I open the door to the office. My thoughts devour me as I sink deep into the sofa. I nervously twirl my cup of coffee. I am frightened to share the epiphany that I have had just moments before. I stare at the obligatory box of tissues that beckon from the table before me. I snatch one and intuitively position it where tears will soon soak it.

“I think I am in trouble,” I utter.

My marriage counselor hedges towards the edge of his seat.

“Why?” he asks.

I collect myself so that I can do my best to utter the devastating words.

“I think I married someone who doesn’t share my value system,” I whisper.

The words escape my mouth though I don’t want them to. I know if this dark epiphany is true that my marriage is over. No matter what it will not be fixed, but forever broken.

My counselor inches even further in his seat as he takes in my words.

“Why have you come to this conclusion?” he prompts.

“My mother raised all of us simply and without question to be guided in life by our faith, our family and our friends,” I respond firmly. “Not only in her words, but in her actions and by all she became and overcame.”

I give him no time to interject, but instead continue a rapid and nervous verbal vomiting.

“I married a man of my same religion and background. However, when faced with marital hardship, he seems to lack the spirituality or sense of family to navigate his way through it,” I mutter.

I can tell that my marriage counselor can see in my eyes what is forcing its way out of my heart. I have arrived at a personal impasse. I know two things:  that the tools to save my marriage are not there and that I am about to embark on a journey of one.

We chat until I use up my hour. It is one that forever ticks too quickly.

I grab my coffee cup and my crumpled, teary tissues and I make my way outside. I wrestle the key to the ignition. I think of my mom, the spiritual giant who raised me.

I think of the three things that she led me with, that help us travel through adversity rather than wander in it:  faith, family and friends.

It is with some time that I wander through the lobby making my way towards the elevator. The doors open long enough to usher me in and then moments later again to force me out. I wait in the reception area only moments before I find myself in his office. Once again, there are the obligatory box of tissues on the desk before me.

“I think I am in trouble,” I utter.

His kind eyes and reassuring demeanor offers a brief respite.

My attorney pushes the box of tissues towards me.

I snatch one as it muffles the tears escaping from within me. I think to myself I am becoming quite the ‘tissue connoisseur’ and frankly, I prefer Kleenex.