Irish Daily Mail

Woman who says we all have the right to one last great love

. . . even if it means leaving the father of your children after a 20-year marriage – like she did. So how does she justify her stance?

- by Avivah Wittenberg-Cox

EVERYBODY thought we had the perfect marriage. And on the surface, we did. My husband was a good, solid family man and we had happily raised two wonderful children together.

But as we made polite conversati­on in the hotel restaurant overlookin­g Lake Garda in Italy, where we had come for a weekend break, I realised we had grown miles apart. I watched spellbound as, at the next table, a woman my age had an intense conversati­on with her partner. She was pouring her heart out to him, while he listened to her intently.

Suddenly, dramatical­ly, she broke down in tears. Her partner didn’t say a word. Instead, he picked up his chair and moved it around to be next to her, and just held her, silently, until her sobs subsided. That was my ‘light bulb moment’, the moment when I realised what I was yearning for — and wasn’t getting: that deep intimacy, without words, as natural as breathing.

I was in my late 40s and I still had dreams and passions and wanted a deep emotional connection with a man who shared them. I was lonely and unsatisfie­d. It was to prove the catalyst for the beginning of the end of my 22-year marriage. Today, a decade on, I am 56 and married to Tim, who is my ‘late love’ — my soulmate and the man with whom I will hopefully grow old. I have never been happier.

Many other women are experienci­ng this flowering of late love, too. While life is long, and getting longer, relationsh­ips don’t always last the distance. We are always growing and changing, and our relationsh­ips need to grow and change too, or they will fail. Some couples manage to achieve

this together, but it takes effort and will from both partners. Many couples, like my first husband and I, can’t make it work. That’s why I believe that in the future, having different partners for different parts of your life is likely to become increasing­ly common.

The anthropolo­gist Margaret Mead said there are three different loves in life — the first, with whom you discover passion and sex; the second, with whom you settle down and parent children; and the third, who is your soulmate for your mature years.

If you are very lucky, you may find all these three loves in the same person, although most of us experience at least the first two.

I had always thought it was just a good theory — until it actually happened to me. I realised Mead had described my life before I’d lived it!

I’ve come to realise that being a ‘mature’ woman does not mean you need to put up with being unhappy, or that you must give up on love. We are all living so much longer than in the past — we don’t die shortly after retirement any more — and women are more financiall­y empowered. So we can walk away if we choose to.

And many women do. I believe strongly in commitment, co-parenting and responsibi­lity.

But once the children have grown up, perhaps it’s time to re-evaluate, to recommit and to redesign our relationsh­ips. After all, we accept the idea of lifelong learning, new careers and transforma­tion in the workplace. We accept that nobody has a job for life any more. Perhaps it’s time to accept it at home as well.

We shouldn’t take it for granted that our relationsh­ip will stay the same, or that our partner will stay with us without having to pay too much attention to them. A renewal clause might keep people on their toes and make marriages more fulfilling.

Everyone accepts their first, youthful love may not be the best match when it comes to having children. So why can’t we accept that the father of your children may not be the kindred spirit with whom you dream of spending the next 30 (or more) years once the children move on?

For me, it was the hardest and most frightenin­g thing I’ve ever done. My ex-husband couldn’t understand or accept my decision, and it was a very painful time for everyone. I lost some friends, too, who couldn’t accept that the picture-perfect relationsh­ip they’d perceived didn’t really exist.

But the security of a long marriage doesn’t work for everyone.

We need to find a new narrative for what is normal in a lifetime when it comes to relationsh­ips. For some, ‘till death do us part’ works; for many it doesn’t. For me, it is instead a matter of ‘grow or go’. If your relationsh­ip is not giving you what you need, why should you just accept it?

There have only been three men in my life, each of them perfect for the experience­s we shared.

I met my first love, a Frenchman, in Paris while I was studying there. Archetypal­ly tall, dark and handsome, he was also charming, kind and creative, and everything a first love should be: passionate, a good dancer, a tender lover. I was madly in love with him.

But after two years of dating, I was offered a job in Brussels and he didn’t want to come with me. Seven years older than me, he was ready to settle down and have children, and I, at 24, wasn’t. So our relationsh­ip came to a natural end. Next came my first husband, the father of my children, and a marriage that was very loving and peaceful for 22 years.

I met him in Brussels when we both worked there, and we eventually moved to Paris together. He was a good man and we had a lot in common, similar interests and family values.

When I met him I was ready to settle down and I could sense he would be a devoted husband and father. I was right. We had a very contented marriage and raised two adorable children together.

But, over the years we started to grow apart. I felt we risked turning into his uncommunic­ative parents and, while he didn’t seem to mind, I really wanted to have more depth to my relationsh­ip.

After Lake Garda, I remained unhappy for years before doing anything about it. Then there was another ‘light bulb’ moment, when we were having brunch one day, and I was trying to talk about something deeper than we usually did.

I noticed he was barely listening, even though what I was saying was important to me.

Then, to my amazement, he just got up from the table and walked off. That hurt so much, it

‘We accept the idea of lifelong learning, new careers and workplace transforma­tion. Perhaps it’s time to accept it when it comes to love and family too’

made me realise I couldn’t do it any more. A few days later, a friend said he was having a party to celebrate his 30th wedding anniversar­y.

Isaid, ‘Wow! Congratula­tions. How did you do it?’ And he answered, cynically: ‘Lack of courage.’ I was adamant I didn’t want to be like that, unhappy in another ten years, just because I was too scared to walk away.

I knew then that I had to make the leap but it wasn’t simple. How would I tell my husband and the two children, one of whom was still at home and at school? Where would I go?

I felt that as a mother, it was one of my prime responsibi­lities to be a good role model on how to live lovingly and truthfully. In particular, I wanted to teach them that if they are in relationsh­ips where love has died, they can leave well, act responsibl­y and find happiness again.

And also, yes, to understand that once the children are grown up, parents are allowed to revisit whether their relationsh­ip still nourishes the two humans left.

What of the men left behind? They are not discarded. I am still very friendly with my ex, and had dinner with him recently. I truly hope he finds someone who loves him better than I could, and that we will be good friends and coparents for the rest of our lives.

I finally took the decision to end my 22-year marriage in January 2011, the year I turned 50. The first person I told, in a long email message, was my friend Tim, whom I had known for 25 years.

Over the New Year weekend, he had stayed at our home with some other friends.

He had showed us photos of sculptures he’d carved, of women and abstracts. Then he showed us pictures of the home he’d renovated and of his great passion, his old steamboat.

As I heard him talk about his life, something clicked inside me. l had never before thought of him as anything other than a good friend, but now I realised he was everything I wanted in a man.

Tim had never married, and I had often tried to set him up with girlfriend­s but the relationsh­ips hadn’t worked out. I had absolutely no idea if he felt the same way about me, but I had to take the chance.

In my letter, I told him my New Year resolution was to become more vulnerable. I told him I was leaving my husband. Then I admitted I had feelings for him.

‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I’m cringing at every line that I’m writing, and I’m going to do it anyway; so, I’m throwing myself on your mercy. All I want is a yes or no. I have no idea where this is going to go, but if you would like to have dinner, I’m in London next month.’

I fully expected never to hear from him again. A few hours later, he replied saying he was shellshock­ed but ‘the heart is not untouched’ and that he would get back to me when he’d had some time to think.

After that, I moved into a separate bedroom from my husband, and started the process of ending my marriage.

Tim and I began an email correspond­ence, getting to know each other more deeply.

We did meet up for dinner when I went to London. And when I finally moved out of the marital home, a few months later, we began a proper relationsh­ip. Eventually, I moved to London to live with him. Seven years on, we couldn’t be happier.

Tim and I got married two years ago. My son gave a toast to my new husband at the wedding and it was one of the most touching moments of my life. I learned children are happy when they see their parents happy, and it was a crucial lesson for them, too.

As for Tim and me, we are still blissfully content. I love everything about him, even his weaknesses. He makes me feel like I can be myself for the first time, that I can be totally honest without ever walking on eggshells.

Our relationsh­ip has been a meeting of minds, hearts and bodies. And we celebrate January 3, the day I sent him that email, every year. It was the email that led me to my third love.

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