You don’t need to apologise for wanting the details of your condition to remain private, writes Dr Kirstin Ferguson.

• My partner lives in a spacious house in rural Colorado, and I live in a condo in Boulder.
• We haven't found a place that fits both of our needs yet, so we're content living 45 minutes apart.
• There are challenges, but we enjoy spending lots of time at each other's homes.

Every weekend, my partner makes the best breakfast: over-medium eggs, handmade tortillas, and fresh hash browns.

We often eat outside thanks to Colorado's bright, sunny days, then we'll walk around the lake, watch some football, and spend the evening roasting marshmallows over the fire pit.

Then, when Sunday night arrives, I get in my car and drive the 45 minutes back to my dream condo to get ready for the week ahead.

My partner and I met at work 13 years ago, and we intend to spend the rest of our lives together, but we still live apart. We know each other's rhythms, quirks, and needs, and have no secrets, just separate addresses.

I often joke that we're in a "middle-distance" relationship. At least we're in the same state, but it's also not always easy or convenient to drop by for dinner.

Living apart lets us each keep a home we love

Both of us are divorced, and we both love the houses we have.

My partner lives in rural northeastern Colorado and bought his home after his divorce. It's bigger than mine, with a huge yard and a custom-designed patio built for entertaining.

His neighborhood isn't exactly walkable, but he's originally from a small town in Texas, so he doesn't mind driving longer distances to get to places he wants to go.

Meanwhile, after my divorce, I moved back into the Boulder condo I had been renting out while married. My unit is smaller than my partner's, but I love its mountain views and proximity to all my favorite places, like my go-to local bakery.

It needed a lot of work when I moved back in, but I invested in new paint and flooring to really make it mine again.

I want to stay close to Boulder, and he wants a big house. The tight, expensive housing market has made it tough to find a new place we both love.

Though we've toured many houses together over the last six months, we haven't been impressed by any of them enough to leave the places we've already made our own.

Our setup isn't as tough as people think

One thing that has made this arrangement easier is that we're used to living out of our suitcases. I'm a professional travel writer, and he works for a company based on the East Coast. We also love to explore new places together whenever we can.

When we are both home in Colorado, we've found a routine that has worked pretty well for us. My partner often spends some weeknights here, where we're close to restaurants, friends, walkable downtown Boulder, and other things to do after work.

Then, I'll go up to his house for quiet, relaxed weekends, and to watch my favorite team on the 100-inch screen (go Raiders!). We also tend to entertain at his bigger house.

Both of us get bored easily, so having a change of scenery and routine keeps life feeling fresh. My 14-year-old pug has adapted, too, and travels with me between places.

To make things easier, I've bought duplicates of staples like deodorant and an electric toothbrush, so I'm not schlepping them (or forgetting them!) every weekend.

That said, there are challenging things about our setup. Packing up every few days can be a hassle, and it can be stressful to land at the airport and decide which house to go to, especially when I miss both my partner and the feeling of being "home."

We always make an effort to overcommunicate our plans and extend understanding whenever one of us just needs to get home to do a load of laundry.

We'll find our dream home eventually

Every day, I'm scrolling listings that meet both our picky criteria and calling up agents for showings, but so far, we haven't loved anything as much as our current homes.

It sounds frustrating, but we both think this is a pretty good problem to have: It gives us more leverage in the homebuying process and means we don't have to settle for something that is only half-right or makes just one of us happy.

We're confident that we'll find a home that fits us both, but in the meantime, navigating the middle-distance has only made our relationship stronger.

• My husband is 23 years older than I am, but our age difference never bothered me before.
• Now that he's 61 and we're raising two young kids, I'm noticing our different energy levels.
• I love our life together, but I'm struggling with the realities of our age gap.

When my husband and I first met back in 2014, we had what many would consider a whirlwind romance. We met, fell in love almost instantly, moved in together after a year, got engaged six months later, married a month after that, and a little over a year later, welcomed our first child.

It was all very exciting, rushed, and filled with emotion and love.

I'm also a very rational person who doesn't get easily swept up in the moment. So we talked about a lot of the "hard" decisions that couples so often neglect to discuss at the beginning of a relationship. We talked about children, our future, and what we wanted our lives to look like. That's why, now, more than 12 years later, it's surprising to find myself struggling with something I thought I had already made peace with: our age gap.

He is 23 years older than me

My husband and I have a 23-year age difference. Yes, I was always aware of it. And, to be honest, it never really made a difference to me.

Especially when it came to the big life decisions, including having children, we had those conversations before we even got engaged. I knew exactly how old he was. I knew there would be things about growing older together that would be different for us.

But I guess there's a big difference between being aware of something that could eventually happen and actually living it.

Our age difference has been showing up in more ways than one lately, and there's a part of me that's angry with myself for being surprised by it.

It's not like my husband was always going to be the 48-year-old I met when I was 25. I knew he would age. I knew things would change as he got older. I knew there would eventually be a point when the difference between us became more noticeable.

I just don't think I ever wanted to admit to myself exactly how much.

He's in his 60s now

I knew he was going to be an older father. I knew all of this. But knowing something and seeing it firsthand are two very different things. Lately, I've seen just how much his 61 years are catching up to him, and it's been putting me in a strange place.

I keep a lot of things together for my family. We have two young children, and I have my own business. There is already a lot that weighs on me. But what I've noticed recently is my husband's physical health beginning to catch up with his age.

Don't get me wrong — my husband is in great shape for a 61-year-old. But at the same time, most 61-year-olds aren't running after toddlers or handling the daily insanity of school drop-off and pick-up.

And that difference is becoming harder for me to ignore. What bothers me most is how naive I feel. I knew this was a possibility. Quite frankly, my husband knew it, too. When we discussed having children, we were always on the same page, but he expressed his concerns about being an "old" dad. I heard him. We talked about it. We made the decision together.

And yet, now that I'm watching the reality unfold in front of me, I'm beginning to feel guilty. As though I've been selfish. As though somehow this isn't fair to my kids.

I see how much fatherhood — and, frankly, being a husband — can weigh on him.

The everyday insanity of being part of a household with a high-maintenance 8-year-old and a very independent 3-year-old is a lot for anyone, myself included. But it's especially a lot for a 61-year-old.

Sometimes he physically can't keep up with our 3-year-old, who runs at a pace that could outrun the best of us. Sometimes he mentally can't keep up with our eight-year-old, who talks at about a million miles a minute.

And those moments make the age difference feel very real.

It's not just the fatherhood aspect

I feel his patience with me beginning to waver, too, and I wonder how much of that is because we're simply in such different phases of life.

I have a thriving public relations firm, and I feel like I'm just getting started. I have energy and ambition and a feeling that there is still so much ahead of me.

He had a contracting firm for many years, but that chapter of his life is well behind him now. At his age, he should be enjoying retirement. Instead, he's a stay-at-home dad and handles a huge amount for our family. But he's far from retired.

He's the only one who drives, so he's the family's chauffeur. He makes appointments and handles logistical things. He oversees the renovations on our house. He does the grocery shopping. He does so, so much.

And the truth is, at this age, maybe he shouldn't have to.

Our relationship itself hasn't really changed. We are still very lucky to have an incredibly open and loving relationship. We talk about these things. We try to give each other space and understand where one another is coming from. We each do what we can mentally and physically for each other, for our children, and, just as importantly, for ourselves.

I think what we're realizing is that neither of us has ever been here before.

We knew there was an age gap when we met. We knew what it meant on paper. We talked about the difficult possibilities before we got married and before we had children.

At 25, I could understand that my husband was 23 years older than me. At 38, I can feel it.

• I've worked as a wedding photographer for years, and I've seen couples make the same mistakes.
• Too many people schedule the day to the minute and don't get the chance to enjoy their wedding.
• Not budgeting for the right photographer and videographer can lead to disappointing results.

I've been photographing weddings for over a decade, so I've witnessed countless ceremonies and receptions — some disastrous, others impeccable.

Throughout the years, I've also watched couples make the same mistakes over and over. Here are a few I wish they'd avoid.

Filling the day-of schedule with way too much

Couples have to find time for the ceremony, photos, eating and drinking, dancing, talking to the people they invited, and connecting with each other.

When you try to fit too many things into the day, no one — especially the married couple — has time to breathe and relish the moments. The day can feel rushed and more focused on activities than the celebration of love.

A packed schedule often leaves couples stressed, with no time to eat because they've been pushed from one 15-minute window to the next.

However, your wedding day shouldn't be a blur. You should have time to soak in every moment. When you map out your day, prioritize traditions you love and estimate how long each will take … then add buffers.

I also recommend working with a wedding planner or coordinator to plan your timeline, or consulting with your photographer and other vendors when arranging your schedule. They've experienced countless weddings and know firsthand how much time each activity usually takes.

Letting small mishaps and issues ruin the whole day

One of the things I always tell my couples right before their wedding day is that something will go wrong.

I don't say this to scare them or make them worry, but mostly to adjust their expectations. No matter how much planning you do, people are imperfect, the weather can be unpredictable, and life happens.

By the time the day comes, couples have done all they can to make sure it's how they pictured it. All that matters after that is that they enjoy their wedding.

Missing flowers or a cake that's the wrong flavor can throw off your day — but these unexpected mishaps shouldn't be so consuming that they're all you remember from your wedding.

I don't want to witness any more miserable couples desperately trying to fix details that will never be exactly right. Please try to roll with the punches on your wedding day.

Hiring the wrong photographer or videographer

I may be a bit biased, but I strongly believe having important memories properly documented in photo and video form is priceless.

I've also heard from countless married couples who regret booking a subpar photographer or skipping a videographer.

When hiring any vendors — especially these — choose carefully. You're paying someone to use their physical and creative energy to tell the story of your wedding.

Ask a ton of questions and make sure you love their style by viewing their portfolios and websites. It can also help to hop on a phone call or video meeting — couples should esnsure they vibe with their photo and video team on a personal level because they'll be spending a lot of time with them on the big day.

Planning the wedding they think they should have instead of the one they actually want

Weddings are for the couple, so they should do what they want.

I see so many of them spend thousands of dollars and devote countless hours to planning, only to celebrate their love the way they think they're supposed to — not how they'd actually like.

Your wedding should be unique to you, and it doesn't need to look like everyone else's. If you wish to elope in the forest or plan a ball inspired by "Bridgerton" in a mansion, go for it.

The couple is at the core of the celebration, so why shouldn't everything be based on who they are and what matters most to them? 

Consider this my official public service announcement: Your wedding can — and should — be fun, unique, and meaningful to you. 

This story was originally published in June 2021 and most recently updated on October 23, 2026.

In our Divorce Diaries series, we speak to people in Ireland about their experience of marriage and divorce. This week, a woman in her 40s with two children talks about separation from her perspective

A powerful reflection on the pull of nostalgia, on learning to accept that a past life is gone even as you tentatively reach back for it. Tiffany Huang captures the ache of lost opportunities and regretted paths, of staying a course out of duty and responsibility even as your sense of home erodes. It’s a gorgeous, bittersweet read about what it means to move on long before you’ve fully let go.

You unmasked for the first time, revealing smooth cheeks, a sharp chin, and a long nose. You talked about your book, in progress for several years now, about a Hong Kong man drifting aimlessly around the world. I asked you how you felt about the protests and noted the resignation in your tone. You wanted to write a book about what it meant to be a man from Hong Kong; if Hong Kong disappeared, what would happen to the man? You told me about your family, and it was clear we were not meeting to talk about writing anymore. When you spoke, you chose your words carefully. You didn’t ask me about my boyfriend, only how I felt about returning to America. When I hesitated, you did not ask why, and when I spoke, you listened instead of interrupting me. I didn’t want to leave.