delicately-balancing

[delicately-balancing]

Letting go

I feel. I always have. I try not to. I think maybe if I didn't feel so much life would be so much easier. But it's easier said than done. My feelings are like crashing waves some days. The undercurrent is so strong I get pulled under try as I might to stay above it. It's the same thing over and over. I notice every little thing. I try not to, but I do and then my mind is racing trying to interpret and explain what might be going on. I tell myself to let it go. And I try, I really do. Some days it works. I stuff and avoid. I walk on eggshells afraid I will ruin things yet again. I get hurt and keep it quiet. And then when it all gets too much, when I just can't turn away the ripples becomes waves quickly and the rush of waves overcome me, crashing and forcing the feelings out. It's exhausting really. So, I ponder what life would be like if I extracted myself from my relationships. In many ways I have already. I avoid closeness. I keep my distance. And yet there is one left that lingers and I wonder if now is the time to severe that tie like I have the others. I rarely think about it in such a methodical and calculated way. But this one I do. And I try to imagine how to go through this life alone. And I think maybe that isn't so hard. I can fill in the spaces. And maybe if I can just let go of this need for a partner, my "person" I will stop feeling so much. Stop hurting all the time. Stop worrying if I am good enough for someone else and just be enough for me.

[delicately-balancing]

Pain

It's at these moments in my life when I feel wounded that I turn in the most. I want to close off the world and keep my pain a secret. I love my children and their presence but it is in these moments I crave space to feel my pain without them seeing me, without questions that I simply can't answer. I remember the many occasions I considered divorce over the course of my marriage. I remember thinking no one would understand. I also remember thinking how I could stay in the state it was in. Wondering if somehow I could find happiness in unhappiness. At the surface my marriage was one of the good ones. My husband a likeable guy, engaging, funny, great with kids, always helping. But in private he complained about the friends that thought so highly of him. The friends that felt sorry for him when I seemingly destroyed our marriage. What no one understood was how private my internal thoughts and feelings were. How closely I held my struggle with my marriage, with the spouse that pushed my buttons endlessly. How unloved I felt. How constantly embarrassed and frustrated I was. How guilty I felt for not being a good wife, for being so unattracted to my own husband. So this surprise to everyone else was no surprise to me. It was long and drawn out while over the years I alternated between leaving and staying. I wondered how I could leave and be on my own financially. A marriage has comforts that are hard to walk away from. Comforts of stability, the big house, the neighborhood, good schools. But the comfort of a loving partner was not there. Not for a long time. So, I walked away. And now I am being punished. It shouldn't come as a surprise really. This is the personality I came to know. The person capable of such hate within his own family. The person that needs everyone on his side. That constantly needs attention. I hurt him and now he will hurt me. But he forgets how much I enjoy being solitary. He forgets surrounding myself with people is not in my nature, that I keep my private life private. That I recognize blame is shared. Funny how I say positive things about him whenever I am asked about the divorce, yet he chooses otherwise. It demonstrates the true nature of his character. Even still I had hoped this person I share two children with would make better choices if only for the sake of our children. It pains me to know my children have a father that does the very things I teach them not to. It was like a dagger in my heart seeing how much love and adoration my daughter has for her father this morning. These feelings of conflict about this person who is a loving father that one day may very well try to destroy my relationship with my children as he has destroyed my relationship with those we used to call friends.

[delicately-balancing]

Over

It's over. Somehow it doesn't feel real even though I know it is. "Is there any chance of reconciliation?" "No." He said it without hesitation. Without emotion. That question and answer keep replaying in my head over and over. And the tears that brimmed over once she confirmed it was granted. There have always been those moments where regardless of how hard I tried I could not surpress the emotions. That was one of them. The end of nearly 14 years. And I was the one who brought us here. We were there because I quit. I gave up. I felt like a fraud crying but it was a real emotion and one I suspected I would have. I wanted to stay married for the sake of not failing, not disappointing anyone, not losing my friend but I had as many reasons for leaving as I did staying. I justify my decisions to myself all the time. Even afterwards, at lunch, I was reminded how different we are. The introvert and the extrovert. I wondered if he found the blonde bartender with her large breasts attractive. He was so chatty with her but it didn't seem like flirting. Would he date her or someone like her? I didn't feel jealousy. I didn't feel possessive. I just felt strange. Like I was with a friend that I shared an intimate secret with. It felt like old times in some ways. I observed the tension of the last few months disapate for a short time. He hugged me and pressed his lips to mine when we said goodbye. He was sweet and genuine. And then he said something odd. "It's only a piece of paper." What did that mean? He has moved on. So have I. It's over. Technically it's been over for months, in some ways years but somehow it's hard to believe it's really over. Hard to believe I'm really not married anymore. Divorced. That is the status I will have attached now. It doesn't feel real yet. Maybe tomorrow but not today.

[delicately-balancing]

Airplane Reflections

This sweet couple sat next to me on the plane. They were worried about their son. He has a 70 mile drive to airport and our flight was already 20 minutes later than scheduled. I told them often we will still arrive on time or close because the airlines overestimate to buffer and improve their on time arrival rates. They don't fly much. The husband used to when he was working but is glad that is no longer the case. I told them to have him just check the flight before leaving to make sure it wasn't delayed or he could follow signs for the cell phone lot and wait there. I helped her figure out airplane mode on her phone. We made small talk for a bit and then I got lost in the desert landscape. Nevada is so beautiful. I am not a fan of the casinos. The fake constructs and the filtered air that can't quite remove the smoky smells. Outside of the strip there is such beauty. I wish I could go back, rent a car and explore. I remembered a hot air balloon in the distance as I traveled to the airport. It reminded me of New Mexico and I had an urge to book a trip when I saw it. I took a break from admiring the landscape and looked back over at them. They were both asleep. His hand on her knee and her hand rested on top of his. This simple act of love made me immediately teary and I felt my heart swell. I want that. To love someone in my old age. Where the love is natural and simple. A seasoned relationship where the love remains past the early flutters of a new relationship. Their love is in the little conversations with each other. Their shared care for their son. She doesn't have a wedding ring on but he does. Most likely it doesn't fit her anymore, but the love between them remains even though they have both changed, aged over the years. The pilot came on and woke them. They remain connected. Gentle conversation, still touching. I remember reading an article about someone else's similar experience flying with an older couple that was very much in love. That story stuck with me because it was one of the moments I realized my marriage would not, could not last. The love described was not my marriage. Far from it. I read that article knowing I would get divorced, should get divorced. And then another article soon after about a couple dying within minutes of each other also holding hands. It prompted the "can you envision being married to me in 40 years?" statement early in the divorce dialogue. I knew I couldn't. Not if I didn't have the love described in those articles or like the couple sitting next to me now. I remember thinking I would rather be alone than drag someone through a marriage where real love is missing. And so I take in their energy, their sweetness. I don't feel melancholy about the end of my marriage, rather at peace that the right decision was made. I won't look back years later with regret and that makes me happy.

[delicately-balancing]

Teeter totter

Funny how a memory from my childhood best describes the feeling I have now. The ups and downs and ins and outs between my new life and my old one. Teeter tottering between emotions. One second I feel an overwhelming sense of joy and the next a sudden crash down like my playmate got distracted and jumped off to join someone else. I find myself between these moments of joy and sorrow more often than I want to admit. And then there is a sense of wonder. Am I really moving forward on this path? Funny how I think that as I look around my new space that is nearly a home. And then sometimes the fear creeps in. What if I screw this all up? Maybe being unhappy was better. More stable. A known in this sea of unknown. The self doubt always rears it's ugly head when I am starting to feel positive. Those moments when things seem right and then something bad happens. A sign that this is a mistake. Yet for every negative along the way there has been so much that is positive. I feel more love around me than I have in years but this is me still and I don't trust that it will stay. I think to myself I shouldn't get used to the attention. For a little while everyone will care but then life happens and people move on because in my brain it feels safer to not rely on friendships to navigate this new space. Yet I crave friendship, love and happiness and everything points to those elements existing in my future. It's crazy how quickly everything has happened. It feels like ages since that night when the words finally came out. Four months. That's all. It feels like so much longer. Perhaps because I had been teeter tottering between what was my reality and the idea of a new reality for so long before I finally admitted it. And now I am here. I can nearly see the finish and it can't come soon enough. For all of the ups and downs and fear of what is ahead there is excitement in the unknown and uncovering what waits on the other side.

[delicately-balancing]

Hurt

Your silence speaks volumes but the words aren’t yours.

They’re mine.

My fears, my insecurities, my doubt, my self loathing.

And I am reminded.

This is how I hurt myself.

[delicately-balancing]

Sides

It happened last night. It was only a matter of time and I knew that. That moment when mutual friends, acquaintances would start choosing sides. The words didn’t come out that way, but they didn’t need to. I could sense the overwhelming sense of judgement and I thought this is how it is going to be. And I accepted, mostly. His children were next to him. He was slightly uncomfortable seeing me, knowing what exactly to say. His hello was strained. There was this slight sense of excitement on my part to see just how it would unfold. I am confident in my new place in life, the direction my life is heading while others are dumbfounded, confused, uncomfortable. He asked, “so what’s going on” in a way that made it clear what was left unsaid. I responded, “just life, lots of things.” And he looked at me with an awareness that those were loaded words. There were a few moments of small talk and then he was saved by another Mom and the craziness of children running around. He avoided me the rest of the night. And I met up with my friend, grateful for shared experiences and support. I have never needed people around me, never needed approval of anyone that I didn’t value in my life. I laugh a little at the rumors that will start spreading, the small talk this small manufactured community of what were once mutual friends will have about the end of my marriage. How people will find out little by little. The surprise they will have that a seemingly perfect marriage ended. Many will blame me, and I embrace that. I embrace the unraveling of fake friendships as much as the unraveling of my marriage. I have never liked fake, manufactured and forced relationships. And now, the weight of putting on a show is being lifted off of me. Sides are being chosen and I will move on, happy for a fresh start with those I choose for mine. 

[delicately-balancing]

The trip

He said he wanted to get away and I encouraged it so why am I so furious? He is going to NY for six days. Six fucking days. Not a long weekend. Nearly a week. He asked about going to see Mike and I said yes and then he would tell me he was going to book it and then tell me he didn't because I might have to travel for work. Then he would tell me the next day he was going to book it and then again change his mind because of me. I didn't realize it would be six days. I know he told me the dates but I didn't connect that meant I was on my own for drum lessons, coaching soccer practice, coaching the soccer game, getting Connor to his soccer game, missing a week of workouts and whatever else is in store. I can handle it. I will be fine. I know that but he said he was taking this trip before soccer started but that isn't the case after all. And on top of that he gets to see Mike. That is my punishment for telling him I want out of our marriage. He gets a trip. So when do I get to see Heidi? I don't. He will spend $500 on a flight while I stress about finances and affording this separation. I shouldn't be mad. I realize how ridiculous it is, but my emotions are raw and I am tired of stuffing my frustration all the time so I let my anger out and now he is angry back. And then afterwards he told me he got insurance so if I have to travel he can cancel. Why wouldn't he have said that in the text or the email he sent with the flight details? By the way, we can always cancel in case something comes up. An important piece of information he left out. Because he didn't know until after I got angry and he decided to check. Which makes me even angrier. I should apologize. I know that I should but he can wait till tomorrow. I am not ready to apologize. I am not ready to try to undo my feelings. And now I am wide awake and I will lay here not sleeping for yet another night.

[delicately-balancing]

Bonds

She knows now. He told her today. He said he wouldn’t, but in a quiet moment while the kids watched a movie, it came out. And she told him about a dream she had last night where his father told her in an elevator that someone was moving. I wanted to know how she responded, what she thought. Was she surprised? Did she say something negative? I have been so accustomed to her negativity, I had expected it. She was surprised, but supportive. It’s shocking really. He had been worried how she would respond, but she said the most important thing was the children and for some reason that made me scared. I told him I do not want her manipulating my children against me. They are mine and not hers. He said he understands and they talked about that. He will defend me if it comes to that and I believe him. He said she has changed. That they had this connection they have never had. Ironic. I spent our entire life together, even before we were married, trying to mend their relationship. Now here we are ending our marriage and they are forming the mother and son bond they never had. It is what I wanted and I am happy for him. I told him about how difficult it was for me today. Maybe him going to visit his mother was a trigger for my feelings this afternoon, the pain I felt. It was that emptiness around not having a mother that made me so frustrated that he wasn’t willing to try to have a relationship with his. I don’t agree with her about everything, but she was always interested, invested and I never doubted she loved my children. They will need her love in the coming months. And I am happy he has the support of his mother now. Maybe it will make the transition easier for him. I want to reach out to her to tell her thank you. Thank you for being his mother and a grandmother to my children. I want their lives filled with love not just from me and their father. I pray that is what they will have. A support network surrounding them that I didn’t. And so, I will step away and the bonds will grow stronger. 

[delicately-balancing]

A Mother

I am alone. He took the kids to his mother’s house. My son didn’t understand why I wouldn’t go. I told him she wanted to see them. He said she wanted to see me too. She doesn’t. I know that. She feels strange around me. I have always known that. She can’t figure me out. I am strong, opinionated, but full of love and sorrow. I am in a dark place this afternoon. I was supposed to be working, but I napped for an hour. And then I tried to clean. And then the tears started pouring and wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t figure out why. Why am I feeling like this today? And then I thought a cup of tea would help. And then I started working, but this feeling won’t go away. I crave sleep but there is something else. I can feel it pushing against my chest. I need a mother. I need my mother, but not my mother. She wasn’t a mother. She was the woman who gave birth to me, that deserted me, that hurt me, that disappointed me, that embarrassed me. She left a trail of destruction behind her, me, my brother, my dead half-sister, her worthless husband and four damaged children, my two half-brothers who are probably as fucked up as my mother was. My mother. She was wild, a mess, a disaster. I am angry. Am I really the only normal one? I don’t feel sane or normal right now. One woman after another in and out of my life and never a mother I could confide in. I feel so isolated. This is when I need a mother in my life. A mother that will let me pour my heart out to her and hold me while I cry for what I have lost, what I am pushing away. And the doubt creeps back like it did when I was a child. How can I be a good mother? I have nothing to base anything on. I am not deserting my children. I tell myself that over and over and over. Quitting this dead marriage is not deserting my children. Wishing for happiness is not saying my children don’t make me happy. They do, but I can’t rely on them solely for my own happiness. I put music on, and changed it over and over, trying to find something to connect to, something to snap me out of this place. I want to scream. I want to get in my car and drive somewhere, anywhere to get away from these thoughts, these feelings, this pressure pushing against my chest, my throat. He texted me now. He’s coming back home. Strangely I feel relief. Being alone isn’t good for me right now. I am not my mother. I know that. But I wish I had a mother. It’s not a new wish, it’s an old one and a painful one. And it frankly isn’t possible. So, I will breathe and I will be the mother that my children deserve, even if I have no reference to base it on. I am not deserting them. I will love them wholeheartedly. I do love them wholeheartedly. I will be here for them, when they need me, which is more than I have. They won’t feel this pain I feel now, and maybe that is what I need to hold to. 

[delicately-balancing]

Church

I am struggling with my place in church. I need to find somewhere else to go but it is too soon for the kids. Once I move out it will be easier. I don’t want to volunteer anymore. I don’t want to see my pastor or his wife and imagine the thoughts they might be having. The rings are off now and that will raise questions. I am separating with no intent of reconciliation. I used to love this church but it is his church now. This was the one place he felt comfortable at. So, this is my gift to him. He can stay and I will go. It makes me sad, but it is the right thing to do.

He had told our friend last night, but didn’t want to upset me so he withheld that from me until this morning. It was innocent. He got a Topo Chico and always used his wedding ring to open it but it wasn’t there. And the friend asked why we weren’t wearing our rings and it came out. He is a great guy and can be a good friend to my soon to be ex, when it is needed most. He has his own experiences to share. I want him to make friends, to be happy. And he goes to our church, so they can maintain the friendship even when we move.

There are so many things to figure out next. But for now I will show up on Sunday and figure things out at another time.

[delicately-balancing]

Conflicting Feelings

When you have lived in a marriage as friends for as long as we have, the lines between enjoying time with each other and having a good marriage get blurry. Suddenly sharing a laugh, talking at ease with friends raises a question about whether or not we should continue trying. At least that is what I think he is thinking. I don’t really know, but it is as if those moments where we seem OK for a bit, where we can both laugh result in this look, this sort of longing, mixed with pain and confusion. We needed a break from talking about our marriage. We needed to laugh, to live for a moment outside of anger, sadness, frustration. We both knew it. And we got that tonight. And it was nice. There were moments where it was awkward. My ring finger felt naked. His ring finger was also missing the obvious symbolic linkage we once shared. I have removed it periodically and wanted to keep it off, but knew it would hurt him. When I would look at it, it felt like a lie, just like the happy marriage those around us thought we shared. He took his off today while we were in the garage talking. He looked directly at me when he did it and muttered a comment that I can’t remember. And so when I went inside I felt I could finally remove it for good and I did. I wondered if our friends noticed the missing rings. They don’t know we are separating. I told him I didn’t want to say anything. Not yet. I didn’t want to damper the evening, make it awkward on anyone else. We needed to just pretend everything was OK tonight, even if it wasn’t. Our friends we went with aren’t married. Not yet. They will be soon enough. He is divorced and when the time is right he can talk with him about how he worked out the schedule for his 9 year old daughter with his ex-wife. His ex-wife who moved on and has a 3 year old daughter. I know his girlfriend looks at us and likes the idea of having another couple to be friends with. I wonder what she will think when she realizes we won’t be that couple she thought we would. She is so young and sweet, such a loving girl. I hope their marriage will last. They are sweet together and he is young at heart and a little goofy. Not the typical West Point Grad I would expect. They were genuinely happy and thankfully (hopefully) didn’t pick up on any tension. 

Whether they noticed it or not, there were other moments tonight where it was clear how far apart he and I really are. I noticed my legs pointed away from him. I was sitting forward, but my back was turned ever so slightly towards him. It wasn’t intentional, but I noticed it. Every so often, I would look at him. I would check in to make sure he was OK. And it was good to see him laughing. My friend from work was there. Before the show, while we were waiting for the food at the food truck, he saw me first and squeezed my arm as he walked by and smiled. His wife saw me and looked surprised and we smiled at each other and said hello. They sat a couple rows in front of us. They are an interesting couple. So animated. They love each other. I wondered what he was thinking when he saw me and my husband. He knows my marriage is ending. He went through his own divorce and has shared that experience, tried to offer me words of wisdom. I wondered if he wanted to say something. I was grateful he didn’t try to talk to me or to us. Grateful he didn’t try to introduce his wife. He was right next to me at the bar when we were leaving and I avoided saying goodbye. I was trying to pretend everything was OK tonight, but when someone else knows the truth, it’s hard to hide. So, avoidance was best. 

Our friend drove both there and back. The guys rode in the front and girls in the back. I was so grateful for the space. And as we drove to and from the venue, I dreamt of living downtown, in the cute little bungalows we drove past that far exceed my budget, certainly the budget of a single mother. It is exciting when I think about it though. The idea of moving on with my life, having my own place, figuring out how to enjoy time with the kids in new ways. Once we were home, the tension came back. Our friend invited him over for a cigar, but he declined. I tried to convince him to go, even if he didn’t want one. He said he was too tired. We’re both tired. Sleep is fleeting lately. My brain doesn’t want to shut off. I replay the day, the arguments, the conversations, the tension. I think about my next steps. My daughter woke up and started screaming. She does it often. I kissed her gently and rubbed her back. She is so beautiful when she sleeps. It’s amazing what beauty can come out of what he referred to today as a lifeless marriage. I tried to tell him not to place all of the blame on himself. Not to look at our marriage as a complete failure. We did have good times, happy times. But they were happy times as friends and parents, not lovers. I won’t dwell on that, though. I have always embraced the pain and conflict of my life. Nothing has ever been easy, not really, but my life is good. For all the pain and suffering right now, my life is good and it will be better soon. I will be better soon. I will be whole again and so will he. 

[delicately-balancing]

Anger

He's angry now. We were laying in bed, talking and he brought up last night. His desire to rip my clothes off. The lack of emotion and just this carnal sexual energy and the need for a release. I told him I could not participate in that. We cannot be moving forward with a divorce and then create confusion with sex. Wouldn't that be confusing for him? He agreed it would. I told him as I have over and over I can't just flip a switch. Sex for me requires a connection, emotion. And then the conversation turned. About how infrequently we had sex. About how unsatisfying it was. He would orgasm but it wasn't actually enjoyable. How I constantly withheld from him. That I shut myself off from him. How long? Why did I do it? I wasn't a good wife in this way. I know that. He wasn't a good husband. Maybe he tried to be gentle and romantic once but there was nothing there and then he turned to being aggressive and groping he just pushed me further away. Suddenly it was the random ask for a quickie. And then the exasperation when I said no. He is putting all of the pieces together and realizing just how long our marriage has been over. And I laugh at our neighbor, my co-worker who says we should just stick it out and stay together. I told him he needs to tell his mother. He needs to tell her what made him finally look inward to decide he needed to reconcile. And I told him I want her to have a relationship with the children but not one where she manipulates me against them. And I pray that neither of us will do that either. I told him we are good people. We are good parents. We need to move forward. But he can't let go of the gravity of the confession by me and his own confession within himself. For some reason this conversation around intimacy, our incompatibility is cutting. He's angry now but only because he realizes just how far apart we have been and for how long. I will take the blame if it's needed. He can be angry at me. It's ok. But I am clear and content and moving forward. He left for a run and it made me happy. Good. He needs to get his aggression out, the pent up anger, sexual tension. And somehow I hope we can get back to a space where we can be level-headed and constructive in the dissolution of us. But for now I will accept his anger and give him space to feel.

[delicately-balancing]

Sexual attraction

It was an honest conversation and I knew it must be painful for a male ego, but it was a necessary conversation. We lack sexual chemistry. Sex was not good between us. We were incompatible in that way. There were maybe a few times that stood out as good, enjoyable but beyond that it was transactional. I admitted arousal was hard to come by for me. It was often painful but I knew it would be over quick and would suck it up. There was relief in the honesty but it was clear it was slightly damaging even though the words came from both of us. He shaved his beard off the next morning. Completely bare with smooth skin for the first time in six years. While I was getting ready for work he walked behind me and kissed the back of my neck, my shoulder. I froze. We hadn't done this. This was crossing a line. He apologized. Then a little later before he left he walked right up and kissed my lips. I told him "don't do this." He apologized and said he just wanted to feel what it felt like without his beard, with smooth skin. He left. He texted an apology. That night after work he brought it up and said he didn't know what came over him. It was done and we moved on. We began to talk about what would happen next. Making plans, discussing finances, moving, when we would tell everyone. While putting the kids to bed he asked if I could watch something with him. I was exhausted but agreed. It was the movie Once. He keeps pushing this movie, the music at me. Why? What message is he trying to send. I fell asleep through most of it. He tried to rewind but I didn't understand the movie. He wanted me to hear the song and played it. Finally he agreed it was time for bed. I ended up going to bed alone. And then around 2 I felt his hand on me. Rubbing my arm. I remained still. Then my back. He moved closer to me and continued caressing my skin, putting pressure on the areas of my back where he knows I hold tension. I remained still but wondered where he thought this was leading and then I observed what I was feeling. It felt nice but I lacked a feeling of connection. There was no draw, no arousal, no desire. Finally I got up and went to the bathroom. When I came back to bed I asked him what he was doing. I told him I didn't want to create confusion. He apologized. I told him sometimes when a marriage ends there is this last time and sometimes there is a connection but it won't last and it would be a mistake. He said it wasn't that at all. He said he had this animalistic desire, but that he wouldn't do anything if I didn't consent. I didn't. I don't. Now I wonder what the morning will hold. What awkward tension will we muddle through? Maybe it is time to sleep upstairs and separately. 3 months until I get my own place is a long time away. I fear the admission of our failed sex life, our lack of intimacy has led to some desire to prove we were wrong and I cannot participate in that. It isn't that something is wrong with either of us. What's wrong is the "us." Sex between us never worked and never will. We will find ourselves again in that way but not with each other.

[delicately-balancing]

My Abuser

Something was missing in my life. I had thought about it over and over. The years of abuse by the woman that was supposed to be a mother to me, the stepmother I never dared call my stepmother, were over. But yet I felt I deserved reprimand, deserved the beatings I had become so accustomed to, the mental and psychological abuse. Every time I did something wrong, made a mistake, got a bad grade, didn’t do something I knew I should I waited for the repercussions that never came. Consciously I didn’t realize he would fill that space that was missing. At least not right away, maybe not until I really tried to understand why I allowed it to happen, why I couldn’t leave him, why I made excuses over and over for the pain he caused me.  But eventually it became clear. As much as I hated the abuse, wished I could get away from it, I missed it. I craved it. It was routine and that routine had been broken and when he came along, I felt normal again. At least normal for a girl like me. 

I remember the night I met him. A group of us that took music lessons were forming a band together. He had been asked to play bass. I didn’t know him or recognize him. I had just moved to town and only knew a few people. He had this look about him. This darkness and softness at the same time. He was a mystery and I needed to know more. His talent was undeniable. I was told he was self taught. He had never had lessons. I had an immediate attraction to him, to the darkness, to the artistry. He was quiet, but we spoke briefly. I looked forward to practice when I could see him again. Eventually we started dating. He was so passionate about things, music, writing. He was philosophical. He was like no one I had ever met. He loved things that I loved, that most people never appreciated. I don’t remember the first time he hurt me. But the jealousy reared it’s head early. Little things would set him off. Someone would look at me the wrong way. He thought I was too flirtatious. He would ask me about past boyfriends and then get infuriated about it. I had wallet size pictures of friends, guys and girls. He couldn’t handle it. He took the pictures of the guys, ripped them to pieces and urinated on them. A part of me liked his jealousy. It made me feel like I was special. Like I was worth being jealous over. Even when I fought against it, a part of me wanted it. 

He was brooding and I could tell when the anger was coming. But he was pained, like a wounded animal at times. He had been hurt, damaged. Most of our fights would be about jealousy or about controlling me when I didn’t do what he wanted. He didn’t want me to wear makeup. He criticized my clothes. He wanted me covered up, nothing too tight. I couldn’t talk to anyone without him questioning my motives. In many ways, he was like my stepmother. Her abuse often centered around me and this idea she crammed into my head that I would grow up to be a whore like my mother. He took over where she left off in that area. His brothers would hear us fighting and do nothing. Everyone in the house knew. There was one time, he drug me down the stairs by my hair, pieces ripping out, my body thudding on the wooden stairs. His brother saw, but turned away silent. I always fought back, but it rarely did any good. His anger was white hot. He became another person. Like my stepmother, he hit me in places no one would see. Usually my abdomen, my stomach, my back. He would kick me, punch me, hit the upper parts of my legs. He would grab me by my hair and toss me like a rag doll. And afterwards, he would often cry and hold me, apologize for hurting me. And sometimes, he would force himself onto me. I didn’t want to accuse him of raping me, but that is what it was. It was not consensual and the tears would often stream down my face while he got off. I don’t know why he would do it, maybe to release some tension that hitting me could not, maybe to prove to me that I was his. His pain made me feel guilt for causing him to be angry. I blamed myself, I blamed his past. I wanted to fix him, to make him feel better. He confided in me that his stepmother had molested him. She was still married to his father and lived in the house and I was sick when I looked at her. When he would hurt me, I would think of her and detest her. I blamed her for him being this way, for hurting me to release the pain and anger he felt at her. For forcing himself on me to make up for her forcing herself onto him. 

I told myself that I loved him. I believed that I loved him. We both had this darkness and mine was much stronger then. I wanted to save him, to save us. I waited for him to leave for college. I stayed behind and worked for a year. He played football. He was a linebacker and I think most of the other players were scared of him. One night I made cookies for all the football players, him and his team, for their bus ride home. My generosity was a mistake. He didn’t like me doing anything for anyone else. He threw the cookies in my face and embarrassed me in front of everyone. Like his brothers, no one dared say anything. They were terrified of him. And I blamed myself. I should have known he would be jealous. I deserved it. I should have just made them for him only I thought. I would be better next time, think first before I did something to hurt him. We found a college to go to together. I was looking for a school that had a strong journalism and theater department. He was an award winning linebacker but at 5″8 it didn’t matter what his stats were, the major colleges weren’t interested. He had hoped to get a chance and prove his ability at a Junior College and TJC was a strong program that many athletes would go to if they couldn’t get into a 4 year school for sports immediately. But his attempt to get on the team proved futile and he took it out on me. College was a disaster for us. I lived on campus and he didn’t. We didn’t share classes together. He was constantly jealous, accusing me of cheating. He didn’t like to see me making friends. I had lost all my friends back in Uvalde. They couldn’t stand seeing me abused and I refused to admit it. But in college, I was finding my place and he felt he was losing me. The fighting grew worse. He would pick me up and as we drove we would start fighting. I tried to get out of the car while he was driving once and that was a mistake I paid for dearly. I tried to run away and call for help, but he caught me and dragged me kicking and screaming into his house and punched and kicked me. When I screamed, he grabbed a pillow and shoved it over my face, smothering me. This became a new tactic for him. There were times I thought he would kill me, I knew he would kill me. I imagined how he would respond when he realized I was dead and I always imagined him committing suicide. But at the last moment before I lost consciousness, he would release me and I would gasp for breath and feel the sharp needles of pain as I filled my lungs. And he would cry and hold me as I sobbed and then sometimes he would take my clothes off and force himself on me. 

I tried to break up with him. I told him I had had enough. I hid at a friend’s house. And when I thought it was safe to leave I left to go home, and suddenly I knew the headlights behind me were his. He was following me. I knew I couldn’t get away from him. He wouldn’t let me leave him. I parked my car at my dorm. He had my puppy, the one he had brought me before we left for college and had taken since I couldn’t have a pet. He told me he wouldn’t keep her anymore and that she was my responsibility. He knew that would work to get me to go with him and I fell into his trap. I agreed to leave with him to talk things through. But as usual we started fighting immediately. When he pulled up to his place, I got out and started walking away from him. He put the dog inside and I mistook that for him giving in, but he wasn’t having it. It was like a broken record the fights we would have. He ran back after me, grabbed me kicking and screaming and drug me across the ground into his place and locked the door. He hit me repeatedly, knocked the wind out of me. My collarbone felt broken. He left the room and I tried to sneak out the side door, but he caught me. He threw me and my face slammed into the corner of the small refrigerator. My head started spinning and the blood ran down my face. I made eye contact and he looked frightened. Like this time he knew he had hurt me and others would see the damage he had done. I was dizzy and could barely stand. He carried me to his room and laid me in the bed and I blacked out. The next morning I woke and he drove me home. I was bruised and swollen, my eyes black, a gash in my forehead, my chest throbbing in pain. I walked in and my roommate’s eyes filled with tears. She insisted I go to the hospital to get checked out. Reluctantly, I agreed. The police came and interrogated me. They insisted I press charges and I refused and they berated me, they were so awful to me. I thought they were as bad as him. How do you treat someone who has been hurt, physically and emotionally as if they are the problem? All I cared about was ensuring everything was ok. That nothing was broken. It wasn’t. I was fine, just bruised and battered. I went back to my dorm. He called over and over to check on me. He felt guilt for what he had done. The next day I piled on the makeup before class to hide the bruises. It was ironic but I had been cast as the lead in a play “Eye of God” about a woman that is abused and eventually murdered by her husband. I was at rehearsal and in one scene, I was holding the actor playing a little boy in my lap his head against my chest and the pain from my bruised collarbone was excruciating. The lights were down and when they came up everyone could see the tears on my face and I winced in pain. Then the questions started. The makeup I had carefully applied had run and the bruises were showing. I couldn’t hide what had happened. The next few days were a whirlwind. The Theater Director called my father, the campus police were called. I was interviewed. My father came and was so angry. He took me to the police station and made me press charges. There was a restraining order. I was moved to a new dorm. I kept trying to explain to everyone that he didn’t mean to hurt me like that. Really, he did mean to hurt me, but not where everyone could see the bruises. But I also knew that abusing me was to numb the pain he felt inside. 

With the restraining order and my new dorm that was more secure, I tried to move on and stay away from him. I tried to use this as my opportunity. He would stalk me but always stay just far enough away to meet the restraining order requirements. I started dating someone else. He was kind and smart. We looked good together. He knew about the abuse but wasn’t deterred. One day, we had a run in with my ex. I realized that I couldn’t put him in danger and broke up with him. And somehow I let my abuser back into my life. He was apologetic, broken. He had gotten in trouble back in Uvalde before we had left for college and it had come back to get him. He had defended his father, his father who knew his son’s temper and used that to his advantage to inflict revenge on someone. The man ended up with staples in his head and had pressed charges. When it finally went to court, it came out that he had beaten me and the judge had little mercy. He was put on probation and had a monitoring device. I felt guilty, like I was to blame. Me and his worthless father. So, I went back to him. But not much changed. The jealousy came back, the abuse began again. I had friends and he couldn’t handle it. I had started working and had found a level of self confidence. I tried to balance everything and keep him from anger. I managed well enough until the night I made the mistake of getting help from the boyfriend I had broken up with to keep safe. He saw my car at the house and burst in. Nothing was happening other than me getting tutoring help in preparation for finals. I threw myself between them. Apologized profusely and begged him to leave. He did. And after that, I broke it off for good. I threatened to call the police, and he knew what would happen. Eventually he left and I slowly moved on with my life. I found out he broke his probation and ended up in jail. He wrote me letters. I went to visit him once. There was safety behind the glass. I felt sadness for him, mixed with fear of what would happen when he got out. But that was what I needed, him in jail, to break the bond between us. I moved on and met someone else. I wanted to live. I wanted to be free. I wanted to break the cycle of abuse that had plagued me for my whole life. I knew he was out of jail the morning I found a half locket on the front window of my car. He tried to call me and I ignored the calls. He was waiting for me outside my car a couple of days later. I told him I had moved on and that I wished him well. Somehow he knew and he left. I never saw him again. I used to be scared to go back to Uvalde for fear of running into him, but a part of me wanted to see him. I wanted to know he was ok. That he wasn’t doing to someone else what he did to me. My parents rarely brought him up. My stepmother (the 2nd one), mentioned he had gotten married and I felt sick worrying about what abuse he was inflicting on her, but I pushed it out of my mind and tried to focus on my future and leave the past where it belonged. I promised myself to never be in a relationship like that again, never be abused. I would not allow someone to inflict that pain on me. I didn’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it. That the cycle of abuse must end. That I was ending it.

[delicately-balancing]

Trying

He is trying. I can tell. He doesn’t know what to say to me or how to act. He wants a connection that I cannot make anymore. And I am home but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Everything annoys me in this house. The chipped paint, the cluttered closets, the boxes in the guest room moved from the office when we got rid of furniture he decided he didn’t like anymore. He promised me we would redecorate the office and it wouldn’t be piled with boxes. That was two years ago I think. The boxes were just moved out of sight and the office remains partially completed. I don’t know what to say next. How do I tell him I want to move out and I need him to support this? That I can hardly breathe in this house anymore? That when I am here I just want to crawl in bed and hide? How do I tell him it doesn’t matter what he does, we won’t be what he wants us to be? I’ve said it but it’s like I haven’t. My neighbor disregarded a comment I made on the way home today about me looking for a place to live and Dripping Springs not being affordable. She refused to acknowledge it. She can’t handle it. I think there is a part of her that selfishly wants us to stay married and stay living across the street because he is always here helping her whenever she needs it. That our sons are friends and she doesn’t want her son to lose his friend. I don’t think she really cares about me, though. Maybe she thinks she does. I don’t think she understands me. I don’t think many really understand me. They think they do, but what I show in the daily role of mother is one part of me. They don’t understand the complexity of who I am and why. They don’t know how deeply I really know myself. That I am not confused about what I have decided. Maybe she thinks I should put my kids first and everyone else first like I have always done, but putting me first is what my kids need. They need me to be happy and right now I am far from happy. They need me to not spiral into a depression I cannot pull myself out of and that is what will happen if I stay. It’s too late for trying now. I’m already gone.  

[delicately-balancing]

Retreat

It’s funny how quickly I can retreat into darkness when I feel out of place. I had hoped this weekend would be a positive distraction. I had thought somehow I could push away the thoughts, the pain, the fear. Maybe wine and no children, no husband would be a retreat. No pressure to try to put on a happy face. But I am not distracted. I don’t feel better. Maybe it’s the dreary weather that is making me feel melancholy. Maybe it’s the reality that an escape isn’t really an escape after all. There are questions, there are decisions, choices, and actions waiting. For the most part I’ve held it together. It hasn’t been a total disaster, and there have been moments that are positive, almost happy, but then there are moments when I realize I am going in a different direction than everyone else and the tears start to well. Everyone else checks in with their spouses lovingly, while I barely text mine to check on the kids. We were at the winery and someone recommended we take a day trip, but with spouses and my stomach lurched. That won’t be a trip I will be participating in. Soon I will be a single mother. I know that. I can say I will co-parent, but there will be alone time. I won’t be able to just run out by myself at a whim. Outings will have to be planned in advance, schedules will tighten, stress will increase. But I keep telling myself this is what I want. This is what will make me happy. But telling myself isn’t helping. The lump in my throat keeps returning and I can barely hold back my tears. And I feel the sadness returning. The kind of sadness that scares me. The kind where I retreat from everyone and everything.