Why every wife should take a MARRIAGE SABBATICAL
That’s what this woman did — for EIGHT months. And, her husband agrees, it saved them from divorce
When I told friends and family that my husband and I were taking a ‘marriage sabbatical’, I could see the wheels spinning behind their eyes.
Most viewed the situation with some scepticism — was our relationship falling apart? wasn’t this really a trial separation? what even is a marriage sabbatical? But for the most part they chose to avoid asking difficult questions directly.
After all, Simon and I had always been the perfect couple. I’d been just shy of 22 when we met — he 25 — and not in the market for anything serious.
I’d extracted myself from a souldestroying six-year relationship with an older man, and was enjoying the freedom of single life. But when I met Simon at a photoshoot for the magazine where I worked, I felt a shift somewhere deep in my soul. On subsequent dates, being around him felt like coming home. I knew he would be in my life for ever.
we moved in with each other six months later, and six months after that we were engaged. we waited three years before tying the knot and took out a joint mortgage on our first house. All that remained, at the age of 27, was to enjoy the rest of our lives together in marital bliss.
But fast forward another four years, and the lustre had begun to wear off. we were both unhappy at work — Simon’s job was making him depressed and my career in newspapers was so stressful I’d left to go freelance. At a point when we should have been pulling together, we were too wrapped up in our own problems to fully support each other.
Instead, I found myself doubting our relationship. I loved Simon with every cell of my being, but was I still in love with him? I missed the intoxicating feeling of
our earlier years together. Having ‘settled down’ so young, was I now missing out on something better?
This sense of restlessness is a common theme in many long- term relationships, and I’ve since watched countless friends go through a similar period of questioning.
Sometimes it’s what prompts people to start a family. Sometimes, one or both partners embark on an affair.
And sometimes — often during the ‘empty nest’ period when the ‘glue’ of children has gone — it’s time to move on, in search of something better that may or may not exist. As the cracks had begun to show, we made what felt like a grown-up decision: to take time out from married life in the name of re-igniting the spark that brought us together.
The catalyst came in the form of a job offer — to spend eight months in Ibiza editing a magazine. There was, I knew, no way Simon could take the time off to come with me.
There was no tearful goodbye when I left. The atmosphere was sombre. We were aware this could be make or break for our relationship. It was a huge risk.
Ibiza in 2008 wasn’t known for quiet nights in with a crossword, and I could see Simon’s mind concocting all sorts of scenarios as to what I’d be getting up to. But it also felt like the shake-up our marriage needed.
Of course, the big question was: what if one of us met someone else? We had some very grown-up (and emotional on my part) conversations about this before my departure.
It wasn’t something that had ever come up before, but now it felt like a very real possibility.
Our conclusion, as I fretted over which bikinis to take and the prospect of driving on the right for the first time, was that we’d cross that bridge when, and if, we came to it.
The only rule? That we’d tell each other the instant it even felt like a possibility. Otherwise we intended to keep communication to a minimum.
I was committed to taking this time for myself, to work out who I was — both in the relationship, and in terms of my life goals.
I’d never been properly single, having met my first boyfriend at 16. And no matter how perfect the match, any long-term relationship requires compromise.
It can also be so easy to begin living as a unit, rather than two individuals, and this is when boredom and petty resentments can creep in.
When all is done ‘as a couple’, you can forget what you found so attractive about your partner in the first place.
As it happened, it was easy to put Simon to the back of my mind. I signed up for Spanish lessons, and the job was as exciting as I’d hoped.
DeSpITe a few wobbles, I was soon loving my new life. I was shocked by how little I thought about Simon, and how easy it was to let five or six weeks go by with barely a phone call.
I didn’t pine for him, but I did feel guilty about having so much fun, knowing Simon was still unhappy back home.
While I was racking up exciting new experiences, with sunshine and sangria on tap, he was stuck in the same routine.
I had to remind myself that despite him being my husband, it wasn’t my responsibility to fix what wasn’t working in his life. This might sound selfish. But wouldn’t it have been more selfish to have had an affair to paper over the cracks? Or to have packed my bags when the rose-tinted spectacles came off our marriage?
I also believe that always prioritising the needs of a partner at the expense of personal fulfilment can lead to the resentment that is kryptonite to a long-term relationship.
In the event, I had a few flirtations over the summer. As did he.
But if anything, every cheesy chat-up line or lustful glance across a dancefloor reminded me how special my connection with Simon was.
And which I was more and more convinced would never be possible to experience with someone else.
The sense we belonged together never went away.
AS THe time came for me to return home, the nerves began to creep in. As much as I was excited to be with Simon again, the time apart had created a palpable distance between us.
I flew back to London on an early morning flight that October, unsure what to expect.
He wasn’t at the airport and I arrived home to an empty house. There were dishes in the sink and even our cats seemed nonplussed by my arrival.
I spent the day doing laundry, and when Simon came home from work that evening, I was relieved to feel that eternal, unspoken connection when we embraced.
If I’d been expecting a reunion with declarations of undying love, however, it was clear we’d have some talking to do first.
Our re-entry into married life felt awkward as we’d both outgrown the well-worn grooves of our relationship. Simon had some new friends and exuded a sense of independence I initially found cold but came to respect.
It felt like we had done a brave thing. The empty space we’d created had allowed us to see each other as individuals again.
I was also reminded why I chose to be with my husband in the first place. And with 42 per cent of marriages in Britain ending in divorce, I can credit our marriage sabbatical as playing a crucial role in us celebrating 18 years together this month.
These days, as a couple we embrace adventure and change.
I look back on that summer as a window of self-discovery and a crucial chapter in our relationship history.
Beyond the conventions of marriage, it was an opportunity for us to choose to be together again, for ever.