I was sitting with my then-husband in a booth at the Cheesecake Factory, awaiting the newest couple joining our marriage mentor group. Silence filled the car ride to the restaurant. When the engaged couple arrived, smiling and holding hands, I shifted into my ‘marriage mentor’ persona. I hugged them and invited the couple to sit down. My husband managed a slight smile, but I did most of the talking.

As they settled, exhaustion washed over me. I would pretend everything was fine for the next hour. I began my routine: asking questions to learn about the couple and explaining the group rules. They had questions too: How did we meet? How long had we been together? How did we resolve disagreements? Then came the unanticipated question: What was our secret to staying together this long? I don’t recall exactly what I said—likely something about communication, patience, and choosing each other. Something safe, fitting for a marriage mentor.

I smiled, but tension rose as a knot tightened in my stomach. I was lying. Happiness had long vanished from my marriage. By then, workaholism ruled my life at Chipotle headquarters, avoiding home was easier. Answering one more email or taking another project spared me from facing the reality. Yet, loyalty defined me for years, convincing myself I couldn’t leave. Fear lingered: losing my marriage also meant losing the identity I’d built. Who would I be without being a ‘good wife’? Would my recognition of myself collapse?

“Nothing felt wrong enough to change things.”

Questioning persisted: Could any issue justify a change? There were good moments. No abuse or infidelity plagued the marriage. In such a relationship, gathering evidence felt impossible. So, I stayed, convincing myself of gratitude. Others had worse situations. Leaving would spark questions I couldn’t answer. I adjusted, made it work, and told myself, “It’s not that bad.” The charade left me exhausted, pretending everything was fine, while aiding others in building strong marriages I didn’t want myself.

One late Friday evening, while my husband slept in our apartment, I sat with a friend on a blue couch in the lobby. I heard myself say for the first time, “I have to get a divorce.” Slumping on the couch felt like finishing a marathon.

Twelve years have passed since that evening. I’ve left the marriage mentor group, met a new partner of ten years, and changed careers. The biggest transformation was no longer denying or battling my feelings. I reflect sometimes on the couple and their earnest pursuit of the secret to staying together, longing to offer them something reassuring. Yet, the real question wasn’t about maintaining a relationship, but rather remaining honest with oneself.

My marriage continued long after I neglected the truth. Previously, I believed I needed an undeniable reason to leave. Now, I understand that honesty with myself suffices.

Patti Bryant explores lives that seem fine on paper yet feel disconnected; find her work on Instagram @withpattibryant.