When my husband dumped me in April 2010, my 16 year old daughter gave me a book about learning to be single again. The author optimistically claimed that most dumpees came around after about 6 months, peaking their heads up from out of the pit of despair, daring to take a look at the world they'd been hiding from for a half-year. I on the other hand remained hidden in my underground refuge for 10 months, and my emergence corresponded with that of the world's most famous rodent- Punxsutawney Phil - on Groundhog Day. So here I am, ten months and ten days after my heart and my spirit were wrenched out of my body, trying to articulate the pain and the lessons of the past and the blindness with which I approach the rest of my life.
I should say that I did consider starting a blog about replacing my husband with a dog and finding unexpected love in the arms of a stinky drooling 60 pound orphan from the animal shelter. It was going to be clever and include all kinds of double entendres about how a dog is a better than a husband (a dog doesn't care where he licks you) and provide searing commentary on my husband's character (a dog is faithful, loyal and keeps his promises). I abandoned that idea however, figuring I'd run out of clever ideas and feel demoralized.
My daughter heads off to university in the fall. My step children are 18 and 20. This was supposed to be the beginning of the best years... no empty nest syndrome for me. My husband and I would travel. We would be adventurers, socialites, activists, foodies, bookclub junkies and ecotourists. We would spend weekends making brunches, eating European cheeses and sampling wines from countries whose borders we'd not yet traversed. And as for those countries we had explored, they were already marked on the wall sized world map I'd given my husband for his birthday: green thumbtacks for the countries we'd visited only and white thumbtacks for the places in which we'd made love. White for surrender; waving the white flag; white for the ultimate capitulation. I wonder if he still has that map on the wall in his office. If so, did he remove the white tacks out of deference to the new woman in his life? I wish I could tell her: there was Canada, the U.S., Mexico, France, Germany, Switzerland, Korea, China, Thailand, St. Lucia, Grenada. This year we could have added England, Greece and New Zealand if he'd stuck it out. Why does it feel that the loss is mine instead of his? People who love me say that he was lucky to have me. Even he called me his Nola Crew - a reference to a woman he once knew who famously loved her husband for reasons no one could determine. Even he once thought he'd done nothing to deserve my love. Now he claims he was wrong about loving me, that I am not the good woman he thought I was. Justification maybe for his own actions? Even in my moments of most intense self-recrimination (which range from self-hatred to self-loathing) I cannot remember what I did that could have warranted the utter repudiation of his love, his marriage vows, his optimism about us, his commitment to our marriage. After 10 months of spinning my wheels trying to decide which one of us has the brain tumour, I am embarking on a new path. I am conceding defeat. I cannot fight the battle alone. He has won. The marriage is dead: a different kind of white flag.
Alison what you had was not real. It fitted the gentlmen's needs at the time. You simply fit the bill for that moment in his life. You were the perfect foil for an undeseving man. You gave him all the love and support he needed and received nothing but false praise in return. Words are cheap and meant nothing.You fell for someone who packs his bags when things don't go his way and leaves. Once again I say that you deserve so much better in life. Remember this is YOUR life we are talking about. Happiness is what you deserve, not a self-centred man.
ReplyDeleteDear Anonymous
ReplyDeleteYou know what? I think he really did mean what he said over 10 years... I just think he was looking at someone other me when he said those things. I think he projected his ideal image of a partner onto an overlay or screen and that's who he was addressing. A woman who wore an apron and baked from scratch, was pleasant arm candy when his professional life required that, but had an interesting and demanding career of her own, whose availability suited HIS schedule, and who was content to make pies when he wanted emotional distance. I really did try to fit the bill, but I did begin to feel defective after a while. So I think you're right- Talk is cheap... unless you can be certain that it really is being directed at you.
We would all feel defective with the demands that were put upon you. It is exhausting trying to be someone's perfect women. Besides there is no such a thing. I am amazed that you lasted as long as you did. Alison, that kind of stress will make you sick. You must be true to yourself and once again I say to you, your wonderful.
ReplyDeleteBless you for the affirmation. Is my mother paying you to write these messages... or ARE you in fact my mother posting as "Anonymous"?
ReplyDelete