I’m Alone Now, and This Is How I Got There

woman shaking head in front of a wall

You try to listen. Your friends, your mother, the people who have known you for decades, for longer than this relationship has existed, say something else is going on. They say words you refuse to comprehend—drugs and affair and alcoholic. You say: If it’s anything, it’s the drugs. He would never have an affair. We’ve talked about that. He would never do that. Not to me.

You feel your heart crack on your birthday. He tells you he is not sure this will work. You ask what he means. He gets annoyed and asks if you are going to dinner or not, because the reservation is in fifteen minutes. It is the day you turn thirty. You feel less like thirty; you feel younger, more fragile, sick, unsteady. You try not to cry through dinner. You try to smile at him, to appease him. You cannot taste the food. You cannot feel your fingers against the metal of the fork. You stare at the floor and bite your lip until it bleeds on the inside and you say nothing for fear that what will come out will sound like an animal dying.

Happy birthday.

You lie awake at night wondering where he is, why he hasn’t come home. In the four years you have lived together, he has always come home, always told you where he was, and you always believed him. He has always been considerate, timely. Around midnight, you get a text: Too drunk to drive. You text back: Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Even though it’s not really okay and you don’t feel thankful. You try to give him space, because that is what he said he needed and you want him to be happy. And so badly, you want to trust that he will be back, wholehearted.

you keep trying…

You sit in couples counseling, crying. He sits stone-faced. Half present. Not even. In the waiting room, he paced for ten minutes, threatening to leave. You sat silently, slumped, making yourself small and then smaller still. Don’t leave. Please don’t leave. Your heart pleads, but you say nothing. You stare at the floor. You smile. You ask if he wants anything—water, something to eat—and you hand him your water bottle. He drinks the last few sips and hands it back to you, empty.

You lose weight: 112 pounds, 110 pounds, 105 pounds. You weigh less. You become less. You cannot eat. You feel nauseous, sick all the time. You drink coffee to get you through the day. You stare at the ceiling, periodically checking the clock throughout the night. Looking at the scale, you wonder if you’ll weigh less than a hundred pounds soon. You have not weighed that little since eighth grade. You wonder if you will eventually evaporate, implode to nothingness. Weightless. You imagine floating above the world. You imagine you are stardust.

You go away. You come back. He is home. He has put a guitar in the living room. He is cleaning the house. His alarm clock is on the side table on his side of the bed. He decides to sleep in your bedroom. You lie still all night. You don’t dare to move; you take shallow breaths. You listen to his breath. You hope he is sleeping. You think that, if he can sleep soundly here, he’ll want to sleep with you. You think that if you are perfectly inert, he’ll see you again. He’ll come back, wholehearted. You wonder if this is the last time you will ever lie beside him. Dimly, somewhere in the back of your weary mind, a thought begins to form: You realize you can’t see him anymore. His edges have become blurry, unfamiliar. You hold your hand in front of your eyes in the darkness and you realize you cannot see yourself either. You have lost your sight. You touch the place where you know your wedding ring rests. It is loose on your bony finger.

…until you can’t try anymore

You don’t ask questions. You climb a mountain alone. Afterward, you visit a friend for coffee and conversation, and she says that you should do the things you want to do. You manage a smile, because she has been through this, too. You know she is right. You try, but you cannot remember what it is you want to do. Even as you gaze out at the earth from the top of that mountain and into the eyes of dear friends, into all the things you love most, you are shriveling like a grape in the sun.

You almost feel relief when you find the notes. It is Easter. He hasn’t come home. You had asked him to spend Easter with you. Your husband had responded, “I’ll be around, so yeah, maybe.” You don’t know where he is, where he has been. You have called. No answer. You wonder if he is hurt, if he is alive. You open his work bag. You’ve opened the bag a million times to retrieve a used Tupperware, a pen, a dollar. You pull out a pile of Post-It notes sitting at the top. The air leaves your chest all at once, but quietly. You feel dizzy. Last night was goddamn magic. You cannot stop reading this note. There are others, of course. But you read those five words over and over and over, hands shaking. You call your best friend. You call your mother. You call your father. They knew this was coming. They knew it months before your heart could. You call his phone again. He does not answer again. When he pulls into the driveway, you walk outside and say: we need to talk. At least you finally know the person you are speaking to.

You say all the things you think you should say about forgiveness. You try to be as kind as you can. You feel numb, and you wonder if you should feel angry. You eat dinner together. Like you will be friends. He leaves a week later. You lie on the bathroom floor, sobbing. He kisses your forehead. You don’t know if you should scrub your skin until it’s raw or never wash it again. You wash it. The night before, you stroked his hair as he cried, but he did not stroke your hair. And you were crying, too. When you hear his car pull out and you know that he is finally gone, you get up off the floor and drive to a yoga class. You spread your arms and legs wide. You take up space. You take a deep breath for the first time in months. Years, maybe, if you are being honest with yourself. But you are not yet ready to be that honest with yourself.

and then you exist again

You drive south down the highway until it’s warm. Then you drive east until you’ve reached the farthest point you can reach, where the road is enveloped by the Atlantic. You park. You slide from your car. You climb the dunes. You hear the waves. You collapse into the sand, exhausted, encapsulated in a sorrowful soul. The sand is soft and cool, and you watch as the sun sets and the sky turns pink and red and then purple and the darkest black-blue. You watch by yourself as the stars appear, singular and then en masse.

The moonlight glimmers on the surface of the turbulent salt waters. You hold your hand in front of your face. You see its outline. You count four fingers. No rings. A thumb. When you touch the sand, you feel the grains with your fingertips, soft and cool and gritty.

Why Not Make Your Own Wedding Rings?

couple making their own wedding bands at with these rings

When you’re shopping for wedding rings, whether from a national chain, a local jeweler, or an artisan online, you’re probably thinking you’ll do just that—shop. Chances are, it’s never occurred to you to that there’s another, super romantic, option: Make your rings yourselves, with each other and for each other.

That is exactly what couples can do with the help of With These Rings. Instead of sifting through rings in a shop or in your web browser, why not escape to a quiet, coastal town and handcraft your very own bands yourselves at a private ring-making workshop? (Not that into making your own rings? Skip right to the ones you can just buy.) With These Rings is located in Port Townsend, Washington (a hop, skip, and a jump from Seattle), and is run by Stephanie Selle, professional jeweler, APW wedding graduate, and all-around lovely lady who will guide you through handcrafting your very own wedding bands. See for yourself:

HOW IT WORKS

Curious about how this all works? Here’s the process: First, you can check out some designs of rings made by couples or the collection offered in With These Rings’s online shop. Once you’ve got a sense of what you’d like, you’ll want to contact Stephanie to talk about your designs, your trip to the studio, and of course pricing.

Pricing depends on the type of rings that you’d like to make, which metal you want to work in, and if you want to add any custom work such as stone setting or engravings. The average price range for a set of 14k gold rings is $900 to $1,700, which includes the cost of the private workshop and the metals used to create your rings. Stephanie is all about transparency and helping you make an informed decision, so a breakdown of the prices to help you estimate can be found here.

Next, you’ll plan your trip to the Victorian seaport of Port Townsend on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula, which let’s be real, is where I get extra jealous. Stephanie has listed tons of local recommendations—from beach cabins, to Victorian hotels, romantic restaurants, brunch spots, cideries, wineries, and local festivals (um, kinetic sculpture race?!)—for you, whether you’ll be visiting on a day trip from Seattle or a longer stay from farther afield. In fact, some of her couples have fallen in love with Port Townsend so much that they decided to elope or get married there, so Stephanie’s got a whole list of resources for that too.

(Fun fact: The photos of the adorable couple making their rings in this post? That’s Mark and Amy, who recently eloped with Stephanie’s help. They started their day at a flower farm to pick Amy’s bouquet, worked together all day with Stephanie to make their rings, then headed to a local park where a newly ordained Stephanie officiated their actual wedding ceremony.)

When you arrive at With These Rings to make your rings, Stephanie will be there to guide you through the process of bringing your chosen design to life, either through fabrication or casting, in a private (for two people) workshop. Then y’all will make your rings right there on the spot. Basic rings can be made in as little as three to six hours, and many couples leave with their rings on the day of their session.

couple making their own wedding rings at with these ringscouple making their own wedding rings at with these ringscouple making their own wedding rings at with these ringsFinding it hard to believe that you can just show in the morning with zero jewelry-making experience and leave in the afternoon with beautiful, heirloom quality rings you made yourselves? With These Rings client Samantha promises you can:

My husband and I made our wedding rings with Stephanie and we absolutely love them! Stephanie is a joy to work with, is supremely talented, and provides a truly personal, customer-oriented experience. My husband created his actual ring at the studio, while I carved mine out of wax (to cast the metal) to fit my engagement ring. My husband also had an engraving added, after the fact, before Stephanie sent our rings back to us.

Stephanie’s studio is located in Port Townsend, which is a super cute, Victorian town that is great for a romantic weekend getaway, just two hours from Seattle!

We highly recommend this experience to anyone who wants to have a truly unique, fun experience, to create a one of a kind item/heirloom.

diy wedding rings from with these ringsdiy wedding band from with these ringsgold wedding rings from with these rings

ON MAKING ETHICAL HEIRLOOMS

There’s something pretty magical about knowing that your own two—or four!—hands created the ring that you’ll wear, um, forever. And if you’re going to wear something that long, you’ll probably want to feel good about what it’s made of and how it’s made. Thankfully with With These Rings you’re not sacrificing ethical for meaningful. As Stephanie explains:

Coming to my studio is very different than going to a jewelry store in just about every way. Instead of trying on rings from display cases you are picking up a hammers and a torch. When you make your rings that in itself makes them so special. Even the simplest bands become unique and meaningful.

I don’t really think of myself as being a wedding business, more an heirloom business, so I want my clients feel good about making decisions that will last a lifetime. I try to keep everyone as informed as they want to be, from answering why I only use 100 percent recycled metals and how the refiner makes them, breaking down the different colors and karats of gold and talking about the history behind wedding bands. I totally geek out on all of this stuff, so if you have a question just ask!

engagement ring from with these ringswedding bands from with these ringswedding bands from with these rings

Want to find out even more? Stephanie’s wedding post here on APW will give you the story of how With These Ring got started. Her website is also full of answers to frequently asked questions and beautiful handmade rings you can just buy, but making your own rings is really the best kind of wedding DIY. Long after the wedding day is done, you can still look down and think: “My partner made that.” (Or, “I made that, talented rockstar that I am!”) So if you’re in the Seattle area (or don’t mind spending a weekend in the PNW), you can reach out right here to start planning your own romantic wedding ring–making workshop experience with With These Rings.