Divorce - Part Two

I love my husband. I want to be clear about that. One night, my sister-in-law told me that she couldn’t understand why I let him get away with everything, and allow him to treat me so badly. I sat with her and tried my best to explain the “why” behind my love for him. It’s because deep down I know he’s a good person. I know he's a great father. I know he loves our daughter. I know that a lot of the pain and trauma he experienced growing up has a lot to do with how he handles things. How he treats and talks to people. And even with all of the negative I wrote about in part one, there was still A LOT of wonderful moments that happened this year too. We shared a lot of laughs. We celebrated birthdays. We got through a surgery, and at home physical therapy. We took a vacation in New Mexico. We spent evenings as a family playing board games and curled up on the couch watching movies. Afternoons at the park, and dinners at our favorite restaurants. There was love and intimacy. Moments where I sat back and thought, “THIS. This is what it’s all about.” We actually got along much better this year than we have in the past five years. It just wasn’t enough to dismiss everything else. I couldn’t keep making excuses for the behavior, and outburst that were clearly inexcusable.

But I will always love him. I will always want the very best for him. Even if it can’t be with me. I still plan to continue helping him out whenever I am able to because there is no hate or resentment in my heart for him. Despite how toxic we are as a couple, pushing each other’s buttons, we actually do really well with co-parenting. Having each other’s backs when our daughter starts to push her boundaries. We do really well when it comes to everything else, BUT our marriage it seems. We can joke around, and be in the same home without issue. We can talk about the past and the future without incident. However, there are things we need to work on. His temper, his anger, the way he lashes out, and his addiction issues. I’m not just talking drugs; he's currently clean and on probation. None of these are things that I can fix for him. No matter how much I wish that I could. He has to put in that work if he wants to change. And he needs to find what makes him whole, what gives him peace, and what makes him happy. I, on the other hand, need to stop being the crutch, and the fixer of everything. The one who enables his behavior. I need to stop being so controlling and learn how to fully let go of the past. I need to learn how to admit when I’m wrong too. To speak up in the moment rather than letting it fester. Ignoring all of the problems has only gotten us a toxic relationship. For so long I allowed all of the burdens to fall on me because I wanted to make things easy for him. To protect him and give him what he never had growing up: unconditional love. And that did way more harm than good. It didn’t allow him to grow or be responsible for his actions. Then there were all of the things that we left unsaid, or refused to address. The grudges that we held onto just ended up turning us into people that couldn’t get along. A broken family that was trying to force itself into something that didn’t fit anymore. And I know that my daughter deserves so much better than that. I deserve better than that. He deserves better than that.

The night before our divorce was to be finalized through the court I put our daughter to bed, and we talked. We spoke about the good memories. We talked about the reasons why our marriage had failed. Each of us taking responsibility for the areas that we were at fault for. We laid everything out. There were apologies, tears, expressed regret, smiles, and laughs. We talked about our daughter and wanting the best for her. We talked about the reasons why we never had another child. I spoke about how much love I still had for him, but that I needed him to understand why we weren't working anymore. We talked about wanting to continue being a family even if it was going to look a little different from now on. He will always be Emery's father, and I will always want him in her life. We talked about future living arrangements that would need to be made sooner rather than later. We talked about being each other’s biggest supporters, and wanting the best for each other. We both admitted that there were a lot of things that we each needed to work on individually, but we made a promise to always put our daughter’s well-being first. To get along for her sake no matter what the future held for us. We spent over an hour in conversation, and it ended with “I love you’s”. When I finally went to sleep that night I felt at peace about our situation.

On November 28th, I walked into the courtroom a ball of nerves and knots inside of my stomach. I sat there quietly as the docket was read. My lawyer explained that there would be a series of questions, and then the judge would sign off on our paperwork. When my turn came I focused solely on my lawyer as I answered what was being asked. Any chance of reconciliation? No. Was I pregnant? No. Did I understand what I was asking the court? Yes. Did we agree on the division of assets? Yes. And after five more minutes of questioning the judge re-read the decree before stamping the document. And that was it. Ten years of marriage had officially come to an end. It felt surreal and sad. I walked out of the building as quickly as I could. I was now an ex-wife. A divorcee. And I felt like throwing up on the sidewalk outside of the courthouse. But I didn’t. Instead, I went to work. I stayed positive and finished my day on a good note. I loved on my daughter, and we all sat down to watch a Hallmark movie together. We cooked dinner and talked about each of our day's. The upcoming dance and recital, that both he and I were making sure to have marked on our phone calendars. Both so excited, and proud of our little girl.  

I pushed every little emotion down until the very end of our day. Moving through the motions. After Emery was asleep and my now ex-husband was sitting in the computer room doing some work I closed myself off in the bathroom. In the shower is where I finally let myself cry. I sat down, arms wrapped around my legs, and I felt a numbness spread across my chest. Overwhelming sadness. Because even though I knew we were doing the right thing it didn’t make it any easier. Just the thought of us going our separate ways soon is enough to make me catch my breath. Living in separate houses. Having separate lives. That was a much harder pill to swallow than I thought it would be. In fact, I’m still trying to processes it. Why, you may ask? I don't think there's one single answer. Maybe it was the twelve years together? Ten of those married. Maybe it’s because I honest to God never pictured this outcome coming to fruition? I really thought we would overcome all of this. Maybe it’s because of all we’ve gone through together? The good and the bad. Or maybe it’s because no matter what he will always be the punk rock loving, emo drummer boy with the beautiful eyes and playful smirk that I fell in love with all of those years ago? The guy who swept me off of my feet, and led me away to California. Who showed me that there was something else beyond my tiny little town. Adventures, friendships, and love so intense that it hurt to be apart. And having to let him go was not something I was prepared for. I still don't feel ready. But are we ever? 

Wordless Wednesday

Divorce - Part One

As some of you may know, in October of last year, I filed for a divorce. It was by far one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. When the petition was filed there was a section that stated that neither I nor my husband could talk about each other on any kind of public platform while everything was pending. We both signed off on it and went about our lives. Then, that following November, he was arrested. I believe that’s the last I talked about him on here. And what I originally thought was going to be a pretty quick divorce turned into over a year of waiting. Which I was told was due to us being amicable. Since there was no fighting, no restraining orders, or disagreements on child custody our divorce wasn’t seen as needing to be rushed. And well, a lot has happened since last October that I wasn’t allowed to talk about until now. 

My husband was released from jail right before New Years. He came home clean and sober. He was thinking clearer and told me that he didn’t blame me for filing for a divorce. However, he asked for the opportunity to show us that he wanted to be with us. As a family. The second week of January he got a job with a contractor and things were going really well. We were actually getting along, and the fighting had stopped. With his income, we were finally starting to put money aside, and our bills were getting paid on time. Before their due dates even. We had a conversation about following through with the divorce, but that it was just a piece of paper. If we were really committed to giving things another shot a piece of paper was not going to interfere with that decision. I was really hopeful for what this next year was going to bring, and I couldn’t wait for this next chapter.

On our daughter’s birthday, we celebrated at a trampoline/gymnastics gym. As the majority of the guests arrived several of the adults decided to try out one of the bigger trampolines. As I went around greeting everyone I heard someone say, “Oh my God!”. Several of the kids scrambled off of the big trampoline, and one of my husband’s aunt’s said “It’s his foot. He broke his foot.” After an emergency visit, and a week in a cast he was prepped for surgery. The damage was so severe that he would have to have a plate and several screws put into his foot. Of course, it was an accident, and I did not blame him for it. It could have easily been one of the kids or another adult. However, with the cost of the emergency room, the surgery, and the doctor’s visits our small savings was depleted rather quickly. Not to mention recovery could take up to eight months. It was back to a single income, and budgeting every little penny. And that's when things got difficult again. 

It was during those next eight months that things started to gradually slide backward. First, it was locking his phone. Then it was messages in the middle of the night. Old friends started to show back up. Which was followed by my daughter asking me if her father had a girlfriend. We spoke about it, and everything was denied. Things settled down. We had some nights out as a family. He was at home with our daughter and they were bonding. We all spent a lot of time together. But that peace only lasted briefly. By July there were hundreds of text messages to a particular number that I recognized. There were several messages on Facebook. Yes, I invaded his privacy by logging into his account. And then there were pictures. I remember that I got angry, and I felt humiliated. But as I sat there one particular morning, his phone in my hand as he slept, all I could feel was defeat. So, I let it go. I was depressed, and my anxiety was becoming more prominent in my day-to-day. Paired with low self-esteem, and this need to keep everything together. Us together. I let it go. I sat the phone back down and went about my day.

In August, when I asked about a particular text message that I saw pop up on his screen I was told, “What does it matter? You’re not my wife anymore.” Then the following week we vacationed in New Mexico with my family, together. We came back and things felt different for a little while. I was starting to feel that mental fog by this point though. I was struggling to keep things afloat financially, and I started to distance myself from him. From everyone really. I found drug paraphernalia in the car. Then one morning in my home. I smashed it all to pieces and left a note. I blamed myself for his actions though. I wasn’t a good wife. I wasn’t understanding enough. I didn’t do my part to make him happy. I didn’t give my all to him. I nagged too much. I was too distant with him. I was too controlling. I believed that I deserved everything that was happening because I wasn’t good enough. 

September equaled more of the same problems. It also brought with it an argument where things got a bit physical. Before you start feeling bad for me just know there was a time when I'd get physical too. Though never in front of our daughter, AND it's been years. Doesn't excuse ANYTHING though. I got help for my anger. But on that morning I remember looking out of the corner of my eye as profanities were being spat in my face, hands on me, and seeing my daughter quietly tiptoe backward out of the room. This look of sadness and fear on her face. And something inside of me cracked that morning. I kept telling myself that this was all wrong. This was not what I wanted my daughter to think of as being normal. But instead of standing up I became docile. I dismissed his behavior just like that. I let the words bounce off of me anytime they were thrown in my direction. When things were said, or an argument began I just put a smile on for my daughter and we’d leave the house. “I’m not putting up with this.” I’d say as I’d walk out the door. But clearly, I was. By this time everything was starting to become too much for me emotionally. All of my coping techniques were no longer working. My depression had me not wanting to move most days. I’d force myself, and walk through the motions. I had responsibilities after all. But I honestly felt like a shell. And then in October, my husband was finally told he could go back to work. He was able to go back with the same contractor as before, and at the beginning of November, he was placed on probation as part of a plea deal. In my mind, this meant that things had to get better. For him. For us. My hope was that he’d get back to that clear-headed state he was in when he first got out of jail. That was the man I needed in my life. That was the man I wanted.

At this same time, I decided to make an appointment with my doctor. On top of all the turmoil at home, I was having minor health issues. I wanted to feel better, and the only way for that process to start was to get everything checked out. So, I did. And as I stated in a previous post I felt better within a week. By Thanksgiving break, I felt like my brain was working the way it had before. I was standing my ground. I felt clear headed. I was putting more energy into the people and things I felt were important to me. Things were starting to click, and it’s as if a veil was being lifted off of my eyes. Sometimes, it would feel as if I was sitting back watching something unfold and thinking, “Wow...has this really been going on this whole time? Is this what it’s been like?” My eyes felt wide open for the first time in what felt like years. Then shortly after Thanksgiving, there was another argument. Only this time it was different because I was different. And as soon as the words, “You dumb bitch,” tumbled out of his mouth as he tried to prove a point I knew that I was done. I was done being the verbal punching bag. I was done being told that I was the reason for his misery. I was done being told that his actions were all my fault. That if I just did what he wanted everything would be okay. I was done being an afterthought. I was done being lied to. I was done being disrespected. That night, as I walked into Walmart to request some moving boxes, I felt this sense of freedom. Not necessarily because of my decision, but because it felt like I was finally taking back control. Of me. Of my life. Of my future.