[...] meanwhile, what would I be doing for work? Reading poems, teaching workshops, going to dinners, giving talks, being interviewed in front of an audience? Maybe for business it sure sounded a lot like pleasure?

Once, while I was at a literary festival in Spokane, my husband called from Ohio: I needed to come home right away. Rhett had a fever. I wouldn’t have made this call to him if he’d been traveling for business. I wouldn’t have expected him to cancel work engagements and fly home across the country because of a fever. If I needed help with the kids, I would have called my parents, my sisters, my friends. By the time I got home, my son was fine. His fever was gone, but the house was hot with anger.

Remember, I asked you to dog-ear this earlier: We became friends in a creative writing workshop. When I got good news related to my writing—a publication, a grant, an invitation—I sensed him wince inwardly. So I stopped sharing good news. I made myself small, folded myself up origami tight. I canceled or declined upcoming events: See, I’ll do anything to make this marriage work. I gave up income and professional opportunities, but those sacrifices didn’t save my marriage.

We were both busy, probably spread too thin, needing things from our lives—and from one another—that we weren’t getting. I agreed that something needed to give. I disagreed that the something needed to be my work. In turn, me.

What would I have done to save my marriage? I would have abandoned myself, and I did, for a time. I would have done it for longer if he’d let me.