On Christmas Eve, my phone showed a prompt to look back at memories from two years ago. I usually ignore the prompt and continue with my day, but the first picture in the series was of the bed in the basement room of the house where I used to live. The headboard was made by my mother's father, and the night tables match my dresser, part of an antique set that my mom insisted on buying in the '80's. The bedspread was orange, and the sheets were reddish purple, a set my mom kept on her bed before she died, and in the center of the foot of my bed was my cat, the only thing there that migrated from that bed to my current one.
I slept there because I was separated from my husband in my own house. At first, it started with him moving into the basement, complete with silent treatment. When he decided he wanted to talk, I said I wanted to separate. I had voiced that I was on the fence multiple times, and this time I was definitive. It was two days before my birthday, and I decided I didn't want to "work on it" anymore. I didn't want to owe anymore. I did not want the conflict of fitting myself into a marriage that seemed to make everyone else comfortable except me.
Several days later he set up a Zoom call with friends to celebrate my birthday, later claiming he was still in denial over everything. But that wasn't the point, either. The zoom call was not my style, it was something forced on me, something I hated. I don't like surprises or being the center of attention, or having a cast of thousands acknowledge me. I just want the few special people in my circle, whose connections I've cultivated, to know me, love me, and accept me (and check me when it's needed).
It seemed like yet another glaring reminder that we were attached, but not connected. That he was big on grand gestures that made him look good, without asking himself if it was what I wanted. My sister was the one to warn me about the call, the same way she warned me about the surprise baby shower he tried to throw for me when our first kid was on the way. She knew me, and knew I'd hate this flavor of celebration.
In the first couples therapy session after I told him I wanted to separate, the couples therapist kept reminding him that only one person has to want out for the marriage to end. There was no mutuality needed. One person wanted out, and that was enough. This was how many of our sessions went. He would have an issue, and she would gently remind him. He often claimed that she was taking my side. Or, that someone else (or the therapist) had influenced my decision to leave. It was often that way, his idea that I didn't have a mind of my own, and other voices were what solidified my choices.
After that session, he insisted that I tell him about all of the ways he messed up during the course of our relationship. It was the first time he'd actually heard me. We were the classic case of one partner committing a massive, fatal stab wound while the other made their partner bleed out slowly with the survivable but ever present pain of a thousand papercuts.
I had an affair, which was the thing big enough to land us in couples therapy. I don't mean to sound casual about that, it wasn't. It was devastating, hurtful, destructive and deceitful. It's also more common than anyone wants to admit. It's the thing that will make your spouse never look at you quite the same again. I make no excuses for myself, as there are better, more responsible, less damaging ways to address your issues before heading down that path. My own actions rendered me voiceless for a long time. I didn't feel I had a right to stand up for myself or ask for what I needed, or be the one to leave the marriage, after what I did. If I brought up "old shit," my audacity to even bring it up would be met with incredulity, and in one instance, a hole punched into the headboard at six in the morning. But is "old shit" old shit if it's never resolved to satisfaction? Is it really "old shit" if it keeps repeating?
I finally voiced the "old shit" and he listened, claiming he'd never realized it was all connected, or that it was damaging and hurtful to me. In his mind, his offenses "one offs," and then, in his mind, the couple kisses and makes up. In my mind, "make up" means the problem is resolved enough for both parties to actually want to kiss again. When I'd get angry before, I'd be dismissed as jealous or overreacting, petty, and once, "spiteful." Now something was at stake for him, and he listened. Now that I was on the edge of the cliff, screaming, he finally saw and heard me.
That was a pattern this couples therapist saw immediately. A parent-child pattern, was what she called it. The "parent" in the relationship acts a certain way and the "child" acts out in response. If I'd pointed out an issue in a calmer fashion, it was brushed off. Not serious, not a big deal. If it escalated into yelling, and obvious upset, then it was something to be taken seriously. I didn't want it to be that way, and here we were again, with me saying I wanted to separate, and him finally taking it seriously, despite months of me admitting I was on the fence. It was fitting, one last confirmed display of that old established pattern. Something about that made me feel despair. Even in this last ditch communication, I had to go to exhaustive measures to be heard and taken seriously.
He'll always claim he was blindsided. And, because he would throw the empty threat of divorce into an argument, that he assumed I was doing the same, not remembering that I didn't operate like that. It was also a way of completely disregarding that I had maintained a deeply intimate relationship with someone else for a long time, and if that isn't an indicator that someone has a foot out of the door, I'm not sure what else to say.
I didn't intend for this post to pan out how it did. I was going to do a comparison of that basement bedroom photo with the progress I've made, the house I've bought, the new, bright and peaceful place where I sleep, and the lack of regret over my decision to move out.
I’m not sharing this to make my marriage to look bad, or to say I regret getting married. What I learned recently, it isn’t about getting everything right in the relationship, but how the couple repairs together. When he said or did something that felt harmful, and I pointed it out, he would see it as an attack and defend himself, and sometimes blame his reaction on me. Getting acknowledgement like, "I see how it can feel that way" was an impossible feat. I had made the grave mistake of believing his sensitivity equaled the ability to be empathetic.
Marriage isn't terrible. It can be beautiful when both partners respect and support each other, and have founded their connection on friendship. I question if I ever had a friendship with my husband. It certainly didn't feel like any of my other friendships. Sometimes it felt like a competition, or like he had to bring me down a few pegs, or side with someone else if I came to him with a personal conflict. He would always argue this with, "Do you trust me with your life?" which sounds monumental, but it's a cheap question. We trust strangers with our lives. If I can't reliably share something with you and trust that you can see and validate my perspective, or feel that you are in my corner, even if you disagree, then I can't trust you as my life partner. Others may be able to do this, as these things roll off of them, but I need that, and wanting that isn't too much.
