At last, it has come out: a book that endeavours to explain why gay men marry straight women, written by a man who did just that, Charles Neal. Two years ago, when I discovered that my husband of 20 years was actually gay, I searched and searched for an answer to this question. No one had one: not my counsellor, my best friend or my close family. And the man who had played all these vital roles for such a large part of my adult life, and to whom I had always turned for guidance? He couldn't provide one either.
Although I am now beyond the ‘shock’ phase, I know there are many other women still there, desperate to understand how their (often otherwise happy) marriages have come to sudden and painful ends, as their husbands or partners come out, fall out or are pushed out of the closet.
I discovered my husband was gay when I found that he had been on gay porn websites and chat rooms over an extended period of time. I confronted him straight away, to which his response was, quite simply, "Busted!" I didn't react with anger but instead, bizarrely, with relief. Although I hadn't guessed that he was gay, I knew that he had been battling with depression for a couple of years, which I had taken to be the reason for his increased lack of interest in sex. He blamed his depression on work, mid-life, money – in fact, on anything other than the thing that must have been bursting to be busted for a long time.
My immediate instinct was to support him in his coming out. He started to grieve almost immediately, and I held his hand through the night as he repeated through sobs that I would never forgive him, that he had been so stupid, and that, if it weren't for the kids, he would want to die. Not only was his secret "busted", his heart was broken too, and now it felt like his mind was cracking by the day. I begged him to seek urgent therapy, which he did, but this process felt as if an outsider had torn the bandages off a series of seeping and raging wounds, leaving only me to nurse them. To be honest, I hadn't a clue how to deal with his breakdown.
My husband's raging sores refused to close up, which is hardly surprising after years of keeping his true sexuality concealed. I was left with so many questions: why didn't you tell me earlier? What shall we tell the children? Did you ever love me? Was all that love making pretend? Have you had many affairs? Do you resent me? When did you first really know that you were in the wrong relationship? And finally, as his self-hatred and anger turned from himself out towards me, why are you now hurting me more than you have done already? How has this turned you into a cruel, selfish and totally unrecognisable person?
Luckily, our children did not witness this final, painful stage in our marriage breakdown, when the verbal abuse became so extreme I had to give a final ultimatum for him to leave the family home. He had refused up until that point, the cruel phase causing him to say things like "you should leave – you've been the useless one in the marriage all along". The list of my failures was repeated to me every night, until I reached my own busting point. I was blessed with two or three very close friends who stood by me in ways that I will never forget. But at home, in my bed, every night, I have never felt so isolated. And two years later, that feeling still hovers like a ghost passing through the night.
My husband is now in a new relationship with a man. He is mentally stable, civil and helpful towards me and still a wonderful father. We told our children together that he is gay about six months before he moved out, and they have been incredibly supportive although, like all of us, they have good days and bad in the recovery process. My ex has a new group of friends – or 'tribe', as Charles Neal refers to it - and seems all the happier for it. He never refers to the painful time now, and has never apologised for or addressed the abuse that he hurled at me.
I am doing okay, but when I read about the 'tribe', it struck me that that is where I still struggle. My tribe has gone. My family nest has collapsed, and friends who once had us over for family Sunday lunches have suddenly gone quiet. My in-laws have gone awkwardly quiet too. I am strong, and my role as mum still keeps me smiling, of course. But when I think about the future that I had hoped we would have together - growing old, sharing worries, being grandparents, taking life easier in each other's arms - the fear of isolation kicks in.
Thankfully, there was one other place where I found solace. It is quite simply a group of women - wives and partners of gay men - who support each other on a forum just like Mumsnet. It is called English Wives, although sometimes I think it should be called Saving Lives, it has been so invaluable. They don't have all the answers either, but they have put a stop to that feeling of isolation. Some issues are still unanswered: why can't a wife or husband divorce their spouse on terms of adultery when they have sex with someone of the same sex? Why does the gay support network seldom offer support to loved ones left in the wake of the coming out process? Why do so many men wait until they are fifty and leave us on that middle shelf of shite, balancing our menopause on one side, and our children on the other?
Reflecting on the book again, I am relieved for the men Neal features - they have found expert help, support groups, new partners. If Neal could call his next one, What Straight Women Do Next, that would be even more helpful. Because I am still waiting for an answer to that one.