I Said No

My husband's "mammary fixation" is one stubborn beast. A longstanding, pointless, conflict between us has been his request that I get breast implants. The very idea nauseates me. But I was going to do it. Before he decided to expedite matters and get his "needs" met elsewhere. Even after that, two months ago, I said I was willing. It soon became clear to me that I was not. But I couldn't say anything. His definition of hope for the future was me getting breast implants. I couldn't take away his hope.

Now, he's done a tremendous amount of work to change how he thinks and behaves. He's shot ahead in therapy faster than I dreamed possible.

He became healthy enough for me to drop the bomb.

So I said, "I cannot do this." If this is really what he wants, he must drum up the courage to leave me.

He's devastated. I'm relieved.

Time and Healing

I am happy to say that over the past four months, my husband and I have managed to work our way back to where we left off in our relationship. We're even moving into a better place than we were in before. A new start: the passion of our dating days enacted by the more mature people we both are now.

But it is bittersweet, especially as our physical relationship intensifies (slowly!). When I hear his sincere "I love you," and respond with my own; when I see real desire in his face and feel it in his touch, the pain of betrayal pierces me to the heart again. It's not the all-encompassing greif of the early days of shock or the deep hopelessness of the time afterwards in which he still hated me. It's a poignant sadness intertwined with dual joys: the renewed passion we are enjoying in the present and the beauty of the future to which I look forward.

But for now I still grieve. And finally, I have someone to hold me while I weep--for the pain he himself caused.

Twisted Reality

He still hates me. He still actually thinks I did something to drive him away. The family "values" he picked up say that parents will fight with each other and love their children. So he created conflict where it did not exist.

Once he fights his own demons, he'll have a chance to find out who I really am.

In the meantime, I will be very lonely.

Now I know why people get divorced. I have chosen the more difficult path.

Alone

Do you know anyone married to an alcoholic who also cheated on them after psychologically raping them?

If so, please introduce me.

What Do You Call a Dyslexic Agnostic Insomniac?

A person who stays up all night wondering if there is a Dog.

It used to be funny, before I developed the bad habit of becoming one under stress. I just spent several weeks in a state where sleeping and waking were not too different. I have forgotten how to feel anything but regret for letting my husband treat me so badly for so long.

The person I'll have the hardest time forgiving is myself.

The Language of Pain

I have never been able to figure out why perfectly good and reasonable things people say about God, the Bible, and Christianity hurt me. There are all kinds of phrases, snatches of verses, and similar things that trigger negativity in me.

That's because the language of Evangelicalism is the language of my childhood.

It's the language of my pain.

Everyone gets hurt as a child by things adults do not understand. Those things--words, images, even dreams, color our view of reality for the rest of our lives.

We'll always feel hurt when we hear phrases that trigger our personal pain.

Unfortunately, mine come from the Bible. No wonder I squirm in church (and feel guilty for it!).

Mommy Issues

"When we got married, I wanted a partnership where we could work together, but you have been constantly fighting to be in control. You use all kinds of weapons to control me."

That's kind of how I feel. Except he was the one who said it. In counseling. To me.

"I don't think I really do that."

"Yes you f***ing do!"

These words still sting, even though I now I am firmly convinced it is not me he is angry with.

It's his mother.

And not the real, kind, strong, wise woman I know, but a frightening amplification of her. The version that a two-year-old might see. I saw it today when she was determined that my two-year-old would give her a hug, and wouldn't let him go play til he did. There wasn't anything inherently wrong with the interaction, but it is easy to imagine how, when repeated over and over, that might erode a child's sense of autonomy. Especially an exquisitely sensitive child. Like my husband.

I was drawn to that sensitive child in him. I longed to give him the unconditional love I thought he needed to help him be the impressive man that I also saw. But the child has taken over. He cannot receive love from me because he sees a controlling gesture when I move a can he placed in the garbage to the recycling bin. He hears a domineering woman when I tell him which dishes need to be hand washed.

He must discover and put to rest the monster-mother in his brain. I fear for his actual mother, when he turns his wrath from me to her as this begins to dawn on him. But she is a strong adult capable of handling it. And eventually, he will learn to separate her too from his demons.