Away three weeks in four, and two men have sworn that was fine

I am away three weeks in four. That is my job, it is not changing, and it has ended two relationships with men who were entirely sincere at the time when they said it would be fine.

Forty five, west London when I am actually in it, I work on installations abroad and I am home for about a week a month plus the odd stretch between contracts. Fifteen years of leading. One dynamic of nine years that survived exactly this, which is how I know it can be done rather than merely hoped for.

It works when the structure lives in the absence rather than the presence. Reporting that is short and actually happens. Standing duties at home that carry on whether or not I am in the country. A weekly call at a fixed time that neither of us moves for anything short of a funeral. What kills it is treating the three weeks as a gap between the interesting parts.

The week I am home is not a festival either. I am tired, there is laundry, and I want the house in the state I asked for and a good deal of quiet. Men who picture that week as a continuous event are always disappointed, and I have given up trying to manage the expectation in advance.

Not looking for somebody who needs spontaneity. Not looking for a man who will agree to this and then turn the absences into a grievance, which is precisely how the last one went. Not looking to be talked into changing jobs, and I mention it because it has been tried twice.