'We fired our marriage counsellor because she told us to wave the white flag.'

Six years ago, my husband Dane and I sat in a marriage counsellor's office planning our divorce, not making eye contact and barely saying a word.

That marriage counsellor told us perhaps it was time to 'wave the white flag'.

We were tired, flat and disconnected. Life had taken priority. And somewhere along the way, we chose to also go down with the sinking ship.

I remember staring at the counsellor, trying to process the words 'I can help you with this process of separation and divorce', while Dane sat there quietly, nodding.

Watch: People admit when they knew it was time for a divorce. Post continues below.

For me, those words didn't sit right with me. I wasn't ready to give up. Not like this. I didn't know what the way forward was, though, I knew it wasn't that.

I walked out and fired that marriage counsellor.

Maybe you're wondering how we even got to that point? How did two people who were once so connected end up sitting in a freakin' counsellor's office barely speaking not knowing who they were anymore or what way was up?

It was the slow erosion over time too. Sound familiar? The exhaustion became our baseline from raising little humans, carrying the mental load, being on the go 24/7.

We became really good at functioning and pretending. We stopped seeing each other. Full stop.

One day you realise your only conversations are about who's gonna spend time with the kids, what bills haven't been paid yet, or who's more exhausted.

The passion? Gone.

The intimacy? A freaking landmine.

Touch felt like pressure.

Sex felt like an obligation.

I started to feel invisible.

Dane was in a mental health crisis and spiraling. He was withdrawing in ways I didn't even clock at the time. There were nights he didn't come home at all. Alcohol became his way of coping.

We stopped speaking for days at a time. Only to sweep things under the carpet and repeat the same cycles.

The disconnection created emotional warfare inside the house. We were both walking around carrying frustration, unmet needs, resentment… and it bled into everything. Our parenting, energy and our presence… our work…our struggling bank accounts.

Moments where society says, "You can't come back from that."

We didn't talk about any of it. We just kept going. That's what you do, right? You keep showing up. You push through. Eventually, the pushing becomes pretending and the pretending starts to feel like suffocating.

By the time we found ourselves seated on that worn couch, in the sterile confines of a marriage counsellor's office, a place that was supposed to offer hope…we were already in freefall.

We were so lost. Communication felt forced. Understanding felt miles away. The very foundation of our relationship felt like it was crumbling beneath us.

We were two isolated individuals trying to survive a shared life. Raising two young kids, struggling to pay a mortgage.

Image: Supplied.

Separation and divorce became our next step.

Though another part of me, a stronger part, knew she didn't get to decide how our story would end.

Not her.

Not then.

Not like that.

Look, I'm not here to throw therapy under the bus. I believe in it. I've seen how powerful it can be. Though sitting in that room… I felt like we were being written off.

Maybe to her, in that moment, we did look like we were done.

Dane took her words in. I remember watching him quiet, thoughtful. As much as we were struggling, there was still that knowing that this man beside me was still my person.

And that maybe we didn't need to fix the marriage, we needed to go inwards and look at ourselves within it.

So we did the bravest thing we could think of at the time… we walked out.

And we decided to stop outsourcing our healing to people who didn't believe in us and started believing in ourselves.

We hit rock bottom and chose to rise.

We threw out everything we'd been taught about "healthy communication and connection"… and took space.

I'd become so good at leading, mothering, and holding it all together… that I'd masked the real me. I'd forgotten how to soften, receive, and be truly seen in my feminine.

Dane began his own inner work, sitting in men's circles, diving deep into breathwork, and confronting his buried wounds. He claimed his masculine for the first time.

We stopped pointing the finger.

We started owning our patterns.

When we came back together, it wasn't out of desperation anymore.

We met each other with reverence, presence, and truth. Our marriage transformed into a sacred union. Because of that one decision to say NO, this ain't our story.

People prepare you for the sleepless nights and the chaos, ahead of having kids but no one warns you about the slow, quiet unravelling that comes after.

No one talks about lying next to the person you love… and still feeling alone.

Most couples don't want to leave. They just don't know how to stay.

This year, we celebrated 10 years of marriage. Dane surprised me with a vow renewal in Fiji, barefoot, just us.

Imagine if we'd listened?

Image: Supplied/Instagram/@nadinemuller

We often say we've been married four times in ten years… to the same person.

We're not perfect.

We still hit walls.

Now, we know how to come back. We know how to sit in discomfort.

We've built something far more real.

If you're in it right now, if you're wondering if your marriage can come back from rock bottom, it can, if both people are willing to walk through the fire and come out rebirthed.

If both people stop pointing fingers, clear the scoreboard, take radical ownership… there is HOPE.

Here's a reminder, sometimes the most revolutionary thing you can do… is stay and rewrite your own rules.

You can follow Nadine Muller here.

Feature: Supplied.