Waterfall Chasers: Watkins Glen and Reptiland

On a Saturday morning, we reluctantly bid goodbye to our friends in New York (they made the children pancakes for breakfast first, earning their eternal devotion) and headed south.

We have a road-trip rule that you can only use iPads when we're on an interstate, so the children were completely horrified to learn that we would not go on an interstate at all for the first leg of our trip, instead taking country roads down the length of Lake Seneca. Fortunately, I had packed some Mad Libs, heretofore ignored, and we did these for over half an hour of hallmark-worthy family bonding time... until my daughter managed to pick an argument over how she kept getting asked for adjectives while I got asked for fun stuff like animals.

Our first destination was Watkins Glen State Park, where the water from Lake Seneca flows out through a gorge in several pools and cascades. It's much like a large-scale version of Seven Tubs, except you are strictly Not Allowed to get in and explore. Instead, visitors are restricted to a man-made path up the gorge and back... It sounds boring, except said path is a work of art, integrating its structure with the natural rock formation, and leading the visitors over bridges, through tunnels and behind waterfalls.

Rainbow Falls

I figured it would be an entertaining enough walk to keep the children's attention on exploring rather than the distance traveled... and that probably would have been true had it not been for the helpful sign at the start informing us that it was 1.5 miles and 832 steps each way. My children instantly realised they had been had: this was a three mile hike. (At seven and nine, they are both perfectly capable of walking three miles without noticeable exertion, but however often I prove this to them, they refuse to accept it.)

It was all going so well until we started...

I had to stage something of an intervention here, sitting them both down on a bench and informing them that ice cream was at stake: whiners need not apply. This also provided a helpful service to the older couple at the other end of the bench who had just been lamenting that it had been easier when the kids were younger. They looked at us and remembered, no... no it had not.

Anyway, the kids mostly got over themselves, especially when they saw that the trail started with a tunnel into the cliffside. They disappeared into it and came out on the first bridge while I was still taking pictures from the bottom. We did not make it to the end of the trail, but we went behind the two waterfalls, which was what I had really wanted. Rainbow Falls with its broad curtain of rain is the more serene and attractive of the two, but ducking under the shelf of rock behind Cavern Cascade and getting splashed by the stream of water hitting the rail was more fun, and my personal favourite spot on the trail.

Cavern Cascade

Watkins Glen is a well-known spot, so visiting it on a Saturday (and late morning, no less) was not ideal... the trail was busy and at the spots where it passes behind the two waterfalls, the crowds start bottlenecking as everybody tries to stop for a picture and to allow other people to start taking their pictures. I couldn't change the day of our visit, so we sucked it up, but the general recommendation is to go on a weekday... preferably early or late. We were always conscious of keeping out of people's way, which prevented us from fully letting go and enjoying the trail. Still, even when crowded, it's an astonishingly serene little spot, and while we were all a little irritable at this point into the trip, none of us could stay angry with each other for long.

At the end, we ran into the older couple again, who gave us a thumbs up for making it. I assume they meant not killing each other rather than successfully navigating the trail.

This was the day that England were playing Sweden in the quarter-final of the World Cup (prompted by his father, our son was wearing his England shirt to celebrate), so I checked the news as we finished, to find that England were 1-0 up. We decided to get lunch in town so that we could follow the live updates for the rest of the match.

The gorge of Watkins Glen State Park, literally comes out onto the town of Watkins Glen's main street, so we simply left the visitor's center and took a right. Watkins Glen is a delightfully eccentric place. When we arrived, there were at least three different troupes of Morris Dancers gathering at the vistor's centre. I have no idea why; they were gone by the time we finished the trail. Along the street, a sign announced the start and finish line of the Watkins Glen Grand Prix, chequered flags adorned the road, and paving stones were inscribed with the names of the winners.

A few blocks down, we encountered the World's Smallest Diner (citation needed), and I immediately wanted to eat there, even if the menu consisted solely of a hot dog with choice of two toppings. My ingrate children refused in favour of an overpriced pizzeria. So we sat there, following the BBC's live updates of the match, and when England won, we shamelessly played Three Lions to celebrate.We  followed up with ice cream, sitting in rocking chairs on the porch at the Colonial Inn... something I can thoroughly recommend.

I mean, how could you not want to eat here??

The other stop on our itinerary that day was Reptiland, for my daughter who had requested animals at every opportunity. I wasn't going to do every zoo we passed, but this was a fun way to break up the journey. We only spent about 90 minutes there... that was all that was needed, but we like living reptiles and we like dinosaur animatronics. Even on a Saturday afternoon, it wasn't crowded.

Alligators: regular and albino.

Chameleon

 Our personal highlights were the moving dilophosaurus that actually spits, and stroking a baby alligator after watching one of the educational shows. However, I was completely mesmerised by the snapping turtle who was lurking patiently, his mouth open with a worm-alike appendage wriggling from his tongue, and the lone fish in his tank who kept swimming up to look at his predator and then determinedly swimming away again. We passed this tank several times and each time the kids had to drag me away as I was convinced this time would be the time he got the fish. For all we know, that fish is alive still.

Spitting! (We are easily pleased.)

The mistake I made was not booking a hotel for the Saturday night. I had one in mind, in Donegal, but when we arrived, it was full. So were the two other hotels nearby. After some digging around, I found a hotel in Connelsville, which would be convenient for our trip the next day, but was another half an hour of travel here and now. We were lucky though—it was a good hotel for a good price. We could easily have found ourselves in a situation where we had to pay more than we wanted, just for the sake of getting a bed for the night. Lesson duly learned! Next time I'll book ahead.

Waterfall Chasers: Niagara Falls

Niagara Falls was the raison d'être for our entire trip: I had asked the kids what they would like to see in the US before we left, and they both said Niagara Falls. I hadn't been since I was about ten, so I was very much up for this. We left as early as I could manage... The kids were exhausted by this point, so I packed while they slept in. Then we dealt with interstate traffic as we left Toronto—including a crash that happened right in front of us. We were fine, despite a moment where it looked like the hit car was going to rebound into our lane, but I'm always a nervous driver, and I was in a high state of nerves for the rest of the drive.

A Hornblower boat in the middle of Horseshoe Falls.

As we were coming from Toronto, my plan was to do the Canadian side first, where you get the view of both the Horsehoe Falls (the main event, as it were) and the American and Bridal Veil Falls, then cross to the American side to scramble around Goat Island, between American/Bridal and Horseshoe Falls. I figured we could do the ticketed experiences in Canada, and then spend the peak time of day just wandering. Which, in retrospect, was assuming far too much of my kids. If I had really wanted to do both, I should have done two days: a morning in Canada doing the Falls and an afternoon doing touristy stuff; then a morning in the US doing the Falls and an afternoon driving away.

As it was, we spent $25 Canadian dollars to park, which was an immediate deterrent from moving the car until we were ready to go home. Canada and the United States have a similar range of must-do experiences: a walk behind the falls, and a boat trip into the mist at the foot of them. I'd done behind the Falls as a child (can't remember which side), but not the boat trip, so I figured we'd do both.

Looking under Horseshoe Falls.

The children were impressed with the Falls but underwhelmed by the Journey Behind the Falls. It was exciting for a few seconds and then they realised that they couldn't touch the water and they couldn't see anything... There's a fun observation deck, alongside Horseshoe Falls, and it's less of a scramble than the US Cave of the Winds which goes behind Bridal Veil Falls—I actually thought the US version looked more fun, but the children would probably not have appreciated the extra walk to underwhelming results.

The wooden walkways for Cave of the Winds, at the foot of Bridal Veil Falls.

Afterwards, we walked down to the Hornblower Boat launch, choosing to enjoy the scenic pathway along the gorge's rim rather than taking the bus that shuttles people around the area. This meant we got to watch the zipliners go flying by. We couldn't justify the cost of ziplining with everything else we were doing, but we would have loved to do it.

Waiting for the boat was a long but fast-moving line. The main objective when boarding was to get to a rail on the top deck, which we managed: the kids right on the rail and me behind, with a clear view over their heads. While the top front must undoubtedly be the best view, the boat pulls in close to American and Bridal Veil Falls on both the outgoing and return trip, so both sides get a good view and feel the mist. At Horseshoe Falls, it turns around anti-clockwise, so that the starboard side (which we were on) gets the panoramic sweep as it turns back for the dock.

I loved the whole experience... from the view to the incredible surging as we got in the middle of Horseshoe Falls and that column of mist that rises above it. My son enjoyed himself too, but my daughter found that her regulation poncho did not offer enough protection from the cold and the wet and was done with it long before it ended.

Also on the dock, this falcon, who works to keep other birds away.

We ate at the Grandview Restaurant, set above the boat dock. It's a limited menu and expensive, but the view is not under-rated. Sitting there and just watching the Falls is mesmerising. I had hoped that the kids would get their second wind once they were refueled. That often happens, but not today. Instead, all I could do was coax them to walk up to the viewing point by the Welcome Center to see the very brink of the Falls. At that point, it was the only Canadian angle we hadn't done.

In retrospect, I wish I'd let the kids watch the movie about Niagara's history instead of going Behind the Falls. I recall watching one as a child, near the start of our Falls visit, and it really brought the Falls alive for me. I was also tempted to take them to the elevated go-kart track, though they were too young to drive and I wasn't sure I could do it justice. I chose to do two up-close-to-the-Falls experiences instead, which were amazing for me, but became too much of the same for the children.

So our last view of the Falls came from Rainbow Bridge as we drove back into the States and to our NY friends. My daughter slept through most of the hour and a half drive. Yet when we arrived, we all went down to a park at Canandaigua Lake (exchanging the Great Lakes for the Finger Lakes), and the kids found a sudden burst of energy, running around the playground.

Sometimes kids just need to do kid stuff.

Waterfall Chasers: Toronto

One of my concerns about this road trip was travelling over the fourth of July. My solution? Escaping to Canada! After all, if we're going to Niagara Falls anyway, why not drive that little bit further north and enjoy Toronto?

We left our friends bright and early on Wednesday morning and crossed the border via Rainbow Bridge so the children could get their first glimpse of Niagara Falls and make all the suitable "ooh" and "aah" noises.

It was my first time in Canada since 2001, and my first time driving in another country since my ill-fated driving lessons in the UK. After the initial shock of switching from mph to km/h (and double-checking to confirm that my speedometer does actually provide for both), this proved to be unproblematic, though we got bogged down in traffic closer to Toronto. We needed to refuel soon after we crossed the border, so I used this as an excuse to introduce the kids to Tim Hortons.

For Toronto, I had found another AirBnB. I had gone for one just north of downtown, which proved to be a really nice location: quiet, safe and subway accessible (with onsite parking). What I wasn't expecting was for Google to route me through downtown to get to it... This proved quick and easy when we left town before 8am, but not so much on our entry just before midday. The kids enjoyed driving through Chinatown at least.

I was even less successful with the subway... this was easy to navigate, but I never did figure out the fare system. I had planned to get a day pass, which was allegedly sold at subway stations—except our subway station only had presto cards available which you loaded with the money for your fare, but I had no idea what amount I needed. In retrospect, we really didn't need a day pass, as Union Station was sufficient for our explorations. The kids rode free, so all I needed was the fare to and from the one stop.

But Toronto itself was fantastic. Again, we only had a day and a half... For a first trip to Toronto, the CN Tower is a must, and my son had put in a request to go up it. Otherwise, we didn't have enough time to do the city justice, so we just explored the bits that took our fancy and enjoyed the discoveries we made there.

Getting to the CN Tower at lunch time isn't ideal, and we waited over an hour for the elevator (the in-line entertainment is pretty good, at least), but we had no regrets about our choice. The elevator with its glass front and glass panels in the floor was an experience in itself, and the view of the city and Lake Ontario is amazing. (The children were dumbfounded when I explained to them it was a great lake and not the sea.)

In these days of perfect instagram photos, the outside walk was far and away the most lightly trafficked part of the observation area, and also the coolest, thanks to the breeze.

Obviously, the big draw was the glass floor, on the lower level of the observatory. I'm not especially afraid of heights, but there's something a little unnerving about watching the ground so far beneath you as you walk. The children were obsessed with the floor, and the mirror above you, and they spent about twenty minutes laying there looking down below or up at themselves lying across nothing. I was less enthralled by the view, but spent a long time watching the people: there were a dozen simultaneous stories from those who were nervous, as they either psyched themselves up to take that first step onto the glass or let a trusted friend draw them out for a picture.

Having a spiritual experience.

Afterwards, we headed down to the harbour where we would be meeting one of my net-friends and her son. We got distracted as soon as we crossed the road and found ourselves in Roundhouse Park which combined a brewery with a train museum and had old carriages just laying around to be explored.

This fountain at Bobbie Rosenfeld Park became our waterfall of the day.

Walking the miniature lines at Roundhouse Park.

However, it was still wretchedly hot (if not as hot as Philadelphia) so we moved onto the harbour, where we waded in Natrel Pond (at other times of year, an ice rink). My friend took us to Swiss Chalet, a chicken and gravy fastfood place, and a Canadian staple, followed by dessert at Beaver Tails (yet another medium for fried dough). We were amenable to Swiss Chalet, but we were immediate Beaver Tails converts.




Normally, we'd go home in the evening, but Ripley's Aquarium did a "Sharks After Dark" ticket rate that let us go around for slightly cheaper. As my daughter adores aquariums and animals in general, we were staying up late for this.

We have a very good local aquarium in Virginia Beach, so aquariums aren't normally high on my list of things to see, but this was fantastic and I do recommend it. The moving walkway through the lagoon tunnel was our personal highlight (especially since it meant I could order everybody to stay in one place), but the crawl through shark tunnel and the giant ray touch tank were also stand-outs, as was the kids playground at a little more than halfway through the exhibits.

Sharks swimming above the moving walkway.

A bonnethead in the ray tank.

The tour ends at the top of this tank, where we got to meet this guy again for a stroke and a pat goodbye.

The following day, we took ourselves to Centre Island. I had previously googled "Things to do in Toronto with Kids" and showed my son the top ten list that was one of the results. From that, he picked the Centreville Amusement Park.

Centre Island itself is essentially a park (a la New York's Central Park) on an island just off-shore—technically a group of islands. There's a lot to explore: you can rent bikes or kayaks to do it, plus they have picnic tables, playground, fountains and beaches (including one where clothing is optional!) for you to spend your time in. Centreville Amusement Park is something of a time-sink, and you should decide in advance whether you want to do the islands in general or just that specific part of it.

The Petting Farm as seen from the skyride.

As Centreville is geared at kids under 12, my 7 and 9 year olds were the perfect age for it, so we did spend most of our time there. You pay per ride, but I bought all-day passes for the kids and a sheet of 25 tickets for myself which got me on five rides with them. They went on countless rides, repeating their favourites several times, while I caught up on some email correspondence—and sampled the quintessential Canadian dish of poutine (I'm sure theme park poutine is just as good as anywhere else... right?) It wasn't really what I wanted in the middle of a heatwave, but I could see that poutine in winter would be a truly spiritual experience.

Cheese curds, gravy and fries. Oh, Canada!

I did drag the children away eventually to get a little taste of the rest of the island. My son and I did the hedge maze, and I wanted to dip my toes in a Great Lake, while my daughter was eager to play in a fountain.

That last nearly ended in disaster. Not from my daughter drowning or getting hypothermia or catching some terrible disease... No, just the simple act of another family accidentally picking up her shoes. It's so easy to do. 90% of girls' sandals are hot pink and practically identical. None of us were paying attention to where she'd cast her shoes off, until it was time to go and we realised they were nowhere around the pool.

One thing Centre Island does not have is anywhere to buy shoes. Not so much as a flip flop. And this was a hot, sunny day... all the pavement was scalding to the touch. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to get her to the ferry, no idea whether the ferry would let her on without shoes and no idea where to buy shoes or how to get there once we got back to Toronto's mainland.

It looks beautiful, but you don't want to cross this bridge barefoot.

We waited at the fountain as long as we dared, hoping that the unknown family would notice their mistake and return. However, we knew it was also very possible that they might not realise it until they got home, so eventually we started walking back towards the ferry terminal. Thankfully, we'd only gone a few yards before my daughter spotted her shoes in front of a bench halfway down the path. Evidently the family had realised their mistake, but instead of returning to the fountain or finding a lost and found, they had dumped the shoes. It would have been so easy for us to miss them altogether that I was privately furious. But no harm was done, and the children were glowing with relief that my daughter wasn't going to burn the soles off her feet trying to get home.

We enjoyed the ferry ride back—that view of Toronto's skyline can't be rivalled... I don't know how late the ferry runs, but taking it at dusk must be incredible.

For dinner we walked up Yonge St to find the Old Spaghetti Factory, which had been recommended somewhere online for eating with kids. I will gladly second that recommendation. The kids were vastly impressed by the decor, which included tables built into a tram and a carousel (neither functional). It's a great location for a game of I Spy while waiting for the food.

A carousel horse jumping over a telephone booth. Because why not?

It also put them in a good enough mood to be open to what they were eating—what I liked was that grown ups and kids meals alike came with a healthy starter and a dessert. So my daughter ate veggie sticks and my son minestrone soup while I had my salad, and then we were all served ice cream afterwards.

Children know a place is fancy when the ice cream comes in silver bowls.

We wrapped up the day by walking up to Front St and Berczy Park to see the dog fountain. There, my outgoing daughter promptly made a friend with somebody watching a pomeranian. My daughter's new friend told us that Berczy Park had been renovated in the past couple of years, going from virtually nothing to a bona fide tourist attraction. Striking up a conversation with strangers is something my introvert-self is virtually incapable of doing, and I'm always grateful for my daughter's ease in doing it. This lady proved to be a good source of local history, filling us in on the background for the things we had seen and many we hadn't. I had to tear the kids away to get back to our BnB. Our time in Toronto was over!

Fun fact: the pugs are anatomically correct. (Or at least the male ones are...)

One lone disapproving kitty.

Waterfall Chasers: Seven Tubs, PA

From Philadelphia, we were heading towards northwest New York state, but we broke the journey a couple of hours out of town for a little place I'd found when googling waterfalls: Seven Tubs Recreation Area.

This was tough to get to, as I'm not sure if you're supposed to turn left down the road (Google thought not, and the road markings were self-contradictory), and it's virtually impossible to see before you pass it if you're turning right. I drove past it and U-turned twice, before I gave up and drove down the left lane during a break in the oncoming traffic to make the turn. But it's free parking, and the waterfalls are about one minute's hike from the parking lot—we could hear falling water and children squealing as soon as we got out.

Looking downstream from the bridge...

And upstream from the bridge: a small-scale gorge.

The fun of this site is the hands-on exploration of the waterfalls. We didn't try scrambling through the tubs, since it looked too slippery to do without falling and getting thrown down by the water—but you'd be bruised rather than broken, and the water levels weren't high/fast enough when we were there that I'd have been particularly concerned about drowning. However, there's a trail that fords the stream at a wide pool, great for wading and we could scramble about the rocks there and play with the falls at either end. (My daughter even managed to make a water slide out of one slope, though her older brother couldn't do it without grinding to a halt.)

There's a short trail around the area, but we just played where we were. A group of people had set up a folding table and small grill and were having a party right there in the pool. This made it a little more crowded than perhaps we would have liked, but the idea was such genius that I couldn't resent them for it. The water was crystal clear, and we saw a big turtle (possibly a snapping turtle?) at the deep end, wedging himself into the rocks. We named him Grumpy McWhyareallthesepeoplehereface.

It drove me crazy, but this rock was just that bit too high and slippery for me to pull myself up there. I boosted the kids up, but I had to settle for playing photographer.

We stayed about an hour, then headed out for lunch. In retrospect, I should have stopped beforehand and picked up a picnic.

After that, it was a smooth drive north to some old friends who moved to NY from VA, and who we hadn't seen for four or five years. We spent the rest of the afternoon in their pool, followed by the local 4th July fireworks display... We were glad to get the chance to celebrate a day early, as we were headed to Canada the next morning.

Waterfall Chasers: Philadelphia

We always try and take a family trip somewhere in the States over the summer, so I was determined to follow tradition this year, even if I would be the only adult. (Shout out to Rich here, who is still the sole income provider for this household. Even if he isn't coming along, he had no problems financing the trip for us.)

Where I screwed up was in rashly signing my son and myself up for a 5K (he wanted to do one) on July 1st, which meant we ended up starting our trip on 4th July week... and in blistering heat. I did base our itinerary around a theme of waterfalls (this trip was inspired by the kids wanting to see Niagara) but the first stop was a city: Philadelphia.

We did the five hour drive straight from the 5K . It went well—we had one stop for lunch and a five minute power nap—parallel parking at our AirBnB was nowhere near as successful.

Actually, our first stop was at the Smith Memorial Playhouse. This let us all run around and stretch our legs in the outside playground, though I'd probably recommend this place for 7 and under—particularly inside the house which was very much geared towards toddlers and preschoolers. The playground had more options for older children: our favourite was the wooden slide.

The following day, I informed the children in no uncertain terms that we were not moving the car because I didn't want to have to park it again. Instead, we navigated public transport (successfully! Thank you to the trolley driver who saw my cluelessness and gave me a transfer ticket for the subway) to the historic district. We got there at 8:30 and promptly sat in the forming line for the Liberty Bell, which opened at 9am.

The advantage of doing this was getting a picture of us with the Bell, and absolutely nobody else in shot—if you want to go this route, you would probably be fine queuing from 8:45, but once you're through security, skip the information and exhibits, and go straight to the Bell. Even ten minutes after opening, the bell is surrounded.

My son, who's a history buff, was pretty pumped to see it, my daughter was considerably less enthralled. I had planned to spend the morning wandering around the historical district, but it was going to be a scorching day, and already the children were begging for refreshments.

On a cooler day, the President's House might have held their interest for longer.

So we changed our plans via the Independence Visitor Center where we bought a Phlash Bus pass each. We did stroll to see Benjamin Franklin's grave, and we attempted to go to the African American Museum, only to find that it was closed Monday to Wednesday. Although there had been plenty of emphasis on slavery and freeing slaves in the historical district's signage, it's more than a little depressing to discover that in a city that was so key in the fight for abolition, the museum devoted to African American History is only open half the week.

Outside the African American Museum: Whispering Bells, dedicated to the Crispus Attucks, killed for protesting against the crown, and generally considered as the first casualty of the American Revolution.

Hot and discouraged, we turned to our Phlash leaflet, and resolved to spend the rest of the day travelling from air conditioned museum to air conditioned museum in an air conditioned bus. As it turned out, our first stop was the Swann Memorial Fountain in Logan Circle, and if there is a better spot in Philadelphia for dealing with the heat, I'd be surprised. My daughter was instantly enraptured, and she and I spent over half an hour climbing over fountain tiers and statues amid the spraying water.

Finally my son dragged us away to the Franklin Institute. He wanted to go for the Gaming Exhibit that was there for the summer, but once inside we discovered that A: museum entry was fairly pricey, B: the Franklin Institute is a fantastic hands on science museum, perfect for older kids, and C: it was about twenty degrees cooler than outside.

My favourite exhibit

Long story short, we spent four hours there. Barring a five minute break outside to let my daughter warm up. (She had soaked her dress in the fountain and started shivering.)

We finally left to fulfil a promise to my daughter that she could return to the fountain—this time my son got into it as well, stripping his shirt off to climb to the top of one of the spouting statues. Another hour went by before we caught the Phlash to the art museum, which we had heard was free today and was fantastic for children... the only problem was that it closed twenty minutes before we got there. Oops.

So we walked the mile back to our B&B via the park, with a stop for ice cream and dinner (in that order) at the Cosmic Cafe by Boathouse Row.

One for the Hamilton fans, the most Lafayette statue of Lafayette that ever Lafayetted.

We'll probably go back to Philadelphia again, as it's really easy to get to, and try to catch some of the stuff we missed. However, I don't have regrets for how we spent it. On a scorching hot day, the Franklin Institute and Swann Fountain gave us a blast.

Breaking

There’s a reason I’ve not posted in a while, namely the breakdown of my marriage.

One of the last things I did post was this commentary on my fortieth birthday. I ended it with this paragraph:

Fifteen years ago, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with my husband. The idea of us turning forty together seemed quaintly romantic. Now it's our reality (we're halfway there... he'll be forty in a few months), and that's perhaps the best thing about today. I know better than to think this means "Happily Ever After," but I still feel that there's a hell of a lot of "Ever After" to come. So far, time remains on our side.

That was December 18^th. On January 24^th, my husband, Rich, sat me down and told me he didn’t love me any more. In fact, he hadn’t loved me for five years. He moved out on February 12^th, days before his own fortieth birthday.

Clearly, I did not see this coming.

In retrospect, I could have done. The signs were there… some of them I misattributed to other things, and some of them I dismissed as my own paranoia. Perhaps uncoincidentally, I’ve also been battling self-esteem issues over the past five years. 

Some of them I did take seriously. I had had my own issues with our relationship and a couple of years earlier, I had found myself wondering if I still loved him. I came to the conclusion that I did; Rich reached the opposite one. Awkward, huh?

However, we had much the same reaction to these conclusions, which was to deal with it ourselves—without saying a word of our doubts to each other. Rich chose to stay for the family’s sake and try to enjoy life if not his marriage; I chose to address what was bothering me about our relationship by myself. Occasionally, we would talk to each other about specific problems, but we didn’t provide the wider context. The general result was that we each felt our own issues outweighed the other person’s apparently petty concerns and the other person wasn’t taking our problems seriously.

There are many things I’d like to change about how we handled the last few years, but the big one would have been for either of us to get marriage counselling as soon as we had doubts. In retrospect, that’s just common sense.

However, it’s a really big deal to tell somebody your love for them has died when you’ve built a life, family and future together. By the time Rich had the nerve to tell me, it was because he was at the end of his rope. He no longer had the emotional reserves to try to save the marriage. We very briefly did try… we got a therapist who did couples counselling, but he gave up before our first session. It had been too long and there was too much negativity attached to the very idea of staying married. Too much attached to me.

Heartbreak

It devastated me. We’d been married for thirteen years, but the number that resonates with me is sixteen. I’d loved him for sixteen years. I don’t open up to people easily; I’d never fallen in love before Rich. When I did fall in love, I loved absolutely. He was my confidante, my support, my best friend—I was closer to him than I’ve ever been to anybody else.

I’m not the first person to go through a heartbreak; they say everybody should experience it once. I don’t personally recommend it. The tears and despair were predictable, but not controllable. I got used to crying in public places and in front of everybody I knew. I got used to hiding in my bedroom or bathroom, so the kids wouldn’t see me breaking down. (My daughter noticed. She started giving my face sharp looks if I acted vague around her. My son remained oblivious, as I discovered last week when he was stunned by his sister’s revelation that I cry.)

Less expected were the psychosomatic symptoms. For two and a half months, I walked around with two burning holes in my collarbone, one on the left and one on the right. I could have pointed to the exact spots, yet they were just representations of a figurative uprooting: we had intertwined our lives and souls, so these were the holes left behind after he ripped himself out of me. Ridiculously sentimental, yet the physical pain was real.

One of the hardest things about this—and something not unique to my experience—was how this person I loved became somebody I didn’t recognise overnight. There’s a reason there are so many horror movies based on a loved one changing and trying to hurt you. It’s a nightmarish scenario. Rich looked and sounded like the person I knew, but it felt as if every time I tried to reach for him, he wasn’t there. The man who tried so hard to please others now rejected me at every turn. My life was crashing down around me, and my confidante, my support system, was deliberately pulling away.

This led to the constant feeling of exclusion, these ongoing micro-rejections: Every time he said he was busy and didn’t elaborate; Every time I saw him tagged on Facebook; Every time he and the kids went out. Discomfitingly, I was jealous of my own children: he was constantly asserting how he still loved them, wanted to be there for them, wanted to spend time with them, and while I knew full well how he intended those statements, I couldn’t help seeing the negative implication: he loved the kids, he just couldn’t bear to be around me. (Thankfully, I resented him for this and not the children, but I wonder how common it is for that bitterness to be channeled towards the kids in these situations.)

From Rich’s point of view, this was agony for him too. We had a memorable parent teacher conference this spring, where the teacher spent five minutes telling us that our daughter was doing great and twenty-five minutes comforting us both as we wept. Rich avoided me in part for fear of hurting me more. He wanted to rip off the band aid and get through this trauma as quickly as possible.

I wanted to take things one step at a time. I knew from friends’ experience that there would come a time when I would stop loving him, when I might even want to have a relationship with somebody else. Yet in the thick of it, knowing that was painful. I didn’t want that to be how our story ended. For us to be just another statistic.

Of course, after a few months, I did get past that initial basketcase stage of the heartbreak. For three weeks in April, I felt normal: I could have a shower or otherwise let my mind wander without randomly bursting into tears and/or hyperventilating. Then Rich filed for divorce, and I plunged back into fear and depression.

Stakes of Divorce

One thing that does distinguish our case from most others is our legal immigration status. I’m in the country as Rich’s dependent. Our visas are tied to his job. If we divorce, I lose my visa and have thirty days to get out of the country. (Same thing if he dies; it’s pretty brutal.) Obviously, I do have children with American citizenship, but the whole anchor baby thing is not nearly as straightforward as the media likes to make out. It’s all a very complicated issue, and I’m not nearly well informed enough to comment here. Suffice to say, my immigration options are in no way guaranteed… nor necessarily desirable.

From the moment Rich told me, back in January, I’ve known my future here was in question and that the most secure path for me was to do what I’ve wanted to do for years and move back to the UK. I never dreamed that I would leave Rich behind when I did so: I would be losing my home and my friends while having to rebuild a life without my partner.

Of course, if Rich and I are on different continents, that means the children will end up separated from one of their parents by an ocean. The stakes are high for us, and this is a situation where there is no ‘right’ decision (be that to divorce or not to divorce or how to divorce.)

Even if there was a right decision, I never had the power to make it. I couldn’t make Rich try to save the marriage, I couldn’t stop him filing for divorce. I have never been so angry with another person as I was when he filed so quickly—and I have never had so much difficulty letting that anger go. (I remain adamant that rushing a divorce within three months of separation is a terrible idea; it requires a great many decisions that will influence the rest of your lives, and you don’t want to make those when the wounds are so raw.) However, fighting a divorce is rarely successful, wastes time, effort and money… and damages the relationship further.

My anger was accompanied by fear, because I was so powerless to stop what was happening, because I was so vulnerable from a legal standpoint, and because I already did not recognise this man whom I had loved for sixteen years and whom my life was still tied to: he had left me with our children, cats and house. While I far prefer my outcome to his, I was dealing with all those responsibilities on top of everything else and reporting to him on what was going on with them (and by extension, me).

Conversely, I never knew very much about what was going on with Rich’s new life. It wasn’t my business to know, most of the time I didn’t want to know, but that imbalance in our new relationship only worsened the feeling that I was trapped and at his mercy.

For weeks, I couldn’t look him in the face when he came over to pick up the kids or drop them off. I wouldn’t let him touch me. I had my first full-fledged panic attack during that time—thankfully it was while the kids were at school, it only lasted fifteen minutes and I managed to get myself out of it by texting friends, but I never want to do that again. (This situation has given me all the sympathy in the world for people who deal with this level and more of depression and anxiety as their norm.) 

I couldn’t fix the situation and I couldn’t escape it, so I lashed out. When I felt provoked, I would snap and scream at him, wanting to hurt him, wanting to see him share some of the pain he had caused me. 

As usual, time took the edges off my emotion, and while there are many things I have been unable to forgive, we fought painfully to work past that and resume some semblance of cordiality, of amicability, and ultimately of functionality. This week, we were finally able to tell the children about the divorce without casting blame on each other. 

There are two reasons Rich and I need to protect what relationship we have left: our son and daughter.

Co-Parenting

From talking to my friends, I’ve realized that there’s a sizeable difference between divorces where there aren’t children (still at home) and ones where there are. My friends who didn’t have kids were much quicker to tell their spouses where they could go, to embrace their new life with an indignant pride. Friends who did have kids were slower, for the simple reason that they were tied to their spouses regardless: they still had to share parenting decisions. Some of my friends have ended up with no relationship with their exes anyway; I know from their experience that it’s incredibly hard to raise children like that, when there’s no trust or respect between the two partners any more. Clearly, it’s not ideal for the children either.

A phrase I have used many times is: “I am prepared to swallow an awful lot of pride for the sake of my children.”

So despite the clashes, despite the conflicting views of how to move forward, Rich and I continue to work on our co-parenting relationship, and we try to protect each other’s relationship with the kids. One of the first pacts we made, back on January 24^th, when he told me, was that we were going to know each other for the rest of our lives, that we were going to be friends for the rest of our lives. It’s not been an easy one to keep… it might yet be broken… but it continues to be our goal.

One of the things we have done right was to continue seeing our therapist even after giving up on the marriage: we had couples’ sessions to manage the break up for a few months, and now we see her individually, with the option to have a dual session if we want. Personally, I find it comforting to know that she gets the full story, not just my slanted view. It makes me trust her advice/opinion more. Without the therapy, I don’t know how either of us would have made it through my anger/fear stage.

Another thing I did right predates all of this: Last year, I had enrolled in a distance learning course to get a British Montessori qualification. This gave me some immediate structure for building a new life: finish the course, find a job at a UK Montessori preschool and move to wherever that school is. (I have no particular ‘base’ in the UK.) This has been a lifeline in an otherwise overwhelming transition. It gave me the series of steps to follow: I still find it difficult to think too far ahead, but for now I can focus on my course, and know that I’m progressing without having to plan the rest of the route—obviously, the details have yet to be filled in, but the idea is that in summer 2019, I will move back to the UK.

For Rich, the transition to the new life has already been made. He has a new home, a new relationship and is integrating that with the same friends, same job. We’re at a completely different place in our process, and that’s something we both struggle with in our expectations of each other.

But we still care enough about each other to make the effort. That’s the thing about a long-term relationship ending. For sixteen years (and lots of marriages terminate after longer), we’ve been in the habit of caring for each other. That doesn’t switch off even if the romantic love goes away. As angry as I get with Rich, it can still be hard for me to hear other people be angry with him, because I still want to protect him. It took me a long time to realise it, but I spent most of this process trying to rescue Old Rich (i.e. the man I loved) from New Rich (i.e. the man I feared), and my therapist had to point out to me that the two Rich’s weren’t totally disparate people.

I don’t just have a relationship with Rich, I have a relationship with his family too. In March, I took the kids to the UK for my cousin’s wedding; I stayed with Rich’s sister, and she and his mother accompanied me to the wedding. This was important to me as a gesture for the kids that both sides of their family could still come together, but these are also women I like and care about and who were unstinting sources of comfort and support to me at that stressful time.

Rich and I will probably always view each other as family on some level. No doubt it will take us both a while to straighten out the boundaries of that—what’s acceptable, what’s essential, and what’s a leftover habit of marriage that would be better dropped—but estrangement isn’t an option either of us are prepared to accept.

Postscript

This is a messy and occasionally paradoxical post, but emotions are messy and paradoxical, and there are a lot of contextual details that I have omitted because they’re not appropriate for this blog. Obviously, I have only touched on Rich’s perspective in all this, and crucially, I haven’t gone into the kids’ reactions at all. Those aren’t my stories to tell. So bear in mind this is a skewed perspective. However, it’s an update on where I am for those who have wanted it, and hopefully, it’s an insight into some of these emotional processes for any who need it.