When I was 19 years old, my father and mother separated for good, after years of going back and forth, trying to make their marriage work. Though 40 may be on the young side for a male midlife crisis, in my father's case it was a perfect storm of circumstances that finally pushed him out the door.
On the surface, he looks like the All-American dad; on the surface, he looks like a great husband; on the surface, he tells everybody that it's OK that his marriage isn't passionate -- he's grown so much as an individual that he doesn't need wild, fulfilling sex anymore. But he's lonely.
I wasn't enough. That was the first thought that entered my mind after I found out my partner cheated on me. I replayed the scenario in my head hundreds of times, recounted every detail of our time together to find any clues or indications that he was unhappy.
Yep, unbeknownst to me, my ex single-handedly shut down and robbed me of spending the holiday with our two children. And, make no mistake: it was my turn to have the kids. They should have been with me. Only they weren't.