When I didn't know what to do

When my marriage broke apart, I was lost. Completely unmoored. The woman I had spent more than thirty years with was suddenly gone, and the silence she left behind was deafening.

I didn’t know how to sit with the pain. I didn’t know how to be alone. Some days, I didn’t even want to keep going. I told my kids things I should have never put on their shoulders. In those early days, I was unhinged — pacing the house, talking out loud, asking questions no one could answer. My youngest heard more than he ever should have. I can see now the weight I put on him, and it still hurts me to think about it.

But here’s the truth: I wasn’t unraveling because I didn’t care. I was unraveling because I did. My whole identity was tied up in being a husband, in building a life with her, and when that foundation was pulled out from under me, I had no tools to steady myself.

Therapy was never something I believed in. I was raised to see emotions as weakness, to shove them down and “get over it.” But the pain of separation broke through those old beliefs. I couldn’t survive on my own. I had to learn how to sit in a room and talk about what I was feeling, even when every part of me wanted to run.

That was when I started realizing: it wasn’t just the marriage that needed fixing. It was me. My ADHD, untreated for most of my life, had played a huge role in the promises I didn’t keep, the times I seemed distracted, the way I showed up in ways that didn’t match my intentions. Therapy and medication gave me a chance to see the noise for what it was — and finally quiet it down enough to listen.

And yet, change doesn’t erase the past. It doesn’t wipe away the hurt she felt or the mistrust that grew between us. Even now, nearly two years separated, we are still in this fragile space. She tells me she’s done. She pulls away. And then she tells me she still loves me.

What I want — what I’m working for — is to rebuild trust, not just love. Because love is still there. It’s always been there. But trust has to be earned again, piece by piece, through steady action, not words.

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Why This Series Exists

This post is just the beginning. I’m telling my story because I know I’m not the only one who has felt lost, unsteady, or broken by love. These posts aren’t about pretending to have all the answers — they’re about sharing the reality of what separation, rebuilding, and growth actually look like.

Another reason this series exists is personal: I sometimes have a hard time remembering everything I talk about in therapy. Writing these posts has become a way of journaling — of capturing the tools, the insights, and the lessons I’m still learning, so I can come back to them when I need them most.

Each episode is part of my ongoing story. Some will cover the struggles that nearly ended everything, others the tools I’m learning to use, and some will sit right in the tension of where I am now.

This isn’t the story of a marriage that ended. It’s the story of a man learning, piece by piece, how to change, how to heal, and how to become someone his partner — and his family — can trust again.