My ex and I spend a lot of time talking about other people's relationships and relationships in general. I've noticed that we tend to skim over issues on our own relationship.

He was mentioning that a couple we know tries to create a good impression. In public, they fawn over each other, make eyes, and touch often. In private, there's nothing happening there. It's a sham.

"I'm glad that we're working on us," I smiled into the phone receiver. Lately, things have been quite nice between us.

He gave a manly grunted. "Mmph."

"What? Don't you think so?" I explained how we'd been happy, that we were getting along well and we seemed to be a stronger couple (if we can be a couple without living together).

"Ach, let things be." I could almost feel the brush off through the phone lines.

I know why he's upset. We both want the same thing: we want to be closer. He's said as much and so have I. We want to touch more; we want to be affectionate with each other. We want a deeper relationship.

And yet, we're so damned scared of each other, so damned worried that we'll get hurt that we tend to be overly cautious. I'm scared of giving too much and getting hurt when he goes cold. He's scared of letting himself feel emotion.

I have a feeling that we'll end up dancing around the root of the matter for years to come. Living together for so long, having a child and then separating permanently shook us both up badly. Creating the relationship we have now took some savvy navigation, too.

Throw it all to the wind and fall in love again? We'd probably both like to do that. But we're too scared because we've been there, done that and gotten badly hurt.

Find someone new and start over? Neither of us have interest in that. Sure, we want to know that at middle-age, we're desirable, but we don't want a new person in the mix.

Sam didn't want me to go. He begged and cried and left a haiku stuck to the mirror on Post-It notes every morning.

He said marriage is forever and we promised to be in this together forever.

He said I said I was ruining the kids.

He asked if I could find it in my heart to give him one more chance.

The thing is, he was miserable in it, too. Was so unhappy, months before I left he went to a friend's house to ask if he could live there for a while. Until he figured things out. Got a place of his own.

But he didn't ask. Sam said he knew that night, in coming so close to leaving, that he wanted to stay, would stay in it forever trying to make it work.

I wonder why sometimes. Love or fear?

He wasn't getting what he needed from me any more that I was getting it from him.

I know it's true, because I wasn't giving it. He blames himself. Outsiders, when they look at our relationship, they blame him too. The things he "did" were tangible.

You could name them.

And some were just reactions. Ways of being in relation to the ways I was being.

I thought I was taking my time in this separation to see if there was changes in Sam that could make us better together. That's not what I'm doing.

What I really doing, I know now, is taking my time to see if there are changes in me.

The other day was a doozy. The kids were both stir-crazy because of the rain, and when they get stir-crazy they get awfully clingy and needy. I had three deadlines looming and I had to go to a meeting. The house was a mess and I couldn't figure out a time to go grocery shopping even though the pantry was pretty much bare.

All in all, it was the kind of day where I felt stretched to the limit and although I wanted nothing more than to curl into bed and hide from the world it just wasn't an option.

Too many obligations, and not enough of me to go around.

After the kids were in bed I sat down to punch out the work that I had to do. I figured if I worked for two hours straight I could get to bed before midnight, then the next day I could try to tackle the housework and maybe get to the grocery store if everything worked out.

I had been working for a few minutes when my husband stopped flipping through the television channels and looked over at me. "I need to talk to you about something," he said, and then proceeded to tell me that I wasn't paying enough attention to him.

Now that's bad timing.

I was already on edge because I was trying to deal with so much at once. Sometimes it gets overwhelming: kids, work, keeping up the house...I understand that when I have so much to deal with my husband's need for attention might take a back seat. There are just some times when I have to get stuff done and I don't have the time to fawn over him.

That either makes me a realist, or it makes me incredibly insensitive to my husband's needs. Or maybe I'm an insensitive realist.

I work hard. It would be great to end an evening with my husband saying something along the lines of, "I know you've been stretched thin lately. What can I do to help?" instead of, "Pay more attention to me."

In the span of three days, my gentleman caller has called — twice — and has sent three emails. Three of these correspondences came after I sent an email saying that I was trying to get through the end of the semester, and that I would call as soon as the madness was over. He sent an email acknowledging this.

Ten minutes later, he sent another email, followed by a phone call the next day.

Needless to say, I am no longer interested.

In my younger years, I would have seen this eagerness as sweet, cute, or some other innocuous gesture. Now I see it as a nuisance. This is a very stressful time for me, and I need to dedicate all of my energy to completing this task — a task that has already dragged on far too long.

I don't know if he was just overly excited, or if he just doesn't care about what I am trying to do — I really hate to think this is the case. Fact of the matter is, I see his behavior as a bit on the insecure side, and I am not attracted to that.

I am not quite sure how I am going to handle this. Exams will be over in a few days, so maybe I will check it out then. Problem is, after graduation, I will have a whole new set of priorities — job search and the like. If he doesn't understand that I need time right now, what will happen later?

My uncle and his girlfriend were married yesterday. They've been together for 16 plus years. I've already taken to calling his girlfriend my aunt. It's just easier that way.

I used to ask them years and years ago when they were going to get married. My uncle would always say something like, "Who needs to get married?" When the Levi disaster happened, I must admit that I started to feel the same way.

So you can only imagine my surprise when I opened up my e-mail yesterday, yes, my e-mail, to find a message from my uncle that said the following:

Faith,

Janice and I are getting married at 5 today at the house. We need you to come over and be a witness.

I thought that he was kidding so I called him. Nope, he was serious.

They were married at 5:00 p.m., in front of their house, underneath their cheery tree. It was only the two of them, the Justice of The Peace, Adrian, and me. Still, it was beautiful. It was perfect.

I realized yesterday how absolutely jaded I am now. How whenever someone tells me that they're getting married or I hear of someone getting married, my instant reaction is "Why!?" I think to myself, Why would you want to screw up a perfectly good relationship by going and getting married?

I also realize how silly that sounds.

Marriage is not the enemy, nor is it something to fear. Marriage is hard work, but can also be filled with happiness, love, and security.

These two are perfect for one another. The amount of time they've spent together thus far proves that. I don't know if it's possible but I hope that somehow in marriage, there bond can grow even stronger.

Congratulations, guys!

The other night I lay in bed with Sam at his place. The bed that used to be my bed, my favorite piece of furniture. The nightstand that used to be my night stand. The husband that used to be my husband.

And none of it felt like mine anymore. Laying there, body next to body, I was thinking: This man is my husband. And the words surprised me.

I don't feel married. Haven't worn a ring since before I left.

This man is my husband. I don't know what that means anymore.

There's no judgment, no longing. Just the thought. This man is my husband?

It's close to two years we've been apart together. I haven't dated anyone else. Haven't kissed anyone else. Haven't had sex with anyone else. In 15 years there hasn't been anyone else.

When I write these posts, I always feel like they should to go somewhere deep. Land on some wise thing.

I don't have that. No clarity to offer.

I'm just keeping with these words, meditating on the thought: This man is my husband.

This man is my husband.

If I repeat them enough, they'll lead me to the truth.

As any sometime-reader here knows, I feel guilty and ungrateful for wanting to leave Rob after he has been such a great comfort and support when I've needed it.

Recently a reader asked when Maya was going to start loving Maya. Indeed! As I pine over the hurt I might cause this nice man, and reconsider leaving him, I'm in danger of sacrificing my worth, potential, and dreams to protect his feelings. Not much self-love in evidence here.

And the fact is, I have done just as much for Rob as he has for me. Why don't I give myself that credit? While he helped me through depression, showed me how to get on track with money, and supported me through my parents' divorce and father's illness, I helped him leave an anxiety-provoking job and make a very successful career change. I refused to allow him to continue neglecting his health and made him start visiting a doctor and dentist regularly. I strongly encouraged him to find hobbies (he is now well into Tai Chi) after many of his friends relocated out-of-state and he was drinking alone and heavily. Most importantly, I started him on his pursuit of therapy, from which he is reaping benefits. That's not nothing!

But rather than growing together through our mutual support during life trials, we seem to have become two new people who don't need the other the way we did when we first married. It's a terrible irony that we helped each other grow and change, and now our new personalities don't seem to need what the other can offer.

Is it time to accept we've changed, say thank you, and move on? One thing is clear, I will continue this investigation with a healthy dose of self love. Maya comes first.

My ex and I went to see a show together recently. We do that. We date, we see each other, and then we each go to our respective homes. We had a great time, too.

While we were at the show, we met a friend of ours — and he had a new girlfriend with him. She couldn't have been more than 20, and he was in his late 30s. More power to him, I say.

The next day, though, my ex and I were discussing how young the girl was and how we felt about people who date younger people. I expressed a little bit of surprise at the difference in ages between our friend and his girlfriend. My ex pointed out there was 10 years' difference between us. Nothing wrong with that.

Then he said, "The problem isn't that people date younger people. The problem is that no one seems to be able to keep a girlfriend. Why is that?"

He was right. Men in our area who divorce do try to find new relationships. None of them stick. They find a woman and a few months later, they're with someone new. They can't seem to find a stable relationship that lasts.

"I admire us, you know," he went on thoughtfully. He said that despite our history, our breakup, and the fact that we don't live together any more, we're mature enough to work at keeping our relationship alive because we love each other.

We talk. We find ways around our differences. We're learning what works and what doesn't. We're each trying to find a way to be a couple, no matter how hard it is sometimes.

Being a couple is work. A relationship isn't a discardable commodity when people have differences. They find solutions if they want to be together. They work out their issues. They talk. They resolve the problems.

There's nothing wrong with playing the field, either. But to me, that just shows someone isn't serious about commitment or hasn't figured out what's important to them.

I've been thinking about Rob's and my past a lot lately. Dating him was fun.

He was a great comfort, maybe because he presented solutions to my biggest problems. I felt isolated and a bit depressed; he helped strengthen my connection to mutual friends. I was living paycheck to paycheck; he fronted me cash when things got tight. I craved a love connection; he was available, and horny as hell.

Indeed, before dating, in the very beginning, what is now a quagmire was just pure and simple lust.

Rob was in the midst of a rash of one-night stands when we hooked up. I didn't know this, and expected a repeat performance. He complied, but it didn't evolve quickly enough for me.

Rather than building a connection, we just sort of repeated the one-night stand. I tired of meeting for what was only pre-sex drinks. "Whoa," I said, and announced I was done unless we added dinner or a movie to the agenda. He balked, and I figured that was the end of it.

Instead, Rob called a few days later to ask me out to a movie. He was probably just giving me what I wanted so he could get an easy fix. (He says he doesn't remember.)

In any case, I so desperately sought validation then that I took his invitation as a declaration of intention. He heard me, I thought. I had been deemed worthy of attention beyond the bedroom. We started dating.

Of course, dating gave way to marriage, and along the way the sex waned and now we have none at all. What is a confused marriage could have been a cherished memory of a fun fling, no strings attached.

I wonder if my self-love were enough back then, would I not have caved to his too-little, too-late attention, and would I have left it at that?

A comment from previous post got me thinking about something that I need to clarify: If I ever gave the impression that I am without blame in the problems within my marriage, it was not intentional. If anything, I carry a huge burden on my shoulders and in my heart because of the things I did (or didn't do, but should have) that may have contributed to our problems.

I can be critical of my husband. Oftentimes I bring my experiences with my father into what I expect from my husband. My dad was often unemployed and relatively lazy, and sometimes I expect my husband to fall into similar patterns if he doesn't stay exactly on track.

I do not do well taking a backseat to things. I want to be involved in every major decision, and I think that sometimes this may make my husband feel as though I don't allow him to wear the metaphorical pants in the family.

When things started getting rough between my husband and me, I turned toward my work instead of forcing the issue. Maybe if I had persisted in aggressively fixing things, we wouldn't be in the spot we're in now.

I have a hard time forgiving him for the stuff he has put me through. If I could just get over it, I think we could just be a happy little family.

I readily admit all these things. There has never been a time when I considered myself blameless in this whole mess. I refuse to accept that it's all my fault, though. I think we're both to blame in one way or another, and that's why I was so adamant that we needed to be in therapy together.

In other words, we made this mess together, so we might as well try to solve it together.

If I ever made anyone think that every single bit of marital problems we have are all because of my husband, then I wasn't getting my point across very well.