After my husband moved away, I missed him, and I missed our rare times of intimacy. How pathetic this was did not occur to me at the time. To miss having being with a man for whom touching me was revolting, well, that's just sad.
So why did I feel like that? Did I think so little of myself that the best I could do in life was to be with someone who used me for social acceptance while finding any physical contact with me repugnant?
Looking back, perhaps it wasn't that deep. With my inbuilt status quo bias, I preferred my existing arrangement just because it was what I was used to. It was the only marriage I knew. I "owned" it. Crappy as it was, it was mine, and it provided me with a (albeit fanciful) sense of security.
As well, I projected on him what I expected him to be and become. I saw the rosy image that I imagined and wanted him to be, rather than the person he really was. (I am sure that my expectations only compounded the stress and pressure he felt in trying to fulfill the role he believed was his duty to play.)
This whole situation must have been confusing for our children, who didn't see things through quite the same lens as I did and were the main ones who felt the brunt of his frustrations.
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