Burdened

Apparently I'm not very happy.  My nieces and nephews have commented that their parents have told them about what I used to be like.  How I used to be happier.  H-er says I'm negative and always "horribilize".    He thinks I see thinks as worse than they are.  I of course think he minimizes.

I remember working in a warehouse one summer earning money for college.  One of the employees L stopped to ask me why I was always smiling.  He never smiled. He wanted to know what there was to be happy about.  I asked him to tell me his favorite childhood song and I would sing it to him.  He smiled and then grumbled as he walked away because he hadn't wanted to smile.

In my youthful naïveté I wasn't shy about sharing my beliefs.  Another worker C talked about how he and his girlfriend were moving in together for a trial period to see if it would "work out".  I thought that was dooming it to failure before it started.

Somehow it came out that I was saving myself for marriage.  B asked me one day "what will you do when you come home from work and find your husband in bed with your best friend?"

I cheekily answered "he'll be my best friend."

But even though it was cheeky I really did expect that my husband would be loyal to me. Never did I imagine that he'd be in 100's of beds while we were married. 

Later after I was married I worked in another industrial environment. We had a fun time teasing each other and made a game out of some curled ribbon.  It would turn up in random places and we'd laugh because the curly ribbon had struck again.  I'd open my desk drawer and it would be in a file.  Or a co-worker would open their lunch and there it was.  It might be found hanging from your rear view window at the end of the day or in the box that held your paper clips.   It was an office full of practical jokes like that. 

Yet two months after I discovered the affair with the 17 year old I laughed at something a co-worker said and they said off handedly "I never thought I'd see you smile again". I put on a pretty good face--at least in public. My kids have noticed and commented.  I have my phone voice. It's bright and smiley.  But as soon as I hang up it all drops away.   My countenance literally drops.

Acquaintances might say I am very positive about things.  In fact potential employees say "you have such a positive energy" or "I love your energy".  It's exhausting though.  I have nothing left when I come home. I don't want to feel beaten, defeated, heavy, weighed down, troubled, down trodden, crushed.

Matthew 11:28 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Doesn't that sound heavenly?

 

 

 

 

 

Inhibited

"Come dance with me" I said.

He wouldn't.  So I danced by myself. It was at a live band at a biker bar and the lead singer was a co-worker of H-er's friend.  I don't usually go to biker bars.  It's not my scene.  But we'd been invited as a couple so there I was. 

But he was bored and wanted to leave.  So I danced my last dance and headed to the car and my anger built.  "I'm not free".  I thought

***************

I love dancing.  Whether it's jumping up and down, ballroom, swing, country, top forty, I love it.

I never missed a stake dance growing up.  When I was about 15 I was at a stake dance and the DJ jumped down and asked me to dance.  He was a student at BYU and was learning ballroom dance and for some reason he picked me to spend the songs teaching the cha cha and west coast swing. He told me I was good.

Later that summer I participated in the dance scene of the pageant Independence 1833. Guess who my dance partner was.  The DJ. I don't think he recognized me, but again he didn't have any complaints about me as a dance partner.

Freshman year at BYU I was at every dance. I loved being swallowed up in the throng of people dancing.  I didn't necessarily need a partner.  I just loved dancing until my feet hurt.

Fast forward to my second year at BYU. My roommate J was a ballroom dance major.  She would teach me the different dances and took me out country dancing with her brother.  I had so much fun.  For family home evening we had a country dance lesson from some of the BYU ballroom dancers. One of them was probably 6'5 and strong.  So I let him lift me up in the air and flip me over before catching me.

I went to one of the ballroom dance competitions with J and imagine my surprise when I saw the DJ on the BYU Ballroom Dance team (the team who has taken 1st place EVERY FREAKING YEAR). He didn't see me of course but I remembered that he thought I was good-particularly following a lead.

H-er and I hadn't been married very long when we went to a dance at BYU that was held in a barn.  He was excited because he'd dated a girl who taught him a few moves.  It didn't go well.  Within minutes he told me I was a terrible dancer.

When I went to Puerto Vallarta with the ladies of my 12 step group we went to dinner one night and the band that serenaded our table invited us to a dance club.  We went and sat nervously at a table. Eventually I was asked to dance.  I was good enough that he asked me again and then kept asking me and teaching me.  At one point he tried to get me to loosen up a little and I laughingly told him that I didn't know how.

One of the ladies with us was triggered by my dancing with him which I thought was so odd because my intentions were just to have fun dancing. It wasn't a sexual thing at all for me. I was sad that I couldn't dance at home like that -- all joy and no sexual overtones.

************

This is who I had become though. Walls up against everything.  Feelings bundled up and carefully contained.   In all aspects of my life.  It took dancing for a moment like the old days--uninhibited, carefree, innocent, joyful, free--to remind me what was missing. 

 

 

 

Delusional

"I'll consider it."

My mother in law had just asked me to bring the kids for Thanksgiving.  In my mind I'm trying to convince myself that I can spend a whole weekend with his sister who participated in covering up H-er's affair, that I can pretend that I am all smiles and sunshine. 

I tell people that I am trying to keep things amiable. 

I think we can attend wedding festivities for an entire day and be pleasant and serene.

First we have to get through dinner.  

I sit down and he immediately turns to me and asks me if I'm going to put money back in the account.  It's a familiar argument.  I try to explain and quickly realize it's futile.  So I agree.  That should be the end.  But it's not.  He continues. 

And just like that...I want out.  I want out of the literal and figurative corner he's backed me into.  I push and squeeze my way out past him until I'm free to leave.

I spend thirty minutes driving to multiple banks to put the money they way he wants.

*****************

"Why can't we watch it down here (the BYU football game)? Will you sit by me?  Will you hold my hand? "

Let's see...because if we watch it in your room we have to sit on the bed that you had sex with another woman less than a week ago.

Because you said you broke things off with her at the end of May and it's the middle of October and you just had sex with her less than a week ago.

Because I'm divorcing you.

****************

Pure delusion that I believe I can make it through a wedding much less Thanksgiving.

Vindictive

I unblocked H-er on Facebook and changed my status to "end of relationship".  I knew he'd see it eventually.  I wanted to hurt him. 

He was still cheating, feeding me 12 step crap, promising he was trying.  He called and asked permission to go to a concert with a guy friend when really he was going with her.

Yes.  I wanted to hurt him.  I didn't expect people to like the status. And leave comments like they were a cheerleading section.

I was on the phone with him when he discovered it.  When he said "thanks for humiliating me in front of the world"

And I felt a rush of satisfaction.  Humiliation?  That's not even a taste of the humiliation I've lived with year after year.  His whole family, his whole circle of acquaintance knew and met her.  And smiled and lied to my face as if I wasn't the biggest fool in the world.

Year after year as people quietly and vocally looked at me in pity wondering why I stay.  Year after year I had to present pathetic defenses justifying my refusal to grow a pair.

Of course it was a vindictive white trash jerry springer move.  Now that he saw it I didn't mind making it private. It served it's purpose.  Of course who knows how many silently judged me.  Let them judge me.  20 years baby. 

I hope it hurts

*I don't feel this way now but I'm still posting this entry because it was how I felt when I wrote it.  searching and fearless moral inventory.....

 

Tragic

Tonight H-er's current mistress called me.  She claimed she was feeling guilty because they are still carrying on.  I don't know if she was expecting me to fall apart, start screaming, or what.   Her responses to my suggestions that she seek help were those of someone who had an agenda.  They didn't match her supposed need to unburden a guilty soul.   So when she hung up I confirmed with a second source that H-er had contact in the last week with her.   That was all I really needed to know. 

So I called him and told him that I was for sure proceeding with the divorce.  His response. "Well you were going to anyway"

No remorse when caught.  Just defiance.

I can now proceed without looking back.  Freedom.

Once the adrenaline wore off I felt the first wave of sadness.  Really it's tragic that his lies and addiction and absolute inability to get help is how this story ends.  That all of his texts are just new versions of him scrambling:

"could you please not divorce me. I am trying very hard.  Angel emoticon"

"the other stuff is gone and I never want it back"
"as co-parents I would like to go to counseling...I would like to be part of the solution going forward"
 "I especially want to stay close to you.   I know it looks bad, but my feelings for you have not changed at all."
"don't be cold-hearted to me...there is still a strong bond between us, just need to figure it out with a looming divorce"
"we still have a chance if I can unburden myself from this terrible addiction" 
"we are a family"
"I will be alone for a while and I will get help and become better"
"we need to talk.  I won't lie"

And then the spin begins:

"The thing you don't realize, is that the reason you are hearing from J is that I spurned her once and for all.  So it actually a good sign that she called you.  I have always chosen you over her and that is why she is so pissed. If she is honest she will tell you that I have always told her that I wanted to work things out with you.  She has always been there saying that she accepts me how I am with all my problems...it is very flattering, but it is not what I want.  She is not who I want.   I have been very hurt and very vulnerable and I finally got the courage to dispatch her once and for all.  Feel free to call her and verify anytime.  She will never be part of my life again."

Notice how he flares up when I don't buy it.

"I don't need your abuse anymore.  You gave up on us years ago when you didn't move up here even though you told me you would.  I don't have to answer to you anymore.  You've served me.  You've put me in my place.  And you have not respected me nor treated me like a human being for years.  I'm a human being.  And I am tired of your abuse.  I am fine with the divorce." 

Underneath all his protestations of love and recovery and sobriety lies the belief that if I had just loved him and respected him he would never have done any of this.  He truly believes I am the reason he acts out.  And he reinforces that belief every time he says, "If you would just say you will love me and give me another chance you will see a different person".   When he fails it can because I didn't love him enough. 

Here is tragedy.   God sent us to Nebraska where there was an incredible 12 step group and he dabbled.  God brought us to Arizona where he has had bishop after bishop who understood addiction and would have been a great support in love and he waffled.  Here in Arizona was a counselor who could have made incredible inroads in his trauma and addictive behaviors but he dabbled.  God sent us to a ward that had so many men who were not members or struggled and where he wouldn't feel like such an outcast but he refused to reach out.   He is a man drowning in the ocean surrounded by life vests that he refuses to grab ahold of.

It's absolutely tragic when his voice changes and he starts to cry and he says he has no friends.  He has lost all of his friends to this addiction.  And he says I am the only friend he has.  It's tragic because as I work through my recovery I can see that for so many years I've lost myself in his addiction.

 

Obligated

I met An Heritage #1 when he was one.  He reminded me of H-er so he was easy to love.  He was affectionate and loved Winnie the Pooh. He was independent and wanted to do things "all by self". 

So when we were first married and he was 3 we sat down with H-er's first wife and her new husband to talk about visitation.   I still remember what she said:  "Maybe if you prove you are responsible he can spend the night".   I was taken aback.  She  didn't know me.  I was 23 and I considered myself quite responsible.  I can see now that she was reacting to her history with H-er and not me.

I wasn't perfect.  I remember when he was potty training and the first time I helped him I didn't quite get his pants down far enough.  They got wet.  He didn't freak out.  He calmly accepted my apology and promise to do better next time.

Then there was the time I tried to cut his hair.  He was old enough that he remembered his mom told him never to let me cut his hair again. (I didn't-I paid someone else).

We drove across the country and my aunt pointed out the strangeness of him calling me mom and H-er by his first name.

I remember driving 13 hours for his baptism and racing the last hour because I didn't think we would make it in time. I hugged him and cried and he must have thought I was strange.

I remember when he was old enough to start telling jokes and I laughed because they were the same jokes I told in elementary school.  He was fun to talk to now.

When he was 11 I looked at him one day and realized that was how old H-er was when he lost his virginity to the babysitter.  I wanted to vomit.

I drove an hour and a half to pick him up every other weekend and an hour and a half to take him back because H-er couldn't handle the stress or didn't want to face his ex-wife. I drove hours out of my way to pick him up and take him on family vacations without H-er because I wanted him to be part of the family and with his siblings.

Then I filed for separation and I cried because I realized he wouldn't be part of my life again. He was the one thing I was really going to miss.  I didn't go through with it but by then #3 and #4 were approaching baptism age.  I was so grateful he had the priesthood and could baptize his brothers when H-er couldn't. 

Then he went on a mission and I was thrilled when An Heritage #4 read his first letter and seeing that it wasn't the scary thing he imagined to be away from home said "I guess I will go on a mission"

So imagine my shock to learn that he had done things with An Heritage #2. Who was this stranger?  Is there more?  Did he do things with my other sons?  He still hasn't acknowledged what he did in our house.  And I look on him with dislike and distrust.  I took him in and loved him as my own and this is how he repays me?  Do I want him in my future or is he just another person I will have to tolerate because I have a duty to include him in my children's lives because they love him?

 

 

Grief

Grief.

So much grief. 

When I do my trauma therapy I always end up crying.  A few times the grief is so overwhelming that it shuts me down.  I have to concentrate not to let it take over the fighting or the running.

"Why are you so emotional" An Heritage #2 asks as tears stream down my face.  It's fast and testimony meeting and I'm reflecting that my daughter is here sitting next to me at church and not dead.  Of course I'm emotional. 

I'm divorcing my husband.  Of course I'm emotional.

I'm working the 4th step.  Of course I'm emotional.

I can't call my mom because she is dead.  Of course I'm emotional. 

Revelations 21:4  "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."

But it is not that last day yet. And in the meantime I am just beginning to grieve the losses that come with divorce.  I know there will be many.

 

Strengthened

H-er asked me to pray about it.  To go to the temple and ask if I'm really supposed to divorce him.  This is his trump card.  He believes God will tell me to stay. 

I went to the temple and as I sat in the celestial room I found myself asking the SAME question I asked 18 years ago.

Should I stay married to him IF he lives the commandments and does what is right. 

And I felt like laughing.  Of course I should be married to him if he is righteous.  NO BRAINER.   This is a stupid question. It is what got me into trouble in the first place.

It's been 18 years of NOT living the gospel and doing what is right. The real question then becomes Is he going to FINALLY start living the gospel?  Will there be no more D-days? 

 
I have felt no assurance of that.  How can I?  He has free agency.  God cannot force his compliance and obedience.

All I am sure of is that I recoil at the thought of living with him again.   He says I am still acting as if a saber tooth tiger is chasing me when it is no longer chasing me--According to said saber tooth tiger.

Why does this call to mind the story of the ginger bread man?   Is he the wolf assuring me that I am safe if I just move a little closer?

Is this the ravening wolf in sheep's clothing spoken of in 3 Nephi 14 of which we are warned "by their fruits ye shall know them"?  And counseled not to give that which is holy to the dogs?  Or am I the hypocrite who can't see clearly the mote in my own eye? 

Or is this the verse I read that jumped out at me when I was first dating him. Alma 5:60 "and he commandeth you that ye suffer no ravenous wolf to enter among you, that ye may not be destroyed."

How often have I cried "how long?"  And D&C 121 and 122 are brought to mind.   Hold on thy way, this is but a small moment, endure it well, this is for my experience

A recent blessing promised I would have a clear mind. I would find answers in prayer and in the scriptures

I am most calm and most clear when I think "continue on in what I have set in motion". But slowly.  There is no sense of urgency.  Just steadiness.  Slow and steady wins the race.  Time will reveal truth.  Time will reveal my next course of action. 

Deuteronomy 31:8

8 And the Lord, he it is that doth go before thee; he will be with thee, he will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed.

Isaiah 41:10

10 ¶Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.

And when I stand at the veil in the temple I can physically feel that strength go through me. It is real.

I am reminded that the last time I was at the temple before this I received the clear message that his battle was not my battle.  I could let go of it.  There were angels enough to surround him and bear him up.  So while he may feel that he is alone I could have the assurance that he isn't.  That while I may fear abandoning him I am not.  He is not abandoned and neither am I.

 

 

Unforgiving

"What can he do so that you will forgive him?"

An important part of repentance is restitution. In the twelve step program step 8 is about making amends.   Sure we have to forgive someone who has hurt us but sometimes we need a little motivation.  Our counselor suggested that since he was willing, I should think of something he could do.  Obviously it would need to be something that I felt was equal to the pain.    So I thought about it. 

I know I've mentioned his toy collection before.  I shared how it surrounded me and ate at me.  It came to represent his addiction and how it had taken over my life.  So at our next session I had my task for him.  He had to get rid of them all.

You could see it on his face and in his body language.  This task was nigh impossible. But it fit the criteria.   "You didn't think I was going to ask you to clean the bathrooms and that would make up for years of infidelity did you?"

It didn't happen for about six months.  But one day he called and asked "what if I came and picked up all the toys?  I've convinced a friend to help me".  And wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, he did take them all away.   And I stuck to my word.  I did forgive him.  I stopped holding on to those instances of infidelity.  This didn't mean I forgot.  I mean it still happened.  But the anguish and rage weren't there. 

However, another part of repentance is stopping. You are not supposed to continue in the sin.  He didn't stop. Now he says over and over that I need to forgive him.  That I am holding us back.  That I am acting out.  He'll do anything. Just tell him what to do and he'll do it.

But I don't know that there is anything he can do.   This is relapse after relapse after relapse. How many D-days do I have to go through?.  I can't live through another one.  I  am already on life support.  I am at the point where I have to leave because if I leave there will finally be no more D-days.

All of our conversations end with some version of "then you shouldn't have slept with so and so". It's the ultimate argument winner.   And I go there because he insists there is something I "need" to do as if he has any moral authority in this situation.  

That assumption of authority always triggers me.   Probably because he would always say "do your job.  It's your job to meet my needs. If you don't meet my needs then where am I supposed to get them met?  Am I just supposed to be celibate?  That's not fair."  This was his argument for why I should have sex with him.  And he would use this argument while he was sleeping with other women.

This is how he would take a truth "you should not use sexuality as a weapon or a bargaining tool. This is not only a misuse of a God-given privilege, it shows great selfishness on the part of one or both partners" (italics added) and twist it and use it so that the underlying moral premise of not withholding myself eats at me.

 

Here's what the prophets say.

Intellectually I know I need to forgive him.  It's a commandment.  Holding on to this anger and pain will just make me bitter.  It will hurt me more in the long run.  

But who said staying is the definition of forgiveness?  Show me where that is written.

 

Disgusted

When I was young-probably 8--my parents came home from a date only to find several of us upset and confused.  We had watched the 1982 made for TV remake of Johnny Belinda. 

All my parents could make out was that some drunk guy had been chasing a deaf girl and when she tried to hide in the bushes he started howling like a dog.  Somehow that got her pregnant.  We wanted to know if this could happen to us.

I can imagine my parents looking at each other in desperation.  And now that I think back I suddenly understand their new policy of no TV and no watching any movies unless they saw them first. 

They sat me down and explained the basics to me.  They also explained how it was a wonderful thing given to us by God and when shared between a married man and woman it was beautiful and would bring them closer together.  Naturally, I believed them. 

And so later when I was 16 and asked a good friend it she was ever "turned on" by guys I shook my head in amusement when she exclaimed in shocked tones "I'm a virgin!!" Still later at 19 I told my mom about someone I was attracted to and she said "those are wonderful feelings.  Don't be ashamed of them. God gave them to you and you should guard them and save them because someday they will be something you can share with your husband."

And I believed her again. 
 

Later I hated that my mom had told me those things.  Because I knew what I was missing out on.   Ignorance would have been a gift.

*****************************

A few years ago I went to visit my dad and he had years worth of National Geographics piled up and  I binge read them for a few hours.  Unfortunately one of the articles was about child brides.   Another was about female genital mutilation as a cultural practice.

I wouldn't say I was full on triggered.  But I did start reflecting on how so many of the evils in this world stem from sex.  At one point my father walked into the kitchen only to be confronted by four females who demanded to know why Heavenly Father allowed such evil.

My poor Father.   I asked where the females were when God was coming up with this plan.   I mean what self-respecting mother would willingly agree to these atrocities? Sexual abuse of children, prostitution, child brides, rape, genital mutilation.  Get rid of sex and you get rid of a lot of evil in this world.

He stood there and just took it.

***************************************

I read Saints by Orson Scott Card when I was a teenager.  So this recent hullabaloo about Joseph Smith and his plural marriages was a different kind of shock for me.  Where everyone else was screaming "why did you hide this and lie to us" I was looking around in confusion saying "you didn't know?  Don't you read?"

I didn't have a problem with polygamy as a teenager.  But that's because I still believed my parents story about sex.  Now I think polygamy is a male institution designed solely for male benefit.  I don't consider myself a feminist but sometimes I think only a man could come up with this system.  Everything seems geared towards a man's pleasure.

H-er once told me he thought we'd be permanently physically connected sexually after we were resurrected.   After that comment whenever he talks about life after death I tune him out. That kind of stupidity disqualifies him from ever being taken seriously by me.

Nowadays when he's trying to talk me into sex he tries to use the argument that it's natural and that I'm a passionate person. Surely I have needs. I should just let go.   There's nothing wrong with it because we are married.  He doesn't understand why I'm guarding them. It's not because I believe it could be beautiful.  I guard them to protect myself from the ugly reality of it.

And when I tell my children about it I explain the mechanics.  I talk about disease and pregnancy.  I talk about the law of chastity.  But I can't bring myself to tell them that it's wonderful or that it is supposed to bring married people together.   I can't bring myself to lie.

 

Jealous

"Well what did you think?" My sister asked her boyfriend who had just spent the weekend with our extended family after my brother returned from his mission.

"All you did was sing, pray, sing, read scriptures, and sing...and the teenagers were okay with that" he was still in shock. 

But that's my mom's side of the family.  We sing.  Growing up we would gather around the piano and sing while mom played the piano.  When we went to our grandparents the uncles would gather around the piano and sing while grandma played the piano.  A few years ago I was in Utah and it just happened to by my younger sister's birthday. A bunch of cousins who were attending BYU with her came over for cake.  We sang Happy Birthday in 4 part harmony.  It's a Multigenerational thing.

So when H-er sang to me on our first date I suppose that sealed my fate.  I loved that about him--that he loved to sing.  He sang all the time.  In the shower, in the car, and since I love to harmonize it was perfect.  There is something unifying and connecting about singing with others.  When you blend your voice with others in shared emotion you become more than yourself. 

And so later in our marriage when we were struggling and so disconnected from each other I hoped to reconnect with him using music.  I convinced him to to sing with me in Rob Gardner's choir.  He lasted through the first production but after that he was too far gone.  He wasn't interested. 

So I sang alone.

He didn't sing around the house anymore either.   He didn't sing to me.

Then one night we were invited to go to karaoke with another couple.  After he sang a woman came running up to him and begged him to sing with her. She didn't acknowledge me in any way and it never crossed H-er's mind to check with me.  He sang a duet with her while I watched awkwardly.  The couple with us were a bit embarrassed and unsure of how to respond.

When he ran off to Utah he rediscovered karaoke.  He participated in Applebee's Idol.  He was proud of how he had conquered his nerves and now enjoyed singing on a public stage. He met a lot of women doing karaoke.  When you are at a bar and you sing like a combination of John Denver, Garth Brooks, and Josh Groban combined the women throw themselves at you.

Just to convince you I'll illustrate with this little story.  I took him to one of my company's annual conferences.  The owner of our company always dreamed of being in a band so he would hire a band and the employees had the chance to sing live with the band at the party before the conference.  I waited until the very end and asked if my husband could sing a song.  He sang Unchained Melody and hit the high note perfectly. The band members all high-fived him and as he left the stage the comedian who had been hired to MC the event joked "if that guy isn't married he will be soon".

But it killed me. I wouldn't have minded sharing his voice if that was all I was sharing.  When he sang I could no longer look at him. I didn't want to hear him sing.  And I didn't want to sing with him in the car anymore.  The worst was when he came to pick up all his toys.  We went to Applebee's with his friend and he sang Faithfully by Journey.  I kept my head down the entire time.  I kept my head down as people came up afterwards and complimented him.  I couldn't look at him.  I was seething.

He had to pick that song?  The lying cheater had the nerve to sit there and sing "I'm forever yours, Faithfully"?

If he was in a church he might have been struck by lightening.

Now his singing is all tied up with his addiction. I can't separate the two. And so I won't sing with him anymore.  He doesn't get to share that part of me either. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dishonest

 

Trapped

Lists.  

I use them quite frequently.  They keep me organized and allow me to prioritize my day.  I haven't always looked on them so fondly. 

In the early days of our marriage H-er used to make lists for me all the time. He liked to organize my day.  He would always make sure to include things on my list that I felt he should be doing. He needed something mailed. It went on my list.  He needed a doctors appointment.  It went on my list. He needed a school paper typed. It went on my list. He wanted to know how much something would cost to replace.  It went on my list.   Where was his list?  He didn't have one.

Then he would follow up. He'd pull out the list and start asking me if I'd done them.  If I hadn't I'd get worked over the coals.  If I found a price for the item he would question whether I got a good price.  Did I get multiple quotes? How did I know there wasn't a better price?

I came to loathe lists.  He would start to make a list and I would start to cry.   The prime time for making lists was when we would go out of town.  We'd have a long stretch in the car and that seemed to be the perfect time for him to organize my life and our marriage.  The list of things I should do to improve our lives would start. I couldn't leave either.  I was stuck in this moving metal cage. 

Invariably the tension would mount and several times I was threatened.    He became so angry that he punched his foot down on the gas and accelerated through a stop sign.   Another time he hit me.  Sometimes I would climb over the seat into the back because I just had to get out of his reach.  Another time he accelerated in anger around a corner and I swear one of the tires of our van came off the road.  The kids were screaming.  

Eventually I took matters into my own hands - literally. As we were preparing to drive away from my sister's house my brother-in-law casually asked us "Why does she always drive?"  I just shrugged because I couldn't tell the truth "I don't trust him with our lives if he's behind the wheel".

Somewhere along the line I also put my foot down on the lists.  He doesn't make them for me anymore.  At least not on paper.  He'll still try to get me to do things that he should be doing.  I've gotten better at saying no and sticking to it.   And so now lists are my friend.

Only a few weeks ago though he got mad while we were in the car.  I felt my hands tightening on the wheel until my knuckles turned white.  My whole body tensed and I found myself going ten miles over the speed limit.  In my mind I was chanting "we're almost home. We're almost home".  I WANTED OUT OF THAT CAR.  As soon as we hit our neighborhood I pulled over and got out of the car.  I chose to walk the rest of the way home.  

I need to get over this.  Because tonight An Heritage #2 got mad that I wouldn't do something she wanted and she started in on me.  It was that same "you're being unreasonable in the face of my perfectly logical reasoning and expectation of your capitulation to my selfish needs".   And because we were in the car and I couldn't walk away that triggered me into reacting inappropriately.

Incredulous

How could she just throw it all away?

She calls me and says. "They are releasing me in about an hour and then at 3 I'm supposed to come back for counseling.  After that I am meeting with my humanities group to work on our project"

As if she hasn't just changed everything.  As if there aren't consequences.

Now she expects me to put a down payment on a motorcycle.  A sports one in a certain color that goes fast. And she wants me to get a trailer so she can take it to college with her in April.

Do you hear all the implied expectations in there?

1.  I am responsible for providing her transportation

2.  She is actually going to get to go back to school
3.  Life can just pick up where she left off.
4.  I'm going to pay for her college (all her money will go to paying off the motorcycle)

What about the medical bills?  What about the 1500 rent we don't get back?  What about the 500 tuition we don't get back? What about the 500 gas I don't get back?  What about the 300 supplies I don't get back? What about the trust I don't get back?

I am angry with her.  Because she did it for attention.  And it worked.  Her boyfriend un-dumped her.  What has she learned from this?  That harming herself got her what she wanted.  She got to go to a BYU game, come home for Halloween, get her boyfriend back, no physical ramifications, she can still go back to college. 

But she's lost my trust.   If you hurt me I detach.  I can't trust you now to not hurt me.  It's hard enough for me to trust people. Now you've given me a reason not to.  How am I supposed to have a relationship with someone I can't trust?

 

 

Sometimes it helps to get it all out.  I wrote all of that out and later that night when she asked me if I was mad, because I’d skimmed the foam off the top, I was able to calmly answer “yes”.   I then told her plainly that I would have a hard time trusting her in the future to not hurt herself again.

“What can I do to convince you?”

“Hello….you are talking to the person in this house who has major trust issues.” At least I was able to laugh at myself. 

But then I was able to go over and just hold her and listen to her as she explored her feelings and why she did it and what had been going through her mind and what she had been thinking for the last few days. 

I still don’t trust her but it's not blocking my view anymore. 

 

Disrespected

"Where are you now?"

He'd been checking on my progress all afternoon so he knew how close I was.  Yet when I arrived after an 11 hour drive he was barely in the shower.  

And just like that I was triggered.

He is never ready on time.  Our first Sunday as a married couple I got ready for church.  He started getting ready but got distracted by one of our wedding gifts.  He decided to fill the oil lamps instead of getting ready.  We were late.

I would call and tell him what time we needed to leave to make it to a concert for our child.  He would not be ready.  We would be late.

I would wake him up for church and he'd lay in bed and then finally get in the shower ten minutes before it was time to go.  We'd be late.

He would call me at work and ask me out on a date. I'd get home from work and he wouldn't have showered yet. It would be time to go and he needed to just look something up on eBay.  Send a quick email.  I'd have to sit around and wait for him.  We'd be late.

"I'll get help this time.  I'll go to a counselor this time. I'll be faithful this time." 

Day after day.  Year after year. This continual disrespect. As if I'll always be there.  Waiting. 

Betrayed

"An Heritage #2 is missing"

A mother's nightmare.  She was finally old enough that I felt okay leaving her with a babysitter--our 14 year old nephew.  Especially because she was already asleep for the night.  I had been invited to go to a Michael McLean concert and H-er wanted to go put together a bike at his dad's house.  So I had my nephew babysit.

But now, somehow she'd woken up and opened the front door and was gone and he didn't know for how long.

As we left the concert and raced home I called the police.  They had her!  A kind lady had seen her on the railroad tracks, grabbed her, and called the police.  Our apartment was right next to the tracks.  From our balcony you could reach out and touch the train with a broom if you wanted to.  That's how close we were.

My friend drove me to the police station-just in time.  It was late enough that they were just about to take her to a foster home for the night.  There she was in her Tshirt and diaper.  They had put on a pair of long pink socks to keep her legs warm, given her m&ms and Raman, and found a Humpty Dumpty stuffed doll for her.  She wasn't old enough to tell them her name so they called her the railroad tracks baby. 

I suffered through the social workers visit three days later and showed her the new lock at the top of the door.  I showed her how she could barely reach the doorknob.  That only a week before she couldn't reach it at all.  Everyone agreed there was no negligence.

That weekend my uncle came to visit and as we sat talking he glanced out the sliding glass door when he heard the train whistle. "Oh no.  There's a dog on the tracks".

And we all turned and watched as a train hit the dog. 

Later when I questioned how my nephew didn't notice that she woke up and wandered out and opened the front door, I found out he was in the back room on the computer looking at porn.

 

********************************************************

Many times I have considered divorcing H-er.   Each time I’d make my list or pros and cons and one of the biggest cons was that I didn’t know who my children would be exposed to when they were with H-er or his family.  He had finally revealed that he had been molested by family members.   The types of women he consorted with were scary.  His sisters used drugs and people were in and out of their houses that were scary.  At least married I could control who my children came in contact with and limit the chances that they would be molested.  I was determined to break the cycle with my kids.  I was determined to protect them.

*********************************************************

 

On our third date H-er took me to meet his family.  We spent a lot of time visiting his mom and two of his sister’s.  This was another thing that drew me to him.  Family was important to him.   So when he told me that his 14 year old nephew was being kicked out of his mom’s house because she “couldn’t deal with him” he asked if we could take him in.  He wasn’t doing anything terrible.  She just wasn’t getting along with him.

He lived with us for about six months and he seemed like a good kid.  He did the chores assigned to him.  He went to scouts.   He was pretty quiet.   And we had a built in babysitter though we didn’t use him often.   But he wasn’t really with us long before he went back to live with his mom.

It wasn’t until years later when he was married and had his own daughter that his conscience got to him.  He called H-er and confessed that he had molested An Heritage #2 because he was mad at H-er for some reason or other.  He felt horrible about it especially when he looked at his own daughter.   

Later still, I listened in horror as there were more disclosures revealing molestation that involved my children.  And then that night as I lay in by bed, I screamed and cursed God for allowing this to happen.  And I cried and cried because I was the one who let a 14 year old wolf into my house.  I failed to break the cycle.  I failed my children. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wonder

“You just get her to Utah.  I can make arrangements to go up in a week and pack up all of her stuff and bring it home.” I said 

“I could do that.” He offered.

Pause for a half beat and then very carefully I responded.  “Please don't take this the wrong way. In the past when you have been faced with the daunting challenge of packing you usually shut down.   I don't think she'll be able to help since she was just released from the hospital.  Are you sure you are up for that?”

*********************

There's history here.  

On our first date we looked at his scout patch collection.  I didn't know people collected scout patches.  He probably had 500 of them.  It was odd but hey…people have collections.  Like stamps.  And coins. And scout patches.

While we were dating my mom shared an experience she had at Walmart with my little brother when he was looking at a Luke Skywalker action figure.  A stranger passed by and mentioned that if you had the original Luke Skywalker he was worth about $400. H-er’s eyes lit up and his Star Wars collection began.  We drove out of our way to different stores.  Walmart, KBtoys, Toys R Us, Kmart, Target   He camped out overnight at new store openings and ran through the aisles with a cart throwing toys in.  He made friends at these openings and they would get together and share and trade figures.  He went to the stores at midnight when the trucks were being unloaded and made friends with the stockers who would set merchandise aside for him.  He bought directly from the toy manufacturers.  Then Amazon happened.

By the third year of our marriage one of our rooms in our three bedroom apartment was filled with boxes of toys. By the fifth year the boxes spilled out into our bedroom and front room.  I finally got a Uhaul and with permission moved most of them to a warehouse at my work.

By the 8th year we had three small storage rooms and our front room of our 900 square foot apartment in Lincoln filled with boxes.  The collection had expanded to include Lord of the Rings, Hot Wheels, and GI Joe figures. 

By the 12th year we had a three car garage that fit one car and had boxes stacked to the ceiling in the rest of it.   The collection had now expanded to include Transformers and Beast Wars.  Meanwhile his patch collection had also grown. He probably had over 3000 patches. 

By the 15th year we had an additional small room filled to the ceiling with boxes, one of the bedrooms was lined with floor to ceiling shelves with toys and half our bedroom had boxes of toys stacked in it.  (This didn't include the carded figures tacked on the walls of An Heritage #2 and #3's room, the computer room, and Legos set up all over the upstairs loft.)   His collection now included Harry Potter, Legos, and over 5000 patches.

 
He didn't just buy one.  He bought multiples.  He had 20 of the original Luke Skywalker figures (loose), 15 bumblebees loose, and 10 more mint on card.  He had 4 of the original Millennium Falcons and Five of the original Darth Vader Carry Cases.  He had 40 Gollum figures (mint in box). He had 20 of the same OA flaps.

Sometimes he needed to find one of them.  Out would come the boxes.  One after another and soon they entire 3100 square foot house would be strewn with opened boxes and stacks of figures.  And if anyone touched one, scratched one, bent a corner of a box, there would be hell to pay. 

"Don't worry. I'll put it all back".  I'd been hearing this for 15 years.   Guess how many times he'd put them back.  It was usually me.

I was the one who boxed them all up and moved them from Utah to Nebraska.  I was the one who boxed them all up when we moved from Nebraska to Arizona.  We had so many boxes that I put colored stickers on them.  The yellow ones were toys.  Pink were my daughters. Blue for the boys. White for the kitchen Green for storage.  I didn't quite have everything boxed up when the ward showed up to load our moving container and H-er took the time to pull me aside and tell me how embarrassed he was at how disorganized and unprepared I was. When we arrived in Arizona the new ward unloaded our train car container in two hours flat because they knew exactly where every box went and the Elders Quorum talked for months about how it was the easiest move in they had ever done. I was the one who boxed them all up when we moved from house  #1 to #2 to #3 (each bigger than the last) in Arizona.  

House # 3 was huge.  But it didn't feel huge. I was surrounded by toys.  They ate at me.  They dragged me down.  I loathed them.  They were a millstone around my neck as I tried to swim in the ocean. I struggled with the Herculean task of keeping two young boys from touching his toys. He'd spread them out and finally after two weeks of tiptoeing around them he'd sleep all day on a Saturday and I'd spend 8 hours boxing them all up again.  He'd emerge from his room and complain "you better not have damaged any of them".   

A week later I'd hear the dreaded "Which box is the white Gandalf in?" And it would start all over.

Few knew my pain though.  Until my sister came to visit.  She was moving cross country and it coincided with a family reunion. This was one of the times I didn't take H-er. While I was gone he went searching for a toy.    "Don't worry.  I'll put them all back before you get home".

It didn't happen.  This time it was my sister who spent four hours boxing up toy after toy after toy with me.   “How often does this happen?” she asked. 

Eventually we lost the house.  He was living in Utah at that point.  I told him flat out I wasn't moving another toy.  I would leave them at the house.  He showed up with a friend (who did a shuddering double take) and a Uhaul truck to take them away to a storage place in Utah and we began boxing   And boxing.  And boxing.  On the third day H-er gave up and slept while his friend and I continued to box up toys.  He took every last toy away. 

I wandered through my echoing house marveling at the sheer size of it and for the first time in two years I didn't want to lose it.  It was a home and not a giant storage unit.

I moved to Arizona house #4 – half the size. Toy free.  It was glorious.  I could breathe.

Year 17:  Affair # who knows.  I had stopped counting.   “If you want to save our marriage you will come to Arizona right now.” I was offering him one last chance.

“Ok.  I have to clean up the basement first.”  My head hit the wall in despair.

He was living in his adopted dad's basement and had overrun it with toys.   Two weeks passed.

Just like every other time he would start and he would shut down. It would give him a headache. He just couldn't do it.  He was never going to make it. So I got on a plane.  And while he slept I boxed and stacked. It only took me a day. 

 **************************

“I'll go buy a bunch of boxes.  I can do it.  How much stuff can she have?”

“Forget the boxes.  Just stuff everything in bags.  Do what you can and if it gets overwhelming I understand. Whatever you can do means less for me to do.”  I would take whatever I could get.

4 hours later....
“She says there's not enough shampoo”
“Oh are you at the hotel?   Did you get anything packed up?”
“We got it all.”

SILENCE

“You got the cast iron skillet?” 
“Yep.”
“You got the spices?”
“Yep.”
“You got her six months supply of contacts?”
“Yep.”
 “You got the stuff from the secret hiding place under the bed?”
“Yep.”

I forced myself to stop asking.

And later I cried.

And then I laughed when I told An Heritage #4 that his dad had packed up all of his sister’s stuff and he stared at me with a look of comical incredulity. "Does this mean dad has changed?"