The Tamesis
Just before my sudden divorce from my husband of 21 years, he said, “I think we’re to blame for sleeping in separate beds.” I was taken aback.
We began to separate when our four-year-old daughter was undergoing treatment for stage 4 neuroblastoma. Someone must administer overnight medications, water bags, and feeding tubes. My husband needs very little sleep to function. I can’t. Lack of sleep gave me migraines and made me cry over expired cottage cheese. He volunteered to stay in the guest room without hesitation, and this continued for about ten years.
“Why don’t you speak?” I asked.
“I did. You didn’t listen,” he said, his voice shaking not with nerves but with anger. “You’ve made it clear that you have no interest in sex.”
“That’s not true,” I said frantically. The reality is that we haven’t had any physical contact in three years. I considered taking him to our bedroom then and there as a final reminder that we had (we have) great sex, but I’m not sure I have what it takes to make him stay.
After he left, I wondered why he didn’t give me an ultimatum. Why didn’t he involve me in the decision? My best guess is that he thought I didn’t react well – and he was probably right.
When we were first married, my husband and I went to bed at the same time. But when we became parents, I started going to bed earlier. When he would crawl into bed and wake me up after midnight, I would lie there sorting out my to-do list while he snores, apologizes, and snores again. He woke up refreshed. I woke up and whatever the opposite of the chipper was.
During our daughter’s illness, my husband converted the guest room into his own bedroom, adding a desk and two framed photos of our daughter. Also, sleeping alone makes me softer. I didn’t get mad at my oldest daughter because of her messy backpack. I drove to the hospital without worrying that I would fall asleep on the highway. Eventually, I wrote an article about how sleeping in separate rooms improved my marriage. I emphasize communication and time together as keys to success.
Until then, only my closest friends knew that my husband and I were separated; the shame surrounding it at the time kept me silent. But since this article went to press, more people than I thought have told me that they, too, sleep separately from their partners. The consensus is the same: better sleep, less resentment, a new normal. Somewhat ironically, this arrangement is known as “sleep divorce.”
But when our little girl finished her treatment, my husband asked, this is what his blue eyes were doing thing: “When can I go back to the big bed?”
I stopped him. “soon,” I cooed. At the same time, an inner voice screamed no way.
I love my new habit: opening the curtains at 5 a.m. call the midwife No negotiation required. But having these things and satisfying my need for sleep was in direct conflict with his need for connection. To him, the warmth of a body next to him—that unspoken union—is proof of partnership. We never argued about it. I wish we had.
During the last few years of our marriage, I felt very lonely. I’m sure he did too. I was fully focused on putting our daughter through high school, managing my daughter’s long-term care, teaching, and writing. He opened a restaurant and rarely came home.
On one of our walks about a year before he left, I told him I needed more touch. It feels ridiculous after 20 years together.
