follow the peace

If you’ve been following what’s been going on with the husband and me, I thought it was time for an update.  Things, at least on my end, feel like they are progressing quite rapidly.  I think what has happened is that once the “scales fell from my eyes” (a la the Christian story of Paul) I just haven’t been able to look at things the same way again.

Around last Friday or Saturday I started feeling a peace about leaving.  And if there’s anything I’ve learned in my thirty-two years on earth, it’s to follow the peace.  When I think about staying, my stomach ties up in knots; leaving, I have peace.  Well, I should clarify.  When I think about having left, I have peace.  The actual transition process does not actually seem like a peaceful one to me.  But I am working on the details.

So now things feel like they’re moving at a rapid clip.  But I realized pretty early (two days ago), that I’m not going to be so good at the faking stuff, and that I wouldn’t survive long without going nuts if I don’t leave.

I’m talking to smart people and trying, trying to get all my ducks in a row.  I have talked to my supervisor at work and confessed that my documentation is a hideous mess and she told me it doesn’t matter, just take care of myself.  Everyone has been totally fabulous.  Well, except for he-who-must-not-be-named, who is starting to suspect that I am not acting like my usual self.

Of course my heart is so broken and smashed that I don’t even know enough words to describe it.  Sometimes I feel hopeful, and sometimes I feel so sad that I can’t get off the floor.  I know this is right.  I know it.  It just would be so much easier if I didn’t love him and hate so much that this will hurt him (despite how he has hurt me).

There are a million more details, and hopefully I can share them soon.  I have appreciated the supportive comments more than you know.

[ETA: This was the last post in blog #1]

love and thanksgiving

(Dear ICLWers:   There is some info in the “About me” tab–probably the most relevant information is at the bottom of that page:  I very recently had the realization that I am in a relationship based on verbal/emotional abuse.   My posting lately has pretty much just been about that and how I’m dealing with this realization.  I hope to post soon about how all of this relates to IF.)

Thank you, thank you for all the wonderful and supportive comments.  I have been working out a lot of things in my mind the last few days.  Things are starting to come together and make more sense to me.  More on that when I can be a little more coherent.  ICLW might just be a wash for me this time–I’ll give it a shot again when my life isn’t so upside down-inside out.

I am feeling much more loved lately.  (Not from you-know-who.)  As I am reconnecting with friends in my physical world (as opposed to the internet one) I have been showered by their love, inundated by their love, and strengthened by their love.  I think it has been a long, long while since I have felt loved at all.

I have been looking back over my old journals and am amazed by the depth of my distress.  How did I not realize what a deep problem this was?  Why was it so easy to blame myself?

I was planning to write only a couple of lines today.  In all of my trying to survive the last few months my job has definitely been getting the scraps.  Don’t know if that will change anytime soon.  As long as I’m not the one getting the scraps, I guess it’s ok.

relief

(Dear ICLWers:   There is some info in the “About me” tab–probably the most relevant information is at the bottom of that page:  I very recently had the realization that I am in a relationship based on verbal/emotional abuse.   My posting lately has pretty much just been about that and how I’m dealing with this realization.  I hope to post soon about how all of this relates to IF.)

Yesterday I had a long, long talk with my oldest, perhaps dearest friend, J.  We have been friends since childhood.  I hope to always know her and be known by her.  As I figure out this new reality that I am living, as I am learning to tell my true story and not the fantasy that I had to work so hard for so long to try to believe–that I was in a happy marriage, that my husband loved and accepted me exactly as I was–I felt awash with relief as J gave me nothing but love, nothing but acceptance.  I felt some of this weight lift as she simply believed me.

When I had talked to my mom the other day and opened the door to her, I was trying to “protect” her a little and so I purposely didn’t use the word “abuse” to describe my situation (why I would do this is a long, long story for another day and a lot of therapy).   I wanted to do that now, and I also wanted to explain how I thought I could have gotten into such a situation.  For some reason, I have it in my head that everyone will be on mr. x’s side in this, but as soon as I said, “Mom, I’m pretty sure we can call this emotional abuse,” she said, as sure as anything, “Oh, I am too!”  Like I said yesterday, it’s always good to hear that you’re not crazy.  And it’s always good to hear that you have people on your side.  Not just good, but necessary.

Two nights ago I had an opportunity to set a boundary.  All I did was say, “I don’t want you to talk to me like that.”  It felt really, really good.  Giddy good.  Mr. x’s reaction, thus far, has been to get angry at me when I set boundaries, which I find interesting.  Today I feel much more confident, much more able to say those words again and again and again.

I don’t know where this will end up.  At this moment, I feel like I am getting prepared for almost anything.

it’s always good to hear that you’re not crazy

I saw my old counselor, J, yesterday.  She told me that she had thought for the last few months I was seeing her that mr. x was being emotionally abusive to me.

Huh.

How about that?

one of my own

So in my last post I said this:

At this moment I’m kind of thinking that infertility is probably the best thing that ever could have happened to us. Whether or not we get through this and end up together, the last thing we need right now is a pregnancy or a baby. And I really don’t want my children hearing their dad talk to their mom the way he talks to me.

And I meant every word.

And yet.

And yet yesterday I got one of those emails.  One of those emails from an acquaintance of mine who sends out emails.  Perky updates about her family and professional life.  And I got one yesterday.  And yesterday’s lets all of us, her “friends and family” know that they have a miracle arriving in a few months.  October to be exact.

And I don’t know what hurts more.  The photo of her daughter kissing her baby bump?  The thought of the supportive husband at her side?  The fact that they also went through infertility hell and came out the other side loving each other more instead of barely breathing?

Or maybe it’s that she used the word that I’ve been holding onto as my talisman these last few days, the word I beg for as if my life depended on it, because maybe it does, maybe it does–I want my own miracle.  Babies are miracles, but so is healing.  And children are miracles, surely, but so are grown men willing to face the hurts of their childhoods.

And so I will not begrudge my acquaintance her miracle.

I just want one of my own.

where I’m at

So, a couple of things, really.

First, thank you all for the supportive comments.  Please keep them coming.

Second, I’m still in shock.  Putting this “verbal abuse” label on things has helped to clarify so many things and looking at the past six years or so through that lens has been mind blowing in many ways.  The more I think about it, more true it seems.  This relationship has been about control if not from day one, then very close to it.  I may talk more about that some other day.  I have been making excuses, to myself primarily, but also to others, from the beginning, for his moods, for his words, for so much.  So there’s that.

The only “plan” at the moment is to work on the boundary setting and seeing how he responds, as I said before.  He’s already made it clear a number of times he doesn’t want to go back to counseling, and the last time he was pretty mean about it, so I’m not bringing it up again for the moment.

OK, I lied.  That’s not the only plan.  I’m also going back to my counselor; I’m seeing her tomorrow.  I’m also starting to talk about this with a few trusted friends (other than you, my interweb-amigas).  Well, I’m planning to talk about it.  I’m planning to make a phone date today with an old friend to tell her.  Part of the problem with telling my “best” friends is that they all love mr. x, never ever having had a reason not to.

The other support I have is a friend who has kind of known it’s been going on, and has been the only person I’ve ever talked to about this before this week.  She was a therapist for 20 years before becoming a rabbi, and I really don’t know what I’d do without her.  I think she’s ready for me to walk out the door, um, yesterday, but she’s still telling me I’m doing the right thing by setting my boundaries, etc.

At this moment I’m kind of thinking that infertility is probably the best thing that ever could have happened to us.  Whether or not we get through this and end up together, the last thing we need right now is a pregnancy or a baby.  And I really don’t want my children hearing their dad talk to their mom the way he talks to me.

where she stops, nobody knows

I’ve been doing some reading, and a lot of thinking this weekend.

I am starting to admit what I have not been able to.

My husband is verbally abusive to me.

I re-read a book that I hadn’t looked at in a long time, The Verbally Abusive Relationship by Patricia Evans.  I read it first when I interned in a program for battered women (can we say “irony” boys and girls?).

He is not a yeller.  I have never been afraid of physical violence.  Most of the “conversation” examples in the book were nothing like what I experience.   But it was still so dead on.  I spent much of Saturday afternoon and evening in shock because of how accurately me and my situation were described by the book.

Where does this leave me?  I don’t know.  I don’t know.  I don’t know.

Maybe I feel a little bit less like it’s my fault, though.

And yesterday I called my mom.  I opened up a door there.  I don’t want this to be a secret anymore.  I’ve been hiding this, protecting him, and taking part in my own undoing for so long–because I never wanted anyone to think badly of him, of us.  Before today I had only ever told one friend about the things he has said to me, the belittling, crazy-making, scornful, sarcastic things he says to me.  I was so ashamed.

I don’t know where this is going.  I am already stronger at setting boundaries (which has never been a strong suit of mine).  Things should get interesting, to say the least.

This is so hard.

show and tell: bestest friends

As things have been getting somewhat, ahem, heavy, around here, I thought that I would join in the showing and telling to shake things up a bit.  (See who else is shaking things up at the head of the class here.)

So for your reading and viewing pleasure, I give you, my dog, Miss Famous (the little black mutt), and her best friend, S (the Husky).

Miss Famous and S play together, usually in our yard, because they will generally escape from S’s yard if they are together, though Sdoes not get out of her own yard if she is alone.  Miss Famous tends to have a bad influence on other dogs this way.  She used to play with another dog, Blackberry, and the same thing happened there, too.  Blackberry was fine by herself in her yard, but put Miss Famous in there with her, and all of a sudden, you’ve got two little black dogs on the loose in the neighborhood.  Needless to say, my neighbors know who I am, and who my dog is.  Good thing she’s cute (and friendly).

The pictures here were taken on a day that S kept getting out, and it turned out that this sweet, sweet dog (who I always thought was a little dumb to tell you the truth) was opening the latch on the gates by herself with her nose (I saw her do it).  So, not so dumb after all, I guess.

Well, enough people have saved my dog enough times, so I just kept her in my house (which was an adventure) until her owner came home.  We have now worked out a solution and she can no longer open the gates, much to her chagrin, I’m sure.  I’m just happy that it’s not always my dog who’s the neighborhood troublemaker.

Oh, yeah.  And even though that Husky is like three times her size, Miss Famous is TOTALLY the boss.  I’ve seen her take treats right out of S’s mouth.  Literally.  And S loves her anyway.  She’s a mess and a half, that one.  And by that I mean both of them.

I didn’t do anything wrong

So yesterday was a hard day.  It wasn’t until last night that I was able to put together all the pieces of the long and painful day and I was able to understand why I felt like I was coming apart at the seams.

It started in the morning.  I had volunteered to bring in to work a newborn photo of my niece for a project at work.  I had no problem the evening before looking through the pictures of her and the other nieces, so I hadn’t really given it a second thought.  Sometime, though, between looking at fresh-new-baby pictures with my colleagues, and pictures of my cute older nieces, I started getting that dull pain somewhere between my stomach and my chest, but didn’t really want to think about it–because after all, don’t I love these girls? and after all, I’m at work and don’t really want to have these feelings here and we’re about to have a meeting, and look here’s a cookie, just be quiet and eat that.

So then we had a staff meeting.  Now, under normal circumstances, for many reasons, I hate staff meetings.  But, THIS staff meeting was extra, extra special.  We had guest speakers from another program, and prior to the meeting starting I got to enjoy a conversation between the pregnant guest speaker and my co-worker about how terrible pregnancy is.  Nice.  Very nice.  Then, the topic of the meeting?  Preconception care.  I kid you not.  Preconception care.

The reason we were discussing preconception care is because infant mortality (now that’s a feel-good phrase) is a big problem in the county/city I live in.  Like third-world bad.  Well, I should rephrase.  It’s a big problem if you happen to be black in the city I live in.  Not such a big problem if you happen to be white.  This makes me very angry, and it makes me even angrier that the entire city isn’t up in arms about it.  (This is actually the point of the program I work for–whether it is accomplishing it’s goals is another story for another day.)  So now add “really pissed off” to the big bucket of feelings that I’m carrying around, but not really realizing it.

The rest of the day went on, and then mr. x and I had an “interaction” that I would describe as “less than ideal,” after which I brought up counseling.  He said “no,” citing again his transparent excuses.  He also said another thing or two that are still bouncing around my head that I may bring up with him tonight in as calm a way as possible (which is also bouncing around my head).

So when I finally, finally found some quiet, I realized that all of my angst was not about him, but was about him and all of these other things, and I realized that I needed to hear that I hadn’t done anything wrong.  Because what I do when I’m in pain is look for some control over it (don’t we all?), and if I’m to blame, then maybe I can keep it from happening next time.  But it can be exhausting and anguishing to keep placing the blame at your own feet.  And I didn’t even realize I was doing it.  I heard the blame in mr. x’s voice and believed it.  I just knew there must have been something I did to deserve to not be pregnant, to deserve to not have my own fresh-new-baby pictures.  And it was all under the surface and I didn’t really know it was there.

Once I could say to myself, “you didn’t do anything wrong,” once I could hear that, I could start reconnecting again.  I could start becoming whole again–bit by bit.  I also found that I was beating myself up a little because I wasn’t finding that zen place, that peaceful place quickly today.  I thought that because a few days ago it seemed easier to find, I must be failing by not finding it today, there must be something wrong with me.

It is not easy to learn to speak to myself with kindness.  It is not easy to make loving myself automatic.  But I am going to keep trying.

merry-go-round

And we’re back.

I feel like I could just re-post something from a few days ago.

I was hoping I would be a little cheerier by now, you know, all puppies and kittens and shit.

This thing with mr. x seems to be cyclical–now he’s back to the contempt in his voice/accusatory statements/twisting my words around.  It’s fun times ’round here.

I thought about doing a fluff post anyway, but, then I thought, if I have to put on a happy face here, then I can put my real face nowhere.

Just hoping I’m not driving any last readers away with all of this optimism.