“X and Y. Sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes baby in a baby carriage.”
That childhood rhyme paints a sweet, simple picture of love. Real life is rarely that tidy.
For my second husband, Otis, and me, that sequence unfolded — just not with each other. With our first marriages (both, coincidentally, for 26 years), we followed the traditional path. But, like nearly half of all first marriages, ours ended in divorce — something neither of us expected or wanted.
We told ourselves we just needed to try harder. He bought her the house and condo she said she wanted. I read self-help books focused on relationships and marriage.
If Otis’s wife hadn’t divorced him, I don’t think he would have divorced her, no matter how unhappy he was. He values his family deeply and holds wedding vows in high regard, as do I. In fact, I began solo therapy by declaring, “Divorce is not an option.”
My therapist eventually leveled with me. “You’re between a rock and a hard place. If divorce truly isn’t an option, I’m not sure I can help you.”
Yowch.
Slowly, I began to confront what once felt unthinkable: pursuing a divorce when I had been raised to believe it was wrong. Accepting that I might have to break my vow — and face the fallout — was excruciating.
I never spoke negatively about my first husband to my family, and they loved him. That made divorcing him even harder — especially when my parents launched a full-on, aggressive effort to stop me.
Knowing when to truly give up on a marriage
My first husband and I eventually went to a Christian marriage counselor, who — after hearing both sides — said, “I don’t know how you’ve stayed married so long. Your marriage is dead. You need to bury it. I don’t know any counselor who would disagree.”
Ironically, by then I had learned that others’ opinions didn’t matter. I needed to be at peace with God. And, finally, I was.
Even so, walking away — from our marriage, home, two adult kids still living under our roof and three dogs — took every ounce of courage I had. And broke my heart.
The fact that so many people remain in unhappy marriages speaks volumes about how overwhelming and destabilizing divorce can be, both emotionally and financially. There’s no guarantee those who leave will land on their feet.
A friend once told me, “When you realize the person you married isn’t who they pretended to be while dating, you have two choices: stay with someone you can’t stand or leave and possibly end up with someone worse — after making yourself and a lot of other people miserable.”
Making the choice to try marriage again — or not
Of those who leave, some start over. Others don’t. A divorced female friend said, “I have a good life. I don’t want to have to deal with anyone else’s baggage, or lose my alimony.” Another said, “A lot of men my age are looking for a nurse or a purse. I’m not interested in being either.”
A twice-divorced male friend was even more blunt: “Marriage means legal headaches, family drama and trust issues. No thanks. Would I like sex? Sure. But that’s where expectations creep in — and at my age, I’d rather sleep soundly than walk on eggshells again.”
But Otis and I wanted the chance to experience being happily married. So, when we met on Match.com four years after my divorce, first came love. Then came remarriage.
Then came grandbabies in a baby carriage.
Not exactly the nursery rhyme – but it works.
Now in our sixth year of marriage, I’m grateful to say we still love being married to each other.
Navigating the realities of a second marriage
That said, second marriages come with their own plot twists.
Money. We both want our assets to go to our own children, so we have a prenup and wills, and we keep our finances separate. When we buy groceries or eat out, we simply take turns paying.
Two homes. When we married in 2020, I owned a house in West Palm Beach. Otis co-owned a house in Santa Fe with his ex. I assumed once that house sold, we’d live together in Florida — and for a while, we did.
But Otis loves cooler summers, quieter places and open spaces. In 2024 when he found a lakefront home on two acres in upstate New York, I could tell he really wanted it. I wasn’t sure what it would mean for us, but I encouraged him to go for it.
Why? Because I love him.
And because a line from George Bernard Shaw’s “Pygmalion” —a play I taught for years — kept echoing in my mind: “I suppose the woman wants to live her own life, and the man wants to live his, and each tries to drag the other on to the wrong track. One wants to go north and the other south [in our case, literally], and the result is that both have to go east, though they both hate the east wind.”
Differences. In a perfect world, we would live together year-round. We would also eat dinner and go to bed at the same time, love the same kind of music and agree on how fast to drive.
In our imperfect world, we respect each other’s differences.
Sometimes we live apart for a month or two (not ideal — though some couples would disagree). And we compromise. He sits with me while I eat early to avoid heartburn, and I sit with him while he eats later. He comes to bed with me, then reads or watches TV if he’s not tired. We search for music we both enjoy — not easy. And we try very hard not to critique each other’s driving.
Baggage. We all bring it — shaped by every relationship we’ve had before. As Viola Davis says in her memoir “Finding Me”: “Little crumbs from the past come, memories that still carry some weight and power …But it’s a matter of … being aware and not letting that control us.”
Focusing on what our former partners did wrong is easy. Harder — and far more important — is reflecting on what we could have done differently.
I made plenty of mistakes the first time around. I was too sensitive, too silent, too concerned about what others thought. I waited too long to seek counseling. And I expected him to read my mind. (Spoiler alert: didn’t happen.)
We didn’t yell or call each other names. We simply became emotionally distant roommates, sleeping in separate bedrooms and going days without speaking.
Otis and I talk about everything — rationally and respectfully. We’re both stubborn, but we live by a shared principle: “Blessed are the peacemakers.” At our age, we’d rather be happy than right. Besides, his first marriage cured him of any appetite for conflict.
Ex-spouses and stepkids. My ex will say hello — if I say it first. Otis and his ex haven’t spoken in years.
The most painful part of his divorce was his ex turning their youngest against both him and the youngest’s two older siblings — a betrayal Otis will never get over. She also cut off contact with the older two — possibly even the youngest, for all we know.
All I can do is listen, love him and pray those relationships will someday be healed. Thankfully, with patience and love, he helped guide his older children out of the wreckage. He shares a strong bond with them, as do I. And he’s built a warm relationship with my children.
In-laws. Otis’s parents passed away before we met, but mine were still living. When they met him, they were cautious, though he won them over quickly. Still, when we announced our engagement, the room went silent. Finally, my dad broke the tension by asking, “Your ex-wife isn’t going to be able to get Janet’s money, is she?”
Not exactly the warm congratulations we were hoping for — but we laugh about it now.
My parents did end up being truly happy for us. Tragically, my mom died unexpectedly the day we were supposed to get married. Six months later, my dad didn’t walk me down the aisle — he was in a wheelchair — but his presence steadied me on a day filled with joy, yet still aching with loss.
We come to second marriages bruised, older and more wrinkled. But wiser, too, and far less idealistic. We carry more baggage, but also more perspective, more gratitude and a clearer understanding of the value of mutual respect, self-awareness, honest communication and shared values.
We didn’t get the fairy tale. We got something better: a real-life love story.
For that, we’re grateful every day.
Janet Meckstroth Alessi is a retired Palm Beach County high school teacher and frequent contributor to Accent. She can be reached at jlmalessi@aol.com.
This article originally appeared on Palm Beach Post: Our second marriage isn’t a fairy tale, but it’s a real-life love story
Reporting by Janet Meckstroth Alessi, Special to the Palm Beach Post / Palm Beach Post
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