Read any story here by any of us and you'll find we all go through the same experience....with different specifics. Some more distressing/distasteful/sad/angry than others but with the same over-laying theme of secrecy, bad communication, confusion and loss. 

Sounds like you're at the start of your journey and from what you say she says she's ready to move on. So I think this has been uppermost in her mind for years. 

Elle

I'm sorry to read your story and that you're finding yourself here. I'm in a very similar situation right now, with my wife of over a decade in a two decade relationship coming to the realization that she's bisexual and unwilling to commit to our marriage. In my case the coldness isn't there, although it's been an emotional rollercoaster and I don't know where we're going to end up. I also think that there's a whole lot of midlife crisis going on in my story just like you. I don't have any advice to offer because I'm also so early on in my story, but know that you're not alone in this at all.

Thank you all — truly — for your insights and responses. They’ve been a lifeline in this moment, and I’ve been spending time reading previous posts and listening to OurPath podcasts, trying to hear from others who’ve walked a similar road.

Last night, my wife and I talked again. She told me she wants us to tell our families about the divorce in July, but doesn’t want to tell them why. I said I thought we were on a “pause,” not a decision — and she responded that she thinks we’ve had different definitions of what that pause meant. From her perspective, she believes this step is necessary for her to process her repression and identity — and to do that, she needs finality. She said, almost painfully, that she’s already “done enough harm.” Knowing her, I think that may be the closest I’ll ever come to hearing an apology.

Our conversations have been unfolding like peeling layers. First, she told me she didn’t think she was in love with me anymore. Then, she opened up about repressed feelings toward women, but insisted she wasn’t ready to label herself or rule out men entirely. Last night, she shared that she has no interest in romantic relationships with men at all, though she still says she isn’t looking to date women right now either. It is perhaps worth noting here I believe she still has shame, because she has yet to say the word lesbian, gay, or even bi. She said that today she hopes to tell our mutual friend “the entire story,” and while she doesn’t feel ready to tell her parents, she’s hoping to tell her sister when she visits home.

In some ways, having this clarity helps. I truly don’t believe there was an affair — and even through the sadness, we’ve managed to maintain moments of lightness. I made a few dark-humor jokes (which she laughed at, thankfully), asking if she was sure she didn’t want to “try penis one more time, just to be sure.” But in a more sincere moment, I asked whether she had explored lesbian porn or fantasized about women. She said no — that her repression ran so deep she never allowed herself to go there.

All of this is hard. And as strange as it sounds, the fact that this is happening just as Pride Month begins feels extra heavy. I live in Los Angeles and work on a college campus where LGBTQ+ visibility is high — and I genuinely want to honor her journey — but I also feel like, as a straight white man, I’m not “allowed” to fully grieve. That if I speak up about the pain or betrayal I feel, I’m somehow taking away from her truth. It’s also hard that she doesn’t want to tell people yet. That means I have to protect her privacy and delay my own full processing and healing.

What’s been hardest for me is this pattern I’m starting to recognize — that she’s still reluctant to use words like “gay” or “lesbian,” and still unwilling to tell her family. I worry that this reflects an ongoing shame or internalized discomfort, and that this same emotional avoidance — this fear of being known — was a core issue in our marriage.

And I worry, too, about what’s next. Our circle is liberal, we have LGBTQ+ friends, and part of me believes that as she begins to experience more acceptance — from others and maybe from herself — that she’ll eventually move fully into that identity and want to explore that world. I’ve read about the “gay adolescence” some people experience when they come out later in life, particularly among men — a kind of rapid, high-intensity phase of dating, sex, and experimentation. I don’t know how common that is for women, but I can feel something like that comin, and I don't think I can handle it. 

Meanwhile, I’m doing the work on myself. I started therapy this week. When my therapist asked me what I want, I broke down — because I didn’t know. I realized how deeply I’ve buried my own needs, how often I’ve just taken whatever emotional scraps I could get — not just physically, but emotionally. And this isn’t just about my wife. In reflecting on my past relationships, I realized that every serious partner I’ve had had some form of repression, trauma, or emotional avoidance.

And it’s not just coincidence. There’s something about me — my sensitivity, my emotional availability — that seems to attract women who are struggling in some deep way. I’ve always joked that I was raised in a house full of women, and I am emotionally attuned, open, honest. But now I see the shadow side of that: I’ve always prioritized their needs, their pain, their healing — and left mine out of the story.

That’s what I need to change. I need to stop sacrificing myself in order to be “the safe person.” I need to be in relationships — eventually — where my needs, desires, and emotional truths matter just as much. I’m not ready for another relationship yet. I know that any impulse to start dating right now is really just about validation. I want to know someone still finds me attractive. That I could be wanted again. That someone would be present with me — not dissociating, not afraid, not unsure. But I know that’s not healing. That’s a distraction.

So I’m trying to stay with the pain. To learn from it. To do the work. And I wanted to share this here, because reading your stories has helped me feel less alone — and maybe my story might do the same for someone else.

Why should you change, you're not the one being hurtful.  you're not the one being deceptive.  No you sound like a really nice and caring man.  Hooray!

and anyway you can't change, sorry, if you have a nice nature that's who you are and anyway, there are a lot of good aspects to it.  The tack I have taken to protect myself is to wait and learn a bit more about the person talking to me before I go along with anything.  Even so I have been caught - this woman told me she was having boyfriend trouble and living in her van and I said she could stay in my studio for 3 nights, well guess who it was who came and picked her up when I finally insisted she leave - her very nice long suffering boyfriend.

I don't think it's at all fair that she asks you to remain silent when you need to talk.  Her family is her family,  but your family and friends?   Each person you tell - so many of us have found it makes such a difference.  It felt like getting the feel of the ground under my feet again, that first person I told.

Last edited by lily (June 3, 2025 3:51 pm)

Remember to be kind to yourself first in all of this. I know the impulse to be nice to the people you love, but right now you need to put yourself first because you're going through a lot. You also need to prioritize your kids but you're no good to them if you can't function. So take care of yourself and don't put her first.