My gay husband: why it took so long for me to leave him
In a 1988 article that appeared in The Times, a reader revealed her anguish at discovering that her husband was gay. She has remained in the marriage since then. Now, in an open letter to her spouse, she explains why she is ending it.
Dear Peter,
I didn’t intend sending you this letter, but to use it only as a means of catharsis and, possibly, a justification to myself for the leap in the not-so-dark I’ll take once the house is sold and we start to live totally separately.
What made me change my mind was recalling that you said you were a little “confused” about my motives and reasons for such a serious step, radically changing a relationship that has spanned 40 years. You became angry and upset; yet you have often said in the past that you wouldn’t be able to tolerate our situation, were the roles reversed. So may I plead a little confusion also?
Maybe the simplest way of looking at the separation is to think of it as part of an evolving process. First there was your revelation that you were gay (which took me many years to accept), then, later, our decision to combine your need for liberty and a degree of licence with your determination to remain at the core of the family. This led to your move away to live in London during the week and our children and friends accepted the explanation that you were under pressure at work. But the truth of course left me with all kinds of imaginings: what were you doing, who had you been with when you came home to me on a Friday night?
As time passed and you established yourself as part of the gay community, your weekends at home became a moveable feast and emotionally you withdrew from me, no longer showing the same interest in my thoughts or feelings; my internal life. That was inevitable, I now see. And yet I felt I remained on your radar from habit, guilt, or as a refuge from your frequent emotional turmoil, drawing me in whether I liked it or not.
Somehow we had to deconstruct our notion of what a marriage is and create a relationship that could accommodate who we had become. I had to convince myself that your “other life” was only a threat to me if I allowed it to be; but this turned out to be a persistently difficult exercise and one that provoked frequent fiery discussion. You are an extremely honest person; also I think I invited your confidences to seek the reassurance, which I seldom got. It was a poisoned chalice: I was afraid of these spectral figures, these men who threatened my security; yet I thought that if you had the freedom to be with them then you would be nicer to me, a happier person and easier to be with. My instinct then was for self preservation, indistinguishable from my need to preserve the family unit. I had to learn acceptance, as did our children and friends when, later, we told them the truth.
Over the years we have tried to establish boundaries – you would continue to join in family occasions and to share our social life as a couple; I would meet and enjoy the company of your gay friends – although never the ones you were emotionally involved with. At the mixed parties we attended together you would occasionally forget which persona you inhabited – comfortably married spouse or gay social butterfly – with sometimes comical results.
But, in truth, you were probably trying to reconcile the irreconcilable: your gay life and your family life. I doubt if equal weight could be given to these two elements – one has to remain in the shadows, the other can grow in the sunlight. Only so much time and energy can be devoted to the pursuit of relationships (and/or sex) without other aspects of your life suffering. It seems to me your dedication to this need determines all aspects of your life leaving me to wonder about my role and identity within the marriage.
Am I wife? Legally, yes. Partner? Probably not. Lover? Certainly not. Confidante? I doubt it. Close friend? I hope so. Now you are probably going to scold me for trying to pigeonhole what we have, but I don’t have sufficient sense of myself in this. I can’t place myself in the hierarchy of your relationships, or try to compete with a “rival” because this life of yours is something completely apart. Your homosexuality is not negotiable and it permeates everything: the films you sometimes watch, the jokes you share, the clothes you wear – the prism through which you see the world. The potential for establishing an equilibrium within the marriage, which some of our friends now enjoy, perhaps after years of tension and difficulties, isn’t available to us.
The need to walk the line between preserving our life together and respecting your separate one has eventually proved too difficult. I am tired of treading on eggshells, trying to avoid any hint of possessiveness or pressure. I might ask if you were free to accept a dinner invitation to both of us from old friends and you would not want to commit, preferring to remain open to other possibilities, finding the division of loyalties irksome. Accommodating each other comes at too high an emotional price for both of us. So, what else is there, except friendship?
Explaining my decision to our friends isn’t easy: they have become used to our idiosyncratic domestic arrangements over the years, even though understanding how we have coped at all is almost beyond their grasp. Why would I suddenly choose to live independently, after all this time? They compare us with the conventional example of a husband who has affairs but still considers his wife the most important person in his life. But, of course, in our case, the opposite is true: you are continually looking for that man who could be the most important person in your life. That usually stops them in their tracks.
The children, now well-established in their own relationships and careers, can take a more detached view, for their focus has shifted.
What impresses you and me about them is the absence of taking sides, so common in the breakdown of relationships. As they dealt with the knowledge of your sexuality all those years ago, when in their late teens, so they will respect this new shift in their parents’ lives with maturity, empathy and discretion. With what remains of my life, therefore, I’d like to remove once and for all the shackles of expectation and assumption, the huge margin for misunderstanding and misjudgment, and hope that greater independence will allow us to respect and value each other much more.
I’ll never forget what a loving father and caring husband you were – and are still. Not all wives can say that. I hope I can now tuck the past away, beat back any resentment and concentrate on forming a close friendship with you for our own sakes and for our children and grandchildren. I don’t expect you to agree with or accept what I’ve said as your perspective must be very different. Even so. I hope what I’ve expressed is viewed neither as critical of you, nor insensitive to your heroic efforts to be true to yourself and supportive of me. What has partly sustained our relationship for such a long time has been a sincere attempt to understand our respective difficulties.
Love always, Gail
I felt despair after he told me
Here is the article written by Gail Fielding and published in The Times in 1988
About eight years ago, while holding me close, my husband told me that he was gay. For days after this revelation I wrestled with its implications, trying to recall looks or observations that should have sparked more than a suspicion.
Our three children involved us, our sex life continued, and my husband seemed unaltered: no horns or cloven hoofs. But one cannot always bury a timebomb of this magnitude for ever, although I am told there are “hundreds and hundreds” of gay husbands whose wives do not know of, or will not acknowledge, their husbands’ homosexuality.
Sometimes my wall of detachment would be breached. My husband developed shingles. Blandly the doctor observed that his immune system had broken down, not realising the crushing impact of his words, for Aids had just begun to haunt the researchers. Our eyes met in fear, but we could not discuss it, my wall was still too firmly in place. After recovering, and showing great courage, he took the test for Aids, happily negative. And if at coffee mornings, dinners or during the course of my work as a market researcher in unblemished Berkshire, someone sneered at gays or made the ritual remarks, my smile would be careful, my reactions noncommittal. Despite my terror – for that is what it was – I could not betray my husband by joining in.
Together we tackled the subject of homosexuality, my husband as homosexual and the implications for our marriage and children. Our teenage children, constantly at war with each other, are united in their love and respect for their father. But they share the preconceptions of their peers at the local comprehensive school.
For a while I hated gays, the camp and the subdued alike. Across a great divide there was territory I could not invade and could not understand.
I was very frightened. Eventually my despair was total, and yet I spoke to no one. Though I felt I could count on my friends’ support, was it fair to impose such a burden. They too would experience conflict and insecurity, a discomfort felt when views are challenged and affection tested. When I did tell some of them, gently encouraged by a marriage-guidance counsellor, filtering through the astonishment and disbelief was sympathy – for both of us.
For two years we attempted to establish a modus vivendi, some way of allowing my husband to be what he is without causing me too much pain.
It did not work: the combination of concessions (my perception) and constraints (his) were very difficult to reconcile. At present he loves and is loved in return. We are looking at separation, particularly how it will involve and affect the children (to tell or not to tell?) and are terrified of gambling with their emotional welfare. Professional opinion, however, seems to indicate that the sooner they are told of their father’s homosexuality the better, on the grounds that unexplained tension between parents is worse.
I do not want a separation but despair of a working alternative. If someone were to ask me if I would marry my husband again I would probably say “no”, but with hesitation. In so many ways my marriage has been an enriching experience. Clause 28 could encourage more cross-sexual marriages (homosexual married to heterosexual) because homosexuals will feel less secure about their sexual orientation. Those involved may not be as lucky as I.
This is long but good. Tell Gail Fielding what you think by posting your comments in our blog? I’m very proud of Gail.
Be Safe-
Dennis Schleicher
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