How Could I Dismantle Something I Worked So Hard to Build?

The following is adapted from Behind the Educator by Amy Paulson.

To understand why I waited so long to end my marriage, gave so many chances, and held out hope that we could pull it together, you have to understand how difficult it was for Joshua and me to create our family in the first place.

My younger self thought creating a family would happen easily. I followed society's roadmap: graduate college, establish a career, find a partner, buy a house, then have a baby. In my twenties, I knew I wasn't prepared. In my thirties, I learned you never are.

The year I turned thirty, pregnancy eluded me month after month while exuberant announcements spread across social media. Our quiet house began to feel lonely. I permanently closed my accounts because I no longer wanted to be on the outside looking in on milestones my body had excluded us from. Well-intentioned people asked, "When are you finally starting a family?" as though we were childless by choice, when I was already a childless mother, yearning for a life we hadn't yet created.

Each setback pulled me deeper. "It didn't work this month" became "Let's stay cautiously optimistic," and then, "There isn't a heartbeat." I withdrew under a heavy cloak of depression while Joshua's hope loomed so large it spilled over for both of us. Later, he admitted it was a mask, and behind it he was terrified the pain of it all would kill me. We were arguing on a curvy stretch of Highway 1 when he shouted, "I just want my wife back!" I never considered that while I grieved babies I would never know, he was grieving the wife he lost in the process.

When good news finally found us, I held my breath for nine months until we celebrated the birth of Lila, our healthy and strong baby girl. In hindsight, it was the happiest time of our marriage. I wanted to do it again, immediately, and soon I was pregnant with twins. At twelve weeks, an ultrasound revealed one baby's amniotic sac had torn and nearly drained. The specialist sent me home expecting a miscarriage. Two weeks later, our tiny baby had somehow healed the tear, saving themself and their twin. Neither she nor her colleagues had ever seen multiples survive it. At thirty-three weeks, we welcomed Ezra and Finn into the world.

No one would endure that heartbreak if they didn't want a family with every fiber of their being. We constantly recommitted to each other just to survive a process that could have killed me, our marriage, or our dreams. I left my career to raise our kids and let Joshua's career take priority, settling into traditional roles I told myself I would never regret. I don't, even knowing how this part of our story ends.

By my forties, I believed my life's biggest questions had been answered. I declared it would be my favorite decade. Instead, it became the decade I watched Joshua's life implode, as he seemed to lose focus on the special family we had so carefully and painstakingly created.

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For more advice on navigating infertility, marriage, and family, you can find Behind the Educator on Amazon.

Amy Paulson is a writer with a story that moves through shadow and emerges with hope intact. A Cornell University graduate, she makes her home outside of Philadelphia, where life is loud, tender, and happily shared with her children and animals.