My friend, I've read your note several times as it resonated in multiple ways. It's taken me some time to process what you wrote and compare it to my own experience as some of my experiences don't make sense. I've accepted the 'what' of what's happening. I'm having trouble understanding, or perhaps accepting, the 'why'. It's important for me to understand why things are the way they are.
Her inability to ask for help coupled with her extraordinary expectations for those around her led to her resentment which cost her her first marriage. Her inability to ask for help coupled with those extraordinary expectations and inability to forgive led to her resentment that cost us ours. I get that.
This isn't to say I'm innocent. I'm not. It takes two. I contributed my share of nails driven into the fence post of our relationship. Even after the nails were removed they left a hole. My nails were inattentiveness, defensiveness, carelessness, insipid utterances, and so on. Rarely mean spirited or deliberate. I'm just not built that way. Every long relationship eventually experiences slings and arrows and cuts to the point it bleeds out unless the cuts are treated and heal. The cuts I inflicted on her never healed. The cuts she inflicted on me I'd forget thanks to my 'super power.'
What I can't wrap my head around is the speed at which all this happened.
80% of our 25 years together were idyllic. She was my heroin and I was hers. The remaining 20% were hellatious. Pretty good in my eyes and worth the price. People would tell me they wanted their relationship to be like ours. They were envious. And I was proud.
I loved opening the door for her. Holding her chair when she sat down. Standing up when she left and returned to the table. Walking on the outside of the sidewalk. Sharing dishes in restaurants. Making her cry from belly laughs and that she could do the same for me. Dancing on the sidewalks of Manhattan in the evening to the music of a street performer. Marveling at her loveliness when she was asleep and first thing in the morning when I awoke. Quiet gasps to myself when she'd emerge from the bathroom after eternities preparing herself to go out.
In my eyes she was stunningly beautiful. Still is. I see her as a composite of snapshots my mind captured every single day of the 25 years we were together. Ageless. Timeless. An amalgamation of lovely images and feelings. I told her this. Often. She only saw flaws. And because I appreciated her beauty, and praised her for it, she was certain that one day I'd leave her because of a wrinkle. Or a scar.
I have photos of us happy together during the holidays last year. We celebrated my 62nd birthday this past February. She made me a German Chocolate cake as she'd done for more than two decades. I'd been discussing with her how to celebrate her 60th birthday, our 20th wedding anniversary and the 25th anniversary of our first date, November 6, a day I celebrated every year. It was more important than Valentine's Day to me. It was our day. No one else's.
We were supposed to go dancing on a Saturday night in early March and had a tiff at a restaurant during dinner. She cut me off when I was explaining my ideas on how to fix a large investment she had championed that had gone bad. She was tired of discussing it. She told me I was too. We were on a date. I refused to continue with the explanation when she probed telling her it was evident she didn't want to hear it. To hear me. To understand me. She became angry at my juvenile response.
I apologized in the car as we headed home, the evening cut short. There is a chill in the house that lingers. Six weeks later I apologize more insightfuly, but she she tells me it's five and a half weeks too late. She's done. She's divorcing me.
Six weeks. .005 of 25 years. .5%. 1/2 of 1% of our life together. In relative terms it's a blink of an eye.
She gets angry that I don't cry. That I didn't beg her to stay. The anger builds. Proof, she says, that I didn't value her. How could I cry.? I didn't believe it. No one that knows us can. I've cried plenty of times since.
The past few years had been difficult mostly for external reasons though not all. We were struggling. She lost her mother to alzheimers. She attended to that. Her sister died slowly and poorly to throat cancer. She attended to that. Her mother's husband, with four children of his own, died. She attended to that. Covid happened and she lost what she thought were her friends. I told her it didn't matter. We had each other.
Tension. Withdrawal. Inactivity. Intolerance. Depression. I see it and am helpless. My concerns and suggestions thrown back at me. Emailed articles deleted without reading.
And then my ADHD diagnosis. At 61. It was an accident. We were both tested because of her family history of dementia. I ignored it at first. Then I feel devastated for what could have been had I known. My sister has it. My brother has it. The family secret. Haha. And then I set myself to conquering it, almost a year after the diagnosis. Doctors. Drugs. Coaching. Reading. Support groups. Apps. Reminders. Slogans. I immerse myself in it.
She is supportive at first but soon wants no part of it. We've seen too many marriage counselors and nothing has changed. She's tired. This isn't her problem to fix. She criticizes me for what I say to my counseler, and for what I don't say. For the one-sided way I present our conflicts. For not briefing her in a timely manner. For taking drugs. For not improving. For not doing enough. For being defensive. For not hearing. For not understanding. For being snippy. For not being supportive. For asking dumb questions.
I'm in quicksand. But I'm not afraid. I'm not going anywhere.
I began to see progress in me. Slowly. More curiosity. More questions. More pauses. More transparency. More honesty. It's hard to change a lifetime of learned, automatic survival behaviors. But I wanted to. For her.
I view relationships like the weather. Constantly changing. I thought we'd power our way through the storm and eventually enjoy the sun again. I told her so. There was so much sun.
The Chinese view time in the context of the five thousand year history of their civilization. Our history was 25 years. I was prepared to wait for the weather to turn. I was committed to her. I was going to brush her hair if she developed dementia or alzheimers like her mother and grandmother before. We'd discussed mixing our ashes when our lives ended and scattering them over the ocean as we both loved the seaside.
I was committed to fixing my own foibles/irritating behavior. I was aware of them now. I felt bad she had suffered because of me. I tried my best to become the person she said she needed me to be, as much as it stung. She was my motivation. But I was a realist about what I could and could not do alone.
It appears from what you write that your ex was a bad mate (if I may apply a lable). Or maybe it was just a bad divorce (which of course implies there is such a thing as a good divorce.) I don't know him. All I know is what little you've shared and snippets I've heard secondhand from others. It appears that he did not want to compromise or accept his role in bettering your relationship. That he wasn't committed. That he didn't value you.
I'm sorry you had to experience that kind of personal hurt. What I know of you is that you are kind and grounded. Intelligent. That you have a good work ethic. That you are a caring mother. It seems you were justified, not that my opinion matters, and are better off for leaving him.
I'm not your ex. I try to be a decent human being. I tried to be a good husband and father and stepfather even though those behaviors didn't always come naturally given my upbringing. I apologize when I make mistakes. I try to make amends. I try to understand. I feel bad when my actions hurt her or anyone for that matter. I was willing to compromise. I accepted my responsibility for making a better us. I'm not wealthy but have done OK compared to most and was generous with her both in material ways as well as with love and signs of affection. Things I valued and lacked earlier in life. And yet....
She didn't value any of that. She's exhausted. She says she wants a new start. She wants "to find love again before it's too late." Love? She says she doesn't feel safe with me. She holds me responsible for ruining the most beautiful thing thing she ever knew. She says she never should have married me. The past 25 years were a mistake. Her bad judgement. The thousands of photos of us happy together don't exist. My love letters were lies. I'm selfish and always have been. And I can feel her hate over the distance. In the tone of her voice. In her choice of words. In her silence.
And I'm left sucking for air. As if I'd been kicked in the gut. Trying desperately to understand something I just can't fathom.
You're not my psychiatrist. You're not my counselor. You're not my coach. I'm not asking for advice. I'm not asking for a response. I'm venting because you're a kind ear and have recent cuts I can relate to. Getting the toxic thoughts out of my head.
I'll get past this. I'm already a better person for having gone through the past seven years. I've learned a lot. About myself and what a healthy relationship looks like. I've assessed my mistakes, not just in our relationship but as far back as I can remember. I realize now that many of the attacks I perceived weren't real. I'll be better able to have a healthy committed relationship with someone who knows me intimately and loves me for what I am rather than who I need to become. And to not destroy her. I've overcome the fear of want and know that for me close relationships are the key to happiness.
I feel mostly grief at the moment. Hurt. Anger sometimes, but it doesn't last. It all comes in waves several times a day. Fortunately less and less, definitely improving albeit glacially. I try not to show my sadness. The inner ache. Our love was so unique. So intense. She was my best friend. We have so much history. There are so many memories. So many triggers. Every day is a walk through a minefield. That I can even describe what I'm feeling is proof of just how far I've come. Can't she see that?
I wonder if she will find what she wants and sincerely hope that she does, for her own sake and that of my stepsons who know her, love her, and care about her. We all do. But I doubt it. Which also makes me sad.
Perhaps it's my own ego speaking. That if I couldn't give her what she needed no one else can. Because I tried. I really did. But it was too little too late.
Every now and then, when my thoughts go to the future and the possibility she might one day realize what it was that she discarded with such prejudice and that maybe, just maybe, she made a mistake, I stop myself and honestly believe if only for that brief moment that I am better off. An immeasurably small sense of relief. And feel grateful that she had the strength to do what I could not.
Relationship struggle with neurotypical wife. 
Is there real support for neurodivergent people anywhere in the world?
The friend issue with ADHD
My Partner and I Cannot Seem to Get on the Same Page with My Son
How to not feel like an A-hole when your the spouse not with ADHD? 
