable pixie, and many other things, but she could not be a person who took actual emotional risks of any kind. If you've lived with someone suffering from borderline personality disorder, you know.

Spouse 2 was, on the surface, perfect, but within a year or so things felt off. I assumed (I had many waves of this over 16-18 years) this was something we could work on. I believed the "of course I love you," "I'm definitely attracted to you," "We're great for each other," etc. responses I got when I shared my feelings and concerns. Eventually, she didn't even believe these, and we moved to a more authentic space.

We are/were a good coparenting team. We are good partners. We've been admired by lots of people saying our marriage is sooo awesome, etc. However, when one party lives in daily/hourly fear of too much physical intimacy (and that eventually became a very small amount, despite a lot of emotional work over the years), this places a tiny but critical limit on... everything. Every experience is tainted by the knowledge or feeling that your partner isn't really in it the same way you are. You might look like a team, but you're not equal; one partner has their hand on the ejection seat lever or some metaphor like that.

I never wanted the fairy tale; I wanted the difficult job next to someone else doing a compatible and also difficult job, happy to be doing it because we were together. I wanted the exhausting years building a small business together. That's another metaphor; I don't want to build a business with a romantic partner.

I think of committed long-term relationships (marriage or other) like business partnerships in many ways. Maybe I can make that model work for my marriages.

Marriage 1 was like a co-owned business where my partner would regularly scream and throw coffee at the shareholders and customers. And fuck some of them.

Marriage 2 was like a co-owned business, too, and everything looked great, but my partner--who went into the widget business professing passion for making widgets with me and repeatedly telling me about her lifelong dream (just like mine!) to sell our special widgets in our little town's retail establishments--never really seemed to fully commit to any business plan (though she showed up to all the meetings and even wrote some of the plans), manufacturing approach (though she did plenty of the tooling and design with me), or any other aspect of the business. She went through all the motions and responded with earnest protests if I ever suggested her heart wasn't in it. But it started to seem like she really didn't want to make widgets at all, with me or with anyone else. At some point, 15 years into the partnership, she finally told me she has never had any interest in making widgets, or in a partner like me. Instead, she dreams of providing whizzbang services with a different kind of business partner--a curvy, pretty partner with a vagina who lives in the PNW. Sorry, baby, never really wanted to do widgets or you. My bad. oops.

If all you got from this is that I made one woman lose her mind and made another one gay, OK. Sometimes that's my takeaway, too.

#relationships #marriage #ltr #divorce #separation #life #ItDidntWorkOut #TooMuchInformation #ShutUp #YouDontKnowMe