There's a wall between us these days. Not a real one obviously, the invisible kind, the type you can't point at but you definitely feel every night around 11pm.
Started small honestly. Phone in bed instead of talking. Scrolling instead of actually looking at each other. Falling asleep without even a proper goodnight some nights.
I'd lie there, eyes shut, pretending to already be asleep. He'd be doing the same thing on his side. Inches apart physically, felt like miles some nights. Used to reach over in the dark, just a hand on his arm or a leg touching his, some small way of saying I'm here, I know you're there too, we're actually in this together even in the dark.
Don't really reach anymore. Can't even pinpoint when that stopped. Maybe when he stopped reaching back first, or maybe I just got tired of being the only one doing it. Sleep in the same bed, wake up in the same room, but it doesn't feel like actually being together the way it used to, not even close.
Evenings are honestly the worst part of the day now. Sit in the living room, same spots we always sit, him on his tablet, me watching whatever's on the TV. Same room, not really together though, if that makes sense. Someone mentions the weather occasionally, or something we need from the store, small stuff that doesn't mean anything really.
Real conversations basically disappeared somewhere along the way. Used to talk for hours about nothing and everything, dumb ideas, fears, whatever came to mind, laugh until it actually hurt, stay up way too late because stopping felt impossible. Now we run out of things to say after maybe five minutes and the silence just sits there, heavy, full of stuff neither of us is saying out loud.
Asked him something one night I'd been avoiding for a while.
"Are you happy," I said. "In this, in the marriage. Are you actually happy."
He looked up from the tablet, surprised, or maybe just surprised I'd said it out loud finally.
"Don't know honestly. Don't really think about it much."
"How do you not think about that."
"Just kind of... go through it. Do what needs doing. Don't stop to ask myself if I'm happy or not most days."
"That's sad though. That's actually really sad to hear."
"Maybe. Is it though? Is it sad to just exist day to day?"
Didn't have an answer for that, because I was doing the exact same thing. Just existing. Going through motions without checking in with myself either. Become roommates basically, running a household together without actually sharing much else anymore. When did we turn into coworkers instead of whatever we used to be.
Used the "we're just busy" excuse for years honestly. Too busy with work, with kids, with everything piling up constantly. Told ourselves it was temporary, that things would slow down eventually and we'd find our way back to each other once life calmed down a bit.
Life never actually slowed down though, there was always something taking priority over the two of us. And honestly busy wasn't even the real problem — the real problem was we just stopped trying at some point, stopped fighting for it, let being busy become an excuse to quietly neglect the whole thing.
I used to actually wait for him to come home, watching the clock, dinner ready, house tidy, made an effort with how I looked even. Wanted to make him happy, wanted him to notice me walking through that door. Don't do any of that anymore honestly. Barely look up from whatever I'm doing when he gets home now. When did I stop caring about that, genuinely don't know the exact moment.
It's the small stuff that goes first, always is. Goodnight kiss. Morning hug. A hand on the shoulder just passing by in the kitchen. A random text just to say you're thinking of someone. All of it faded out slowly, not on purpose, just like a photo left in the sun too long, colors draining out without anyone noticing in real time.
Didn't clock it was gone until it was already gone, and then didn't know how to actually get any of it back. Tried once, kissed him goodbye one morning, felt completely forced, awkward, like kissing someone I barely knew. Didn't try again after that, felt too uncomfortable, too much like admitting out loud something had actually broken between us.
Cried one night, alone in the bathroom, sitting on the floor with my back against the door. Couldn't even tell you what specifically set it off, something small and dumb probably. But it wasn't really about that small thing, it was everything I'd been sitting on for years quietly, pretending wasn't actually happening.
💡 The Moment of Realization: Missed my husband, the actual person I married, the one who used to look at me like I mattered more than anything in a room. Didn't know where that version of him went, or how to find him again, or honestly if he was even still in there somewhere. Cried on that floor until I couldn't breathe properly, cried for whatever we'd let slip away without either of us fighting it. Never told him about that night. Too proud, too scared of what admitting it out loud would actually mean.
There's basically a stranger living in my house some days. Looks like him, talks like him, goes through the same motions he always did. But he's not fully the person I married, that guy feels gone, and I don't know if he's coming back or not honestly. Catch glimpses sometimes — a smile that reminds me of someone I used to know really well, a laugh that sounds familiar for a second. Then the moment passes and the stranger's back in his place.
Probably a stranger to him too if I'm being fair, I've changed plenty myself, closed off in my own ways, built my own walls without really meaning to. Two strangers sharing a house at this point, sharing a life on paper without sharing much underneath it.
Don't know if this is fixable honestly, don't even know if we both actually want to fix it. Part of me is just tired, genuinely tired of feeling like the only one trying here. Another part misses him though, misses us, misses whatever we used to have before all this quiet drifting.
Think about what it'd actually take to get back there sometimes. Real work, not just trying a bit harder for a week and giving up. Actual honesty about everything we've both been avoiding. Letting some walls down even though that feels risky. Time, probably a lot of it, to rebuild whatever's cracked.
Don't know if we're both willing to put that in, don't fully know if I even am some days. But I know I can't keep going like this either, two strangers under one roof who used to actually love each other and now just kind of coexist.
💡 If This Sounds Familiar: If any of this sounds familiar — you're not the only one going through it, this happens to a lot of couples honestly, the distance creeps in slow enough that you don't notice until it's already pretty wide. It's not too late usually though. But it needs both people actually wanting it, can't fix a marriage solo no matter how hard you try.
Start small if you're in this spot. Put the phone down for a bit, actually look at your partner properly, the real person, not just the idea of them you've gotten used to. Ask something that actually matters instead of small talk. Be honest without turning it into an accusation — something like "I miss you, miss us, not sure how we got here" tends to land better than blame does. Be patient too, this stuff took years to drift, it's not undoing itself in one honest conversation.
And if it doesn't work out in the end, at least there's knowing you actually tried instead of just quietly giving up without saying anything.
Still in this marriage as of now, still living alongside the stranger some days, still hoping something shifts. Some days feel hopeful, other days feel pretty hopeless honestly, most days sit somewhere in between those two. Don't have a clean answer or fix for any of it, just figuring it out one day at a time like everyone else probably is.
One thing I do know though — don't want to keep being strangers under the same roof. So going to try. Putting the phone down tonight, going to actually start a conversation instead of avoiding it again.
Might not work. He might not meet me halfway on it. Might genuinely be too late already, who knows.
But have to try anyway, because I miss him, miss us, and just existing next to each other isn't something I can keep doing indefinitely.
Maybe that's enough for now. Maybe that's just where it has to start — one person deciding to actually try first.
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