Bleeding Out...

I remember once telling my daughter that her dad and I would never split.  That we would be together forever.  He would have to leave me, I said. I don't know if I was reassuring her or trying to convince myself.   She told me at the time she would be really mad if "you and daddy ever divorced."  She is upset.  My kids are upset.  I never really thought it would happen either, but....shit happens.  Monday was the hardest day yet, and there have been a lot.

A couple months ago my boys best friend was married.  He was like one of my own.  He was at our house more than his own.  His mom died when he was 10, he became our "Heir to Spare".  We all loved him, he was family.  He was the other brother.

Last summer, he took me aside and told me how much he loved me,  how I was like a mom to him.  It moved me.    I love him.  I care about his future and I think he married the right woman.  The wedding took place three weeks before my daughter's wedding.  I was struggling emotionally, trying to gather courage to go, knowing that my boy's were in the wedding, knowing my entire family would be there, including my ex, and knowing, that for the first time ever, we weren't going as "a couple".

Imagine...I'm sitting next to my soon to be ex in the front row.   My family beside me, my boys facing me...the pastor talking about what marriage means.  Love.  Adversity.  Commitment.  Weathering the storms....

I remember sitting there, the emotion and sadness building up inside my heart.  My daughters next to me, my boys standing directly in front of me.   I was aching from the loneliness and isolation of the children I had raised, loved endlessly, unconditionally... We were there as a family, but I was not a part of the inner circle anymore.  I stared down at my hands, willing myself to hold it together.  The tears welling up and threatening to spill down my cheeks, I feel the eyes of all my children bore into me as if to say, "Are you hearing this mom?"  It was a tough day.

 After it was all over, we all went our separate ways.  My youngest, her boyfriend and I drove the hour and a half back to Seattle.  I listened to them chatter, pretending to listen but hearing nothing, feeling as if a large rock had been laid on my chest, making it impossible to breathe.  I just wanted them out of my car so I could be alone to cry.

After what seemed the longest drive ever, I dropped them off and drove to my brother's house to spend the night.  He opened the door to me and I felt myself begin to crumble.  All the tears I had held in all day, began to fall, gush even, as I fell into my brother's arms and allowed myself to let go.   I didn't stop crying for weeks.

On my drive back home the next day, I made a decision.  I had to make it through my daughter's wedding without tears.  I had to.  I called my doctor from my car, made an appointment to see him and was on anti-depressants within 24 hours.  I needed to be numb.

As the big day approached, my body was trying to adjust to the anti-depressants, but I wasn't sleeping.  I would wake up in the middle of the night.  I refused to get up, hoping to drift off again, finally giving in and making coffee at 4 am.  My face looked haggard, I had bags and dark circles under my eyes, I wasn't eating.  My friend told me I looked hollow and my eyes haunted.  I did a couple facials trying to revive my skin and get rid of the bags.  Nothing worked.

The day went off well, with the exception of a few small snags, but despite three weeks of taking anti-depressants, I struggled with my emotions.  I managed to make it through the day without crying, as there was plenty of activity around me, but I felt tight.  On edge.  Nervous.  No one outside my immediate circle of family had been told about our split.  I put on a happy face and pretended everything was fine.  Standing with everyone for photos, a pasted smile on my face.

When my son got married two years ago, it was easy.  I was relaxed, happy even.  Smiling for photographs was natural.  When I saw the proofs of my daughter's wedding photographs, I was shocked at my appearance.  The difference in my face from two years ago to now was startling.  I can hardly believe the changes.  The weeks of crying and lack of sleep had taken a tremendous toll.  These photographs will be around forever to remind me of "when I left my husband." 

Three days after the wedding, my car loaded,  I drove down the driveway toward Arizona.  My dog and I.  I spent the next several days in the car driving away from my sadness.  Running away from home for the second time.    Away from the pressure.  Away from prying neighbors and the hometown where I had become the flavor of the month in speculation and gossip.  I ran because I could.  My ex could not run, and even as much as I didn't want to be married to him any longer, I didn't hate, I don't hate him, I knew he wished he could run away too.  I ran away from the guilt of that too.   I knew he was angry because I could leave and he couldn't.  I've been accused of abandoning my family.

Monday I received a phone call from one of my boys.  Angry, hurt, embarrassed by what he had heard about my blog, he ripped me apart.  I was devastated.  With the exception of my youngest daughter, none of them had read it.  The week previous, my cousin sent me an email telling me she thought the blog was frivolous and like watching a tragic car crash.   My kids had consulted one another and I can imagine that my son that called was the one nominated to do the dirty work.  He asked me to remove the blog and explained why.  He asked me what the purpose of the blog was.  He said I was airing our family's dirty laundry in public and that he hadn't read it, but some of his friends on facebook had, and called to warn him and the other kids NOT to read it.  He said he didn't even know about it until the phone calls. 

I acknowledged his feelings and tried to explain my reasons for the blog.  I felt defensive.

I had to ask myself some hard questions. What purpose was the blog serving?  I wasn't  trying to finger point blame on the failure of my marriage.  I will take 50% of the blame.  I had thought, wrongly, I guess, that IF per chance my kids did read it, they would maybe understand how I was feeling and why I wanted out of my marriage.  I live in la-la land.  The wounds are still raw.  My kids are just now coming to realize that I really am divorcing their dad. 

In the midst of all this pain of reality is the holidays.  Starting with Thanksgiving, nothing was the same this year.  I used to make pies with my girls a few days before Thanksgiving.  I wanted to teach them how.  It was a special time for us.  When my son got married, we included my daughter in law as well.  This year, I spent the holiday with my daughter in Seattle.  I bought the pies.

My oldest daughter was responsible for making the pies this year at her dad's for her celebration with her new husband, brothers and sister in law.  I saw a post on her facebook that she had a hard time with the pie making.  After Thanksgiving, I asked her how her pies turned out and if everyone liked them.  She began crying and said that Thanksgiving was a joke this year.  She'd had to buy the crust because she couldn't make my recipe work for her and all she could think was, "if my mom was here, the pies would have been perfect."  I cry just writing about it.

Christmas is next week.  I am flying home to see my kids, to try to have something that resembles a family celebration without their dad.  They are angry, hurt, devastated...I know this.  They see their dad hurting and they can't believe I've done this to our family.  No one knows what to do, or how to celebrate the holiday. 

After that phone call Monday, I received calls from the rest of them.   For the first time since all this began they wanted to talk to me.  They needed to tell me how devastated they are.  In trying to fix what was wrong with me, I broke their hearts and took away everything that was comfort.  My daughter told me that "everything she thought was true about her parents, her family, was a lie...."    My youngest son said, that if a man as good as his dad wasn't good enough for me, then who can be good enough?  It was a very low day.  My oldest boy called me out and said that in leaving, in running away, I ran from them and left them with too many questions about why I wanted to leave.  He accused me of not owning my part and playing the victim.  My blog proved it, he said.  Maybe he was right.  But he didn't read it.  He only heard about it. 


What purpose was the blog serving?  I know that it wasn't to push blame on to my ex.  I know it wasn't meant to hurt my children.  I know it wasn't to embarrass them.  I thought about what each of them had to say to me.  The truth can be painful to look at.  I know I ran away.  I wasn't dealing with the guilt I felt, the accusations, the hurt.  I was just running.  In my defense, I want to state that I did try to talk with my kids while I was still trying to work it out with their dad.  They didn't want to talk then.  They were in denial.  They saw what they wanted to see.  That even though I was living in a separate bedroom from their dad, I was still in the same house, therefore, I must be trying.  I let them believe what they wanted to believe because the fantasy was easier than the reality.

I look back over last summer and hear the accusations from my kids and their dad, telling me, I didn't try.
I understand why they think that.  I wanted to try, but I was done trying.  I was going through the motions of pretending, but I was withdrawn, in my own world of my own thoughts and pain.  Escaping through Facebook and friends.  My family would say that Facebook ruined my marriage. 

I had already moved on, but I was unable to move on.  I had commitments coming up.  Labor Day, two weddings, birthdays, the holidays.  There was always a reason I couldn't leave.  My body was there, but my heart was gone.  I was already here in Arizona.  I allowed my kids to live in denial of the truth and ran.  Hoping, in my fantasy world, that eventually, they would understand.  And the blog would explain everything they never knew about their mom.  I have hurt my kids by trying to protect them from the truth.  I hurt my husband by trying to ease out of a marriage I was not happy in and couldn't make work anymore.  I own these things.

I have trouble standing up for myself.  I find that I go with the flow but seethe inside.  I don't want to ruffle feathers, hurt anyone's feelings, upset the apple cart.  I can be vocal when I'm mad, but I hold no boundaries for myself.  I let everyone run over me.  This I can own.  My ways of dealing with my sadness and pain was really not much different than my ex.  I hoarded my anger like a precious jewel in a silk purse, taking it out when I needed to wear it as a justification for why I could be angry.  I own this.  I own the choices I made that led me to walk away.

I know that leaving my husband, running away...seems selfish to my kids.  I know how it looks.

If I had believed that I could change the patterns of behavior in myself, set boundaries and learn to say what I needed in a relationship, in my marriage, I might have been able to work it out.  Our history taught me to trust what was.  It wasn't my ex that needed to change, it was me.  I couldn't stop responding to him the way I always did.  I allowed him to continue his patterns as I continued mine.  I wasn't able to stand up to him.   I wanted to, I tried to.  But I always reverted back to learned behavior.  Patterns.  Our dance.  I wanted to change the pattern so desperately.  I wanted a better marriage for years.  But it was only in the last two years that I started to recognize the patterns.  It was me.  I wasn't able to make the changes.  When you learn early in life to please others by sacrificing your own needs to keep peace, to be forgiven...you stay silent.  You hold it in.  You seethe with resentment and no one knows.

I hurt my family because I tried to pretend for too long I was fine.  I allowed everyone's needs  to take more precedence over my own.  It was what I did as a wife, it was what I had to do as a mother.  My friend told me that my kids will be as happy as I am happy.  So I avoided talking about the ugliness so they could see I was better.  Coping well.  Happier.  I pretended the elephant in the room wasn't there because it was easier.  Now I see that I could have done better.  I could have talked to them and set the boundary.  I could have at least left the door open so that when they were ready, they could approach me.  Instead, I ran and pretended again that I was fine.  Telling myself, they didn't want to hear the truth, and I wouldn't bad mouth their dad to them.   They didn't need to know everything that would hurt them, put them in the middle, and choose sides.  I shut them out, I justified it.   I understand their feelings of abandonment.  I left.  With no further explanation than...I have to.  I'm done.  I had hoped to take no prisoners, but of course, I did.

What purpose is the blog serving?  I answer this question every time I sit down to write.  I come to new understandings of my own sorrow and pain.  I can't blame my ex for the end of my marriage.  I will take 50% of the blame.  I write the blog because I have to.  Because I am standing up for myself for the first time, seeing the truth unfold.  Trying to change the old patterns.  By putting the words of my heart in front of me, I am able to see the truth of my own faults and take responsibility for why my marriage ended.   The truth can hurt, but the truth will set you free.  I need to be free from the burden of my own denial of the truth.  In  allowing others to see the transparency of myself, my humanity, my weakness of character and make it public, I pray for grace as they may see a part of themselves in my journey through this very sad time.  My prayer is, that as I progress, the wounds  begin to heal, the joy restores, the laughter returns and the blog becomes something else.  Lighter, happier, funnier.  I remember when I was funny.

  I am going home to be with my kids for Christmas.  I want to sit down with each of them and ask them to forgive me for needing to change from the mother they knew, to be the mother I wanted to be for them.  The mother that loves them unconditionally, endlessly...the mother that will never stop worrying about her kids, as my parents still worry for me.   I will continue to blog.  I have to.  The words won't stop, they are bleeding out.