At the end of May, I decided to take Little One on an East Coast adventure.
Okay, it wasn't really an adventure per se. It was the combination of two family events - one weekend in North Carolina, followed by another weekend in New York. So I combined the two into one long trip, split by a road trip from the south to the north, including my mom and Little One.
On the whole, this was a good thing. First, I got to see my granddad, on his 90th birthday. And he got to see me, and my daughter. And he was utterly in love with her, and she adored him. Seeing my daughter with my grandfather, who hadn't exactly been able to be a solid fixture during my childhood, immediately granted me the right to feel sentimental.
And that set the tone for the rest of the trip. On the way from North Carolina to New York, we stopped in Washington, D.C. Now, that's a place that I grew up within a few hours of, but had not visited more than two or three times in my life. So, this would be my first post-election, adult visit.
We did D.C. during a mammoth tourism day - first to the National Zoo to see the pandas, then over to the White House, another kind of zoo entirely. We sat across Pennsylvania Avenue, watching an Italian dignitary visit the president. As I sat there, watching Little One dance to no music in her new pink panda t-shirt, I heard the rotors before I saw them: it was Marine One, and it was bringing the president to the White House from Air Force One and his trip to San Francisco. It flew right over us, and it was truly an awesome sight.
Part of me reveled in the prospect of calling D, a big Obama fan, and telling him what he had just missed because he had been such a dickhead husband. But not right then. However, this had become an unfortunate refrain in my head, a rut worn straight into my brain: Hey, D, look what you're missing because you're an asshole! It would take months before the rut started to dissipate.
Right then, we started walking again, heading down the east side of the White House, along Executive Avenue, where rows of primroses, planted with military precision, lined the walls of the Treasury. Ahead of me was the Washington Monument. To my right, the White House lawn. Off to my left, the Capitol. Part of me just wanted to open up and shout, "This is SO COOL!!!" I didn't, but I really, really wanted to. And I knew, in that moment, that the reason I was having so much fun was beacuse it was my trip. If D had been there, something would be wrong. His back would hurt, or he'd be in a bad mood, or he'd want to go in some other direction, or he'd be mad at me for some inane reason.
At that moment, I realized I was a tourist from my old life, and with D nowhere to be found, I could actually enjoy it.
And then I checked my work email, as I did on my Blackberry fairly regularly. (My superstitious work philosophy: if I check it several times a day, then no one will need me. If I never check it, or check out completely, there will be some horrible calamity for which I am responsible and which only I can resolve and my vacation will therefore be blown. So I check.)
The email had just come in to my work account in the last hour. And you'll never guess who it was from. Actually, if you've read this entire blog from entry #1, you'll know exactly who it was from.
Penelope, read the email from Mr. Anonymous, I hope you're well. I was wondering if you might have some time to talk, about a matter which would benefit us both.
Here I was, standing on a street corner two blocks away from the White House, about to descend into the bowels of the DC subway system, and enjoying every single moment - and NOW he wants to talk. Of COURSE it would be NOW when I've actually just - almost - maybe - started to feel like I can escape.
I knew I had my out-of-office message on, so he'd know that I was out through the week. This was a Tuesday, and I wouldn't be back till the following Monday. Now what? I thought.
I looked at the message again, looked at my mom, looked at Little One, and pushed "delete mail." I took a deep breath, told my mom "Nothing" when she asked what was wrong, and got on to the escalator into the subway.
But I knew there was going to be more when I got home.
[Sidebar. I would like to wish everyone who has been tuning in to my blog a safe, happy, and healthy holiday season. I will be back with more chapters to this never-ending saga soon.]
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
30. The Imperfection Juggernaut
You might wonder what I did those first few months. To be honest, looking back, even I wonder what I did.
There was a brief, fun, but ultimately ill-advised reunion with an old boyfriend. It started a few days after the divorce was final, when he moved back to my city. It felt so normal, so natural! It was great! I was thrilled to find out that D had not actually broken me, I had just felt broken.
But then I came to realize that the person that I had re-found was ultimately the same one I'd split up with nearly a dozen years ago. And there was nothing left there but memories - I needed to either have something new, or nothing at all. So I chose nothing, and in doing so, chose myself and Little One. But I didn't figure that out until much later.
[Sidebar. I don't want to diminish the importance of this particular romantic venture of mine. It was cathartic, and romantic, and altogether validating. It was sweet, but too intense, and I found myself scrambling to incorporate this new/old man into my new life. It felt good to have someone take care of me for a change, and it felt great when he was there and D was there too. But after a month and a half, it was too much, and I realized that there was no way that he and I could be together. Somehow, no matter how hard we tried, we just weren't right for each other. Me being me, and him being him - neither one of us ended up feeling very good about ourselves, for various reasons. The hardest part was, I had this figured out within weeks, and now it's nearly a year later and I'm not sure he's ever going to really understand it. He's a wonderful guy, terrific in fact. He's just not for me, and I hurt him, and therefore I don't want to draw out this section in case this story ever gets further than you, dear readers. He deserves happiness, and he will not find that here, sadly. Fini sidebar.]
So, I will fast-forward through the spring, and will give you a sense of what I did, outside of the aforementioned brief affair.
I slept.
That's right, I slept.
For months, I would do the following:
Wake up. Get ready for work. Get Little One ready for daycare. Pack lunches. Drop off Little One at daycare. Go to work. Work. Come home. Pick up Little One (or not, depending on if it was D's day). Bring her home. Have dinner. Bathe, brush teeth, put on pajamas, read a book, Little One's asleep by 8. Take one or one-half of a Xanax. Spend an hour doing chores around the house. Go to bed. Sleep hard.
Blather, wince, repeat.
On some level, I knew that I was going through a phase, or process, that I needed to go through. I also knew that I was just dead tired from years of D, and from months of trying to extricate myself from a horrid situation.
I also knew that food was a wonderful way to cure my in-the-moment blues and anxieties.
So I made a deal with myself: just get through to June. June has always been my month. It's my birthday month, I love the time of year it represents, and it's my birthday month. (Yeah, it's worth mentioning twice, it's that important to me.)
My idea of getting through was to a) sleep; b) take care of Little One and be completely devoted to her; c) show zero interest in being with the opposite sex; and d) eat whatever the hell I wanted, but figure out an exercise regimen. I pretty much did all of those, though not in equal measure all the time.
But the ultimate point was this: I had to just cut myself some slack.
After a lifetime of trying to be perfect, and failing miserably, I had the ultimate black mark: a divorce on my record. Therefore, anyone who might know me, or might ever know me, would know one very important thing about me: I...am not...perfect. ThereIsaidit.
And hey, maybe that - in retrospect - might not be - a bad thing...? Could it be? Could it possibly be that not striving to be perfect might, in the long run, actually prove a healthier, more fulfilling posture for me?
Well, hell, I thought - anything's possible, might as well try this on for size.
Armed with an ongoing prescription to Xanax, lots of new sheets and pillows, junk food, and a treadclimber, I jumped into the breach with both feet.
But then came May.
There was a brief, fun, but ultimately ill-advised reunion with an old boyfriend. It started a few days after the divorce was final, when he moved back to my city. It felt so normal, so natural! It was great! I was thrilled to find out that D had not actually broken me, I had just felt broken.
But then I came to realize that the person that I had re-found was ultimately the same one I'd split up with nearly a dozen years ago. And there was nothing left there but memories - I needed to either have something new, or nothing at all. So I chose nothing, and in doing so, chose myself and Little One. But I didn't figure that out until much later.
[Sidebar. I don't want to diminish the importance of this particular romantic venture of mine. It was cathartic, and romantic, and altogether validating. It was sweet, but too intense, and I found myself scrambling to incorporate this new/old man into my new life. It felt good to have someone take care of me for a change, and it felt great when he was there and D was there too. But after a month and a half, it was too much, and I realized that there was no way that he and I could be together. Somehow, no matter how hard we tried, we just weren't right for each other. Me being me, and him being him - neither one of us ended up feeling very good about ourselves, for various reasons. The hardest part was, I had this figured out within weeks, and now it's nearly a year later and I'm not sure he's ever going to really understand it. He's a wonderful guy, terrific in fact. He's just not for me, and I hurt him, and therefore I don't want to draw out this section in case this story ever gets further than you, dear readers. He deserves happiness, and he will not find that here, sadly. Fini sidebar.]
So, I will fast-forward through the spring, and will give you a sense of what I did, outside of the aforementioned brief affair.
I slept.
That's right, I slept.
For months, I would do the following:
Wake up. Get ready for work. Get Little One ready for daycare. Pack lunches. Drop off Little One at daycare. Go to work. Work. Come home. Pick up Little One (or not, depending on if it was D's day). Bring her home. Have dinner. Bathe, brush teeth, put on pajamas, read a book, Little One's asleep by 8. Take one or one-half of a Xanax. Spend an hour doing chores around the house. Go to bed. Sleep hard.
Blather, wince, repeat.
On some level, I knew that I was going through a phase, or process, that I needed to go through. I also knew that I was just dead tired from years of D, and from months of trying to extricate myself from a horrid situation.
I also knew that food was a wonderful way to cure my in-the-moment blues and anxieties.
So I made a deal with myself: just get through to June. June has always been my month. It's my birthday month, I love the time of year it represents, and it's my birthday month. (Yeah, it's worth mentioning twice, it's that important to me.)
My idea of getting through was to a) sleep; b) take care of Little One and be completely devoted to her; c) show zero interest in being with the opposite sex; and d) eat whatever the hell I wanted, but figure out an exercise regimen. I pretty much did all of those, though not in equal measure all the time.
But the ultimate point was this: I had to just cut myself some slack.
After a lifetime of trying to be perfect, and failing miserably, I had the ultimate black mark: a divorce on my record. Therefore, anyone who might know me, or might ever know me, would know one very important thing about me: I...am not...perfect. ThereIsaidit.
And hey, maybe that - in retrospect - might not be - a bad thing...? Could it be? Could it possibly be that not striving to be perfect might, in the long run, actually prove a healthier, more fulfilling posture for me?
Well, hell, I thought - anything's possible, might as well try this on for size.
Armed with an ongoing prescription to Xanax, lots of new sheets and pillows, junk food, and a treadclimber, I jumped into the breach with both feet.
But then came May.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
29. The Opposite of a Wedding
New Year's had come and gone. Symbolically speaking, I had made the break I needed to make, between a shitty 2009 and a (hopefully) better 2010. I figured, hey, it probably couldn't get much worse. But just in case, I thought I'd try and be grateful for what I did have: a sweet, smart, firecracker of a Little One. A home that I could pay for. A job I didn't hate. Friends who rather patiently waited for me to start engaging with them again. And, most of all, I had a court date to keep.
The court date was sandwiched right in the middle of the workday. As a precaution, I opted to forgo mascara.
At 11:50am, I posted to my Facebook account: "I'm hurtling towards the finish line."
At 12:50pm, I started the walk to the courthouse.
The courthouse in my city is a large, imposing, ornately Greco-Roman structure with multiple floors. It's both austerely imposing and aesthetically pleasing. It toes the line between "You're here because you did something wrong, and we're here to punish you" and "You're here because someone else did something wrong, and you have to clean up after them."
On one floor of this building, it's where families are created, and families are also broken apart.
Today was January 4, the first business day of the new year, and I was damn ready to get divorced. I was sad, and slightly anxious, but D was nowhere in sight - he'd opted not to attend the proceedings - so I had only my whip-smart lawyer to keep me company. For $300 an hour, I actually saw her as a bargain against the alternative.
I waited in the lobby next to the "Family Law" court. This was a couple of floors below where I'd taken that parenting seminar, but no less depressing. I was the only woman in a long line of despondent faces.
My lawyer arrived, and we went in. You know how courts always appear in the movies or on TV, where, no matter what the infraction or matter to be addressed, there's always a stately wood-paneled, high-ceilinged room with multiple guards, agitated lawyers, solemn defendants, and pew-like benches? Well, this was exactly the opposite of that. Except for the pews, they did have those.
1:00 came, and we sat down. My lawyer approached the judge, a kindly-looking grey-haired woman in a black robe, seated on a dais of justice. One supposes. My lawyer gave the judge's clerk some paperwork, then came back down and sat with me.
One couple after another approached the judge. She would ask them each three questions: Are you so-and-so and are you such-and-such? Do you have any children? Do both of you agree that you are to be divorced?
Each couple uttered the right words. Each couple parted, sadly smiling. Then there was me, walking up to the judge, alone. So appropos, I thought.
She asked me the questions. She smiled as she asked them, and I smiled back. Yes, that is my name. Yes, we have a child. Yes, we agree to divorce. My lawyer uttered some legalese.
Stamp, sign, a nod to my laywer - and I was divorced. Wow, I was divorced. I was officially a divorcee.
My lawyer stamped, then gave me a stack of papers. She escorted me to another part of the floor. Ever practical, she said, "I would happily wait here with you, but I'd charge you to do it. It's up to you."
I gave her a hug and said "Thanks, I'm good." She left. Expensive, but I liked her. I was sorry to see her go.
And so I stood in line, waiting for a clerk to take my paperwork and certify it, and file it. All that pomp and circumstance to get married, and this is how it ends, I couldn't help but stand there thinking. I didn't even wear mascara!
After the paperwork was done, I called my parents and told them that all had gone well. They were subdued, but I could tell they were delighted for me to have finished this part.
I returned to work. I hadn't shed a tear. Opening my laptop, I logged back in to Facebook and wrote, "I am all done. Finito. Free."
The court date was sandwiched right in the middle of the workday. As a precaution, I opted to forgo mascara.
At 11:50am, I posted to my Facebook account: "I'm hurtling towards the finish line."
At 12:50pm, I started the walk to the courthouse.
The courthouse in my city is a large, imposing, ornately Greco-Roman structure with multiple floors. It's both austerely imposing and aesthetically pleasing. It toes the line between "You're here because you did something wrong, and we're here to punish you" and "You're here because someone else did something wrong, and you have to clean up after them."
On one floor of this building, it's where families are created, and families are also broken apart.
Today was January 4, the first business day of the new year, and I was damn ready to get divorced. I was sad, and slightly anxious, but D was nowhere in sight - he'd opted not to attend the proceedings - so I had only my whip-smart lawyer to keep me company. For $300 an hour, I actually saw her as a bargain against the alternative.
I waited in the lobby next to the "Family Law" court. This was a couple of floors below where I'd taken that parenting seminar, but no less depressing. I was the only woman in a long line of despondent faces.
My lawyer arrived, and we went in. You know how courts always appear in the movies or on TV, where, no matter what the infraction or matter to be addressed, there's always a stately wood-paneled, high-ceilinged room with multiple guards, agitated lawyers, solemn defendants, and pew-like benches? Well, this was exactly the opposite of that. Except for the pews, they did have those.
1:00 came, and we sat down. My lawyer approached the judge, a kindly-looking grey-haired woman in a black robe, seated on a dais of justice. One supposes. My lawyer gave the judge's clerk some paperwork, then came back down and sat with me.
One couple after another approached the judge. She would ask them each three questions: Are you so-and-so and are you such-and-such? Do you have any children? Do both of you agree that you are to be divorced?
Each couple uttered the right words. Each couple parted, sadly smiling. Then there was me, walking up to the judge, alone. So appropos, I thought.
She asked me the questions. She smiled as she asked them, and I smiled back. Yes, that is my name. Yes, we have a child. Yes, we agree to divorce. My lawyer uttered some legalese.
Stamp, sign, a nod to my laywer - and I was divorced. Wow, I was divorced. I was officially a divorcee.
My lawyer stamped, then gave me a stack of papers. She escorted me to another part of the floor. Ever practical, she said, "I would happily wait here with you, but I'd charge you to do it. It's up to you."
I gave her a hug and said "Thanks, I'm good." She left. Expensive, but I liked her. I was sorry to see her go.
And so I stood in line, waiting for a clerk to take my paperwork and certify it, and file it. All that pomp and circumstance to get married, and this is how it ends, I couldn't help but stand there thinking. I didn't even wear mascara!
After the paperwork was done, I called my parents and told them that all had gone well. They were subdued, but I could tell they were delighted for me to have finished this part.
I returned to work. I hadn't shed a tear. Opening my laptop, I logged back in to Facebook and wrote, "I am all done. Finito. Free."
Sunday, October 17, 2010
28. My least favorite holiday suddenly doesn't suck
[Sidebar. Alas, dear readers, I have not posted in some time, primarily because this drama that I have been writing about is, much to my surprise, still unfolding. I'm actually writing blog entries now which, chronologically speaking, won't be posted for some time. But the material is just too damn good not to share. We'll get there, and thanks for reading. Fini.]
I love Christmas, but I HATE New Year's.
I can think of nothing that I hate more than celebrating the passage of time. The only exception to this rule is if I am getting a bunch of presents with which to soften the blow. And then it's my birthday, so there's cake. And frosted baked goods make just about anything better.
I also hate the whole "having someone to kiss at midnight" schtick. So I was determined - obsessed, really - to enjoy this particular New Year's Eve.
Fortunately, my soon-to-be-ex husband's cousin's family - those intrepid angels who had intervened in various ways during the divorce process to keep everyone sane - had a plan. Thank God.
Their neighbors, a nice couple with two small children, were having a New Year's party on East Coast time. This meant we could celebrate the ball dropping at Times Square without keeping the kiddoes up until the "actual" midnight for us. And D had expressed no interest in having Little One to himself on this night - I figured there was some bellydancer orgy somewhere that he'd be afraid to miss.
We arrived at the house on time, as I am wont to do. I felt completely socially awkward at this point. Here I was, not-yet-divorced, feeling rather alone in the world, dancing with my daughter, at what was a pretty great party, actually. But I could barely say two words to any of the adults all around me. I felt like a pariah. What did I have in common with these "happy couples," all of whom were couples, me feeling like a 19th wheel?
So I danced with the kids, and watched Little One have the time of her life, dancing up a storm with these kids, big and small. When we counted down to the new year and watched the ball drop, I swept up my Little One and gave her a big kiss...and it seemed so fitting, given how much of what had been happening would directly benefit her in the long term. Me too, of course – but I figured her life would be very different now, for the better, by seeing her mother healthy and happy. Maybe a little lonely, sometimes too, but that was okay for now, as far as I was concerned.
In just a few days I would be single again. Then what? Admittedly, I didn't really think anything else would change. There would be no bellowing chorus, no blaring trumpets, no shaking earth. Just...another day, no longer married. I had my Become Single Again appointment: January 4 at 2:00 at the courthouse. D would not need to be there, and since he had no lawyer, it was pointless anyway. There was nothing more to be done. Paperwork was signed and ready for submission. And I had gotten everything I wanted. (Except for being able to completely write him out of Little One's life, a situation that I still fear I will have to change once D starts drinking again. Because he will.)
It was time, finally, to focus on me. For real, this time. Not care about D and his shenanigans, or about his relationships or anything that didn’t directly impact Little One’s health and safety. I promised myself that I would yank my head out of the sand for her, and would watch him like a hawk watches her prey, waiting for the deadly blow. All he had to do, I told myself, was get out of line once, and it was done. Well, at least it made me feel better to think that I could do that.
Anyway. About me. I needed to focus on me now. I would be the better for it. D just didn’t matter anymore. He really, really didn't. It was like he was transparent to me now, there was nothing there when I looked at him other than some shaggy-haired guy who used to mean everything.
You mean nothing, D, I thought. You are nothing. Goodbye to you, and to the marriage.
Hello, 2010. Nice to meet you.
I love Christmas, but I HATE New Year's.
I can think of nothing that I hate more than celebrating the passage of time. The only exception to this rule is if I am getting a bunch of presents with which to soften the blow. And then it's my birthday, so there's cake. And frosted baked goods make just about anything better.
I also hate the whole "having someone to kiss at midnight" schtick. So I was determined - obsessed, really - to enjoy this particular New Year's Eve.
Fortunately, my soon-to-be-ex husband's cousin's family - those intrepid angels who had intervened in various ways during the divorce process to keep everyone sane - had a plan. Thank God.
Their neighbors, a nice couple with two small children, were having a New Year's party on East Coast time. This meant we could celebrate the ball dropping at Times Square without keeping the kiddoes up until the "actual" midnight for us. And D had expressed no interest in having Little One to himself on this night - I figured there was some bellydancer orgy somewhere that he'd be afraid to miss.
We arrived at the house on time, as I am wont to do. I felt completely socially awkward at this point. Here I was, not-yet-divorced, feeling rather alone in the world, dancing with my daughter, at what was a pretty great party, actually. But I could barely say two words to any of the adults all around me. I felt like a pariah. What did I have in common with these "happy couples," all of whom were couples, me feeling like a 19th wheel?
So I danced with the kids, and watched Little One have the time of her life, dancing up a storm with these kids, big and small. When we counted down to the new year and watched the ball drop, I swept up my Little One and gave her a big kiss...and it seemed so fitting, given how much of what had been happening would directly benefit her in the long term. Me too, of course – but I figured her life would be very different now, for the better, by seeing her mother healthy and happy. Maybe a little lonely, sometimes too, but that was okay for now, as far as I was concerned.
In just a few days I would be single again. Then what? Admittedly, I didn't really think anything else would change. There would be no bellowing chorus, no blaring trumpets, no shaking earth. Just...another day, no longer married. I had my Become Single Again appointment: January 4 at 2:00 at the courthouse. D would not need to be there, and since he had no lawyer, it was pointless anyway. There was nothing more to be done. Paperwork was signed and ready for submission. And I had gotten everything I wanted. (Except for being able to completely write him out of Little One's life, a situation that I still fear I will have to change once D starts drinking again. Because he will.)
It was time, finally, to focus on me. For real, this time. Not care about D and his shenanigans, or about his relationships or anything that didn’t directly impact Little One’s health and safety. I promised myself that I would yank my head out of the sand for her, and would watch him like a hawk watches her prey, waiting for the deadly blow. All he had to do, I told myself, was get out of line once, and it was done. Well, at least it made me feel better to think that I could do that.
Anyway. About me. I needed to focus on me now. I would be the better for it. D just didn’t matter anymore. He really, really didn't. It was like he was transparent to me now, there was nothing there when I looked at him other than some shaggy-haired guy who used to mean everything.
You mean nothing, D, I thought. You are nothing. Goodbye to you, and to the marriage.
Hello, 2010. Nice to meet you.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
27. Where is Happy again? It's not on the map.
The weekend that D was away with the bellydander on some bellydancing convention in Cityville, I was staying calm by counting my blessings.
I had a gorgeous, terrific, funny, sweet, charming Little One.
I had a house that I could afford to keep, therefore keeping Little One in her home.
I had a good job.
I no longer had to worry about D.
That last one was the one that kept making the most difference, because it allowed me to back the hell up a little and see my life for what it really was. The more I was away from D, the more I started to peel away the layers I'd put on myself during years of self-protection and find me, the me I'd been before the marriage.
I was astounded to discover how much I had changed who I was in order to save my marriage.
And I was ever so slightly more astounded to discover that D had absolutely no idea.
No wonder I'd resented him for years. No wonder I'd been completely passive aggressive. I kept moving, and shifting, and changing, and morphing, the whole time trying to become a woman who could first keep D happy, and then keep D and Little One happy. I realized that I had completely forgotten about myself.
And it showed. I had never lost the 20 pounds of baby weight; in fact, I'd gained another ten. I was drawn and sallow. My laugh sounded forced and slightly harsh. I hated myself for failing in my marriage, hated myself for being an imperfect mother, hated myself for not being a perfect wife.
How had I missed this?
In retrospect, I don't think I did miss it; I think I knew the whole time, but kept my head firmly planted in the sand. I just didn't want to come to terms with what I was doing or why I was doing it. I just wanted to forge ahead, and get to some point called "Happy" which was out there, somewhere, floating nebulously between here and death.
So when D returned from his bellydancer orgy or whatever it was (can you tell how much that stung?), I was able to be even and kind and bored with him. I didn't ask how his trip was. I didn't dig for information. I just kind of existed, calmly, not engaging in any small talk, just focusing on being me. Whoever that might turn out to be.
Interestingly, that same weekend, I got four calls from "Anonymous" on my phone. The irony was not lost on me. I was never home when any of them came through, and they didn't leave a phone number. But part of me fantasized that Mr. Anonymous was calling me for some reason...perhaps he just couldn't wait for the juicy morsels I could deliver?
And so, then it was Christmas. And my present to myself was the strictest of parenting plans. It addressed D's drug use and alcoholism. It gave me license to request a pee test if I ever felt that D had been drinking or drugging prior to having Little One. I could even take him to court over anything I might deem appropriate. And I had explained each of these points to him.
And what did he do when I explained each and every point? You might remember, he nodded and said, Okay, next. That was all. That lack of engagement made me crazy and happy at the same time. On the one hand, I was getting exactly the level of control that I wanted and needed to have in order to protect Little One long-term. On the other hand, HOW DID HE NOT CARE?! I just didn't get it.
Either way, I was getting the divorce I deserved. And so I added to my list of blessings:
I had a devilish little angel named Sally the Bellydancer, and she gave me everything I ever wanted for Christmas.
Of course, that didn't mean I hated her any less. I'm only human, after all.
I had a gorgeous, terrific, funny, sweet, charming Little One.
I had a house that I could afford to keep, therefore keeping Little One in her home.
I had a good job.
I no longer had to worry about D.
That last one was the one that kept making the most difference, because it allowed me to back the hell up a little and see my life for what it really was. The more I was away from D, the more I started to peel away the layers I'd put on myself during years of self-protection and find me, the me I'd been before the marriage.
I was astounded to discover how much I had changed who I was in order to save my marriage.
And I was ever so slightly more astounded to discover that D had absolutely no idea.
No wonder I'd resented him for years. No wonder I'd been completely passive aggressive. I kept moving, and shifting, and changing, and morphing, the whole time trying to become a woman who could first keep D happy, and then keep D and Little One happy. I realized that I had completely forgotten about myself.
And it showed. I had never lost the 20 pounds of baby weight; in fact, I'd gained another ten. I was drawn and sallow. My laugh sounded forced and slightly harsh. I hated myself for failing in my marriage, hated myself for being an imperfect mother, hated myself for not being a perfect wife.
How had I missed this?
In retrospect, I don't think I did miss it; I think I knew the whole time, but kept my head firmly planted in the sand. I just didn't want to come to terms with what I was doing or why I was doing it. I just wanted to forge ahead, and get to some point called "Happy" which was out there, somewhere, floating nebulously between here and death.
So when D returned from his bellydancer orgy or whatever it was (can you tell how much that stung?), I was able to be even and kind and bored with him. I didn't ask how his trip was. I didn't dig for information. I just kind of existed, calmly, not engaging in any small talk, just focusing on being me. Whoever that might turn out to be.
Interestingly, that same weekend, I got four calls from "Anonymous" on my phone. The irony was not lost on me. I was never home when any of them came through, and they didn't leave a phone number. But part of me fantasized that Mr. Anonymous was calling me for some reason...perhaps he just couldn't wait for the juicy morsels I could deliver?
And so, then it was Christmas. And my present to myself was the strictest of parenting plans. It addressed D's drug use and alcoholism. It gave me license to request a pee test if I ever felt that D had been drinking or drugging prior to having Little One. I could even take him to court over anything I might deem appropriate. And I had explained each of these points to him.
And what did he do when I explained each and every point? You might remember, he nodded and said, Okay, next. That was all. That lack of engagement made me crazy and happy at the same time. On the one hand, I was getting exactly the level of control that I wanted and needed to have in order to protect Little One long-term. On the other hand, HOW DID HE NOT CARE?! I just didn't get it.
Either way, I was getting the divorce I deserved. And so I added to my list of blessings:
I had a devilish little angel named Sally the Bellydancer, and she gave me everything I ever wanted for Christmas.
Of course, that didn't mean I hated her any less. I'm only human, after all.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
26. Smug and Untrusthworthy? Who, me?
Yeah, so...this night, the night before D was going to leave for some fucking bellydancer orgy in Cityville, I was feeling happy that Mr. Bellydancer (alleged) wanted to talk to me and reveal himself. And I was thrilled at the prospect of getting some sense of revenge - even if it was just in my head.
After D brought Little One in, I could tell he was worked up about something. He was doing that chewing-the-inside-of-his-cheek thing which was a direct indicator of shit about to fly. So I waited, patiently, sitting on my couch (throne), as D (my subject) chewed his cheeks and worked up the cojones to say something "important."
(As I look back on this moment now, I know that he was uncomfortable with what he was about to do, on some level, i.e. going away with this married woman while he was still married. Even though she'd filed for divorce a month after I had, it was still just an ugly thing to do, especially the weekend before Christmas. The worse part was, he had voluntarily given up time with his daughter to do it. That part bugged me the most.)
But at this point, I just sat, and waited.
Finally he launched in to some sort of revision of the parenting plan that he wanted - some different hours or nights or weekend days or some such. It was at this point that I realized - quite rightly - that he was baiting me into a confrontation.
So I smiled. I smiled, and it unnerved him. It's actually a good thing that he didn't know me better, because the basis of my smile was this: D, I'm going to fuck you up the ass with your girlfriend's husband. But the end result of unnerving him was to catapult him that much further down the cheek-chewing path to confrontation.
At some point, I came right out and told him that him giving up time with Little One so early into the parenting plan process was not a very good sign for his ability to stick with the parenting plan in the future.
"What, you mean you don't trust me?" he asked. He actually asked that question of me.
I told him I believed he believed he could be a good dad and stick to the plan. "But you think I won’t be able to do it," he stated.
"All I have to base my opinion on is the past. And the present, which hasn’t been so hot, either," I explained.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked. Again, he actually asked that question.
"D, you've had a girlfriend behind my back since September, and that informs my ability to trust you in this moment."
"Well," D fumed, "I don't trust you either. Through our whole marriage, we could talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, and nothing would ever change, and you're telling me that the past doesn't matter, and it's just what I recently did that matters."
"Oh no, D," I corrected him. "Our marriage is certainly on the table when I consider how trustworthy you are."
As I delivered this truth, I just smiled, calmly. It was true that our marriage had been full of things that we had both promised each other we would do for each other, and then not done. I would get in shape. He would stop drinking. I would try to keep the house cleaner. He would stop drinking. I would help him find a job. He would stop drinking.
"You're so fucking smug, sitting there on your couch," he replied.
At this moment, it felt great to calmly look him in the eye from my perch, and simply say, "You know what, D? I think I'm done talking for tonight. This conversation isn't going to go anywhere, and we both know that. So why don't you head on out, and we'll see you when you get back."
A few minutes later, with a couple of mea culpas thrown in for good measure (by him, I mean), he slunk out the door.
So – there you have it. The more he pushed me on stuff like this, the more I could see his “tells” – the quicker speech pattern, the tightening of the face, the one foot out the door (literally). And it’s funny how, in being honest with him, he turned it around and made the whole thing into my fault. How often has he done this in our marriage? I had to wonder. But I also finally knew that it was pointless to try and reason with him, that’s for damn sure.
And so – I decided that night that my new goal was to no longer expect, nor need, reason from him. I was astounded by just how wrong he had been, about everything. He really did see things a certain way, and had no ability to reign in his words when his emotions got the better of him.
And ultimately, he just sounded really dumb. And that was not my fault, I knew that much, at least.
Later that night, I was feeling pretty calm. I just didn’t have it in me to get all worked up about this stuff now. There had been so much that had happened, and at this moment in time, I had ALL the paperwork signed, sealed, and ready to be delivered to the courthouse come the first business day in January. For my own emotional growth and well-being, I had no more to gain from being invested in him, or in how he reacted to me or things I said. What’s more, I had nothing to gain from reacting to him with anything other than calm smiles. That apparently made him NUTS! I loved it!
There was one other point that I realized; during the course of this conversation, he only really started to get defensive when I mentioned the girlfriend.
I didn’t expect any sort of mea culpa on this. I should have probably made that my mantra from now on. Throw it out there, just let it be, and then just shrug when he tries to throw it all back at me. And smile.
I felt so, so lucky to be getting out of this marriage! No wonder I had been so unhappy for so long. D was just so out of touch and unhappy and touchy and defensive and selfish and stupid and hurtful and self-righteous.
Two nights before this, I was heartbroken over the fact that he was going away with the bellydancer. Then, I had the email conversation with Anonymous Tipper, with him/her asking me to help them. So tonight, I felt great when he was here, didn’t really care to be offended or anything. Because I kept thinking, I AM GOING TO BREAK YOU.
Even if I didn't end up actually doing it still felt good at that moment to think that I might.
Oh, and one more thing.
I had purposely left out the new Tiger Woods scandal-laden People magazine cover on the coffee table, directly in D's line of sight. (This was the one for Dec. 21, 2009, and the headline was INSIDE HER ORDEAL: More cheating revealed, etc.) And while he and I were talking about something else, he rearranged two DVDs on the table to cover up the magazine. I suspect that he didn't even know he was doing it.
Like so much in his existence, D had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
I felt exhilarated with this new knowledge until I realized one terrible truth:
This man was still my Little One's father, and I would have to figure out how to protect her from him.
Well, so that would have to come next, in the form of the extremely strict parenting plan.
After D brought Little One in, I could tell he was worked up about something. He was doing that chewing-the-inside-of-his-cheek thing which was a direct indicator of shit about to fly. So I waited, patiently, sitting on my couch (throne), as D (my subject) chewed his cheeks and worked up the cojones to say something "important."
(As I look back on this moment now, I know that he was uncomfortable with what he was about to do, on some level, i.e. going away with this married woman while he was still married. Even though she'd filed for divorce a month after I had, it was still just an ugly thing to do, especially the weekend before Christmas. The worse part was, he had voluntarily given up time with his daughter to do it. That part bugged me the most.)
But at this point, I just sat, and waited.
Finally he launched in to some sort of revision of the parenting plan that he wanted - some different hours or nights or weekend days or some such. It was at this point that I realized - quite rightly - that he was baiting me into a confrontation.
So I smiled. I smiled, and it unnerved him. It's actually a good thing that he didn't know me better, because the basis of my smile was this: D, I'm going to fuck you up the ass with your girlfriend's husband. But the end result of unnerving him was to catapult him that much further down the cheek-chewing path to confrontation.
At some point, I came right out and told him that him giving up time with Little One so early into the parenting plan process was not a very good sign for his ability to stick with the parenting plan in the future.
"What, you mean you don't trust me?" he asked. He actually asked that question of me.
I told him I believed he believed he could be a good dad and stick to the plan. "But you think I won’t be able to do it," he stated.
"All I have to base my opinion on is the past. And the present, which hasn’t been so hot, either," I explained.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked. Again, he actually asked that question.
"D, you've had a girlfriend behind my back since September, and that informs my ability to trust you in this moment."
"Well," D fumed, "I don't trust you either. Through our whole marriage, we could talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, and nothing would ever change, and you're telling me that the past doesn't matter, and it's just what I recently did that matters."
"Oh no, D," I corrected him. "Our marriage is certainly on the table when I consider how trustworthy you are."
As I delivered this truth, I just smiled, calmly. It was true that our marriage had been full of things that we had both promised each other we would do for each other, and then not done. I would get in shape. He would stop drinking. I would try to keep the house cleaner. He would stop drinking. I would help him find a job. He would stop drinking.
"You're so fucking smug, sitting there on your couch," he replied.
At this moment, it felt great to calmly look him in the eye from my perch, and simply say, "You know what, D? I think I'm done talking for tonight. This conversation isn't going to go anywhere, and we both know that. So why don't you head on out, and we'll see you when you get back."
A few minutes later, with a couple of mea culpas thrown in for good measure (by him, I mean), he slunk out the door.
So – there you have it. The more he pushed me on stuff like this, the more I could see his “tells” – the quicker speech pattern, the tightening of the face, the one foot out the door (literally). And it’s funny how, in being honest with him, he turned it around and made the whole thing into my fault. How often has he done this in our marriage? I had to wonder. But I also finally knew that it was pointless to try and reason with him, that’s for damn sure.
And so – I decided that night that my new goal was to no longer expect, nor need, reason from him. I was astounded by just how wrong he had been, about everything. He really did see things a certain way, and had no ability to reign in his words when his emotions got the better of him.
And ultimately, he just sounded really dumb. And that was not my fault, I knew that much, at least.
Later that night, I was feeling pretty calm. I just didn’t have it in me to get all worked up about this stuff now. There had been so much that had happened, and at this moment in time, I had ALL the paperwork signed, sealed, and ready to be delivered to the courthouse come the first business day in January. For my own emotional growth and well-being, I had no more to gain from being invested in him, or in how he reacted to me or things I said. What’s more, I had nothing to gain from reacting to him with anything other than calm smiles. That apparently made him NUTS! I loved it!
There was one other point that I realized; during the course of this conversation, he only really started to get defensive when I mentioned the girlfriend.
I didn’t expect any sort of mea culpa on this. I should have probably made that my mantra from now on. Throw it out there, just let it be, and then just shrug when he tries to throw it all back at me. And smile.
I felt so, so lucky to be getting out of this marriage! No wonder I had been so unhappy for so long. D was just so out of touch and unhappy and touchy and defensive and selfish and stupid and hurtful and self-righteous.
Two nights before this, I was heartbroken over the fact that he was going away with the bellydancer. Then, I had the email conversation with Anonymous Tipper, with him/her asking me to help them. So tonight, I felt great when he was here, didn’t really care to be offended or anything. Because I kept thinking, I AM GOING TO BREAK YOU.
Even if I didn't end up actually doing it still felt good at that moment to think that I might.
Oh, and one more thing.
I had purposely left out the new Tiger Woods scandal-laden People magazine cover on the coffee table, directly in D's line of sight. (This was the one for Dec. 21, 2009, and the headline was INSIDE HER ORDEAL: More cheating revealed, etc.) And while he and I were talking about something else, he rearranged two DVDs on the table to cover up the magazine. I suspect that he didn't even know he was doing it.
Like so much in his existence, D had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
I felt exhilarated with this new knowledge until I realized one terrible truth:
This man was still my Little One's father, and I would have to figure out how to protect her from him.
Well, so that would have to come next, in the form of the extremely strict parenting plan.
25. The High Road Sucks.
Mr. Anonymous was nothing if not relatively time-sensitive. In fact, he responded within 2 hours.
From: anonymous [mailto:husbandishavinganaffair@gmail.com]
Ah, so it IS you, Mr. Bellydancer, I thought, as I read the email response. Well. Okay, then.
I wasn't ready to talk to him. I had my eye on a singular prize: a January divorce. I was going to have my divorce finalized on the first weekday in January, so that I could file joint taxes for the year I was in, and still get the divorce done as quickly as possible. Two weeks, I figured, roughly two weeks. I could wait.
So I figured I'd write back right away, letting Mr. Anonymous know my exact timeframe.
Conversation: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Thanks, I appreciate that. I do have one question for you with respect to timing: do you have a specific date by which you'd like to talk and potentially receive the information you need?
I'm asking because I anticipate having my divorce finalized in court the week of Jan. 4. I am wondering if perhaps it might be better if I wait until after that date to speak with you. Would that work for you? As you can probably tell, I'm extremely excited at the prospect of no longer being married, and want to be cautious about rocking the boat until then. :)
With respect to how to handle a call, I have a personal conference line - seems like the most logical way for both of us to proceed. I can give you that call-in info once we settle on timing.
His response, once again, came within hours.
From: anonymous [mailto:husbandishavinganaffair@gmail.com]
Sent: Friday, December 18, 2:48 PM
To: Penelope
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Sounds good, Penelope. Let's chat once your situation is finalized. Thank you.
Ever solicitous, this Mr. Anonymous. (Kind of reminded me of D, when he was trying to get something he wanted. And D would become even more like that post-divorce - but more on that later.)
Against the backdrop of D leaving the next morning for Cityville with the bellydancer for a weekend of bellydancing and who knows what all else, I found this recent development with Mr. Anonymous nothing short of elating. Finally, I thought - I will know for sure who this motherfucker/angel is, and I will be able to put all of this to rest! I can't tell you how good it felt, just to think about being the kind of person who would use him to get back at the bellydancer and D.
I say "think about being the kind of person" because, realistically, I'm not a rabble-rouser. Getting in trouble makes me sick to my stomach. The thrill of these moments was rooted in their impossibility. I could never be that person.
And that really, really pissed me off.
The high road is simply exhausting. So what if I wanted to take an imaginary detour every once in a while? I was entitled, I figured. I'd followed the letter of the law in everything related to the divorce. I was a pretty fine mom. I worked hard. I made sure D was provided for in the financials, short of giving him alimony.
So that evening, when D came over to drop off Little One from one of his pre-arranged manny visits with her (I called him the manny - male nanny - regularly, but never to his face), I was feeling rather happy. It was odd, since "happy" was not an emotion I'd felt very much when D was around, not for a long time.
And thus began the final Big Fight of 2009: where D accused me of being "smug" and "untrustworthy." Yep, really. I'll get to that in the next post.
From: anonymous [mailto:husbandishavinganaffair@gmail.com]
Sent: Friday, December 18, 11:14 AM
To: Penelope
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Absolutely. I understand, as my situation is also delicate (and parallel in more ways than one :).
Please let me know the best way to handle a call when you're ready.
Ah, so it IS you, Mr. Bellydancer, I thought, as I read the email response. Well. Okay, then.
I wasn't ready to talk to him. I had my eye on a singular prize: a January divorce. I was going to have my divorce finalized on the first weekday in January, so that I could file joint taxes for the year I was in, and still get the divorce done as quickly as possible. Two weeks, I figured, roughly two weeks. I could wait.
So I figured I'd write back right away, letting Mr. Anonymous know my exact timeframe.
From: "Penelope"
Date: Fri, 18 Dec 11:24:32 -0800
To: anonymous Conversation: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Thanks, I appreciate that. I do have one question for you with respect to timing: do you have a specific date by which you'd like to talk and potentially receive the information you need?
I'm asking because I anticipate having my divorce finalized in court the week of Jan. 4. I am wondering if perhaps it might be better if I wait until after that date to speak with you. Would that work for you? As you can probably tell, I'm extremely excited at the prospect of no longer being married, and want to be cautious about rocking the boat until then. :)
With respect to how to handle a call, I have a personal conference line - seems like the most logical way for both of us to proceed. I can give you that call-in info once we settle on timing.
His response, once again, came within hours.
From: anonymous [mailto:husbandishavinganaffair@gmail.com]
Sent: Friday, December 18, 2:48 PM
To: Penelope
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Sounds good, Penelope. Let's chat once your situation is finalized. Thank you.
Ever solicitous, this Mr. Anonymous. (Kind of reminded me of D, when he was trying to get something he wanted. And D would become even more like that post-divorce - but more on that later.)
Against the backdrop of D leaving the next morning for Cityville with the bellydancer for a weekend of bellydancing and who knows what all else, I found this recent development with Mr. Anonymous nothing short of elating. Finally, I thought - I will know for sure who this motherfucker/angel is, and I will be able to put all of this to rest! I can't tell you how good it felt, just to think about being the kind of person who would use him to get back at the bellydancer and D.
I say "think about being the kind of person" because, realistically, I'm not a rabble-rouser. Getting in trouble makes me sick to my stomach. The thrill of these moments was rooted in their impossibility. I could never be that person.
And that really, really pissed me off.
The high road is simply exhausting. So what if I wanted to take an imaginary detour every once in a while? I was entitled, I figured. I'd followed the letter of the law in everything related to the divorce. I was a pretty fine mom. I worked hard. I made sure D was provided for in the financials, short of giving him alimony.
So that evening, when D came over to drop off Little One from one of his pre-arranged manny visits with her (I called him the manny - male nanny - regularly, but never to his face), I was feeling rather happy. It was odd, since "happy" was not an emotion I'd felt very much when D was around, not for a long time.
And thus began the final Big Fight of 2009: where D accused me of being "smug" and "untrustworthy." Yep, really. I'll get to that in the next post.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
24. "D Needs to Prove He's a Good Guy" Lane
Right around this time, I decided to count my blessings again. While I was most grateful for my child, our health, and the fact that I could pay my bills and put food on our table, I was exceedingly grateful that the divorce was going so smoothly.
"Have you called a lawyer to represent you?" I'd ask.
"No, I trust you to do everything and to do it right," D would reply.
"We have to work out the parenting plan, to establish what nights you'll have her. Let's sit down and talk through these 18 outstanding points," I'd say.
"Okay," he would reply. And after I'd taken him through each one, he'd say, "They all sound great."
"I can't afford to and won't give you alimony," I'd say.
"Okay, I understand," he'd say.
"The state expects you to pay this much in child support every month," I'd say.
"Okay," he'd say. "When are you giving me half of your 401K again?"
Well, okay. Up until that last point - which came up a lot, and the answer was "not until after the divorce is final, so I can provide the financial firm with the divorce decree" - you can see that we had turned a corner in our conflict negotiation. We'd been on D Wins No Matter What Street so long, I nearly missed the hard right turn around D Screwed Up Big-Time Corner leading into to D Needs to Prove He's a Good Guy Lane. And now that I was there, I was planning on building a house there.
But all was not well. Even though the divorce was going easily and quickly - it appeared that the divorce process would last only four months - I was deeply hurt that D would be going to Cityville with Bellydancer a few days before Christmas. It just plain hurt, for the reasons I outlined in the last post. And it was clear to me that he really didn't get why I would be hurt.
So I tuned him out, as best I could. When he came over, I said please and thank you, but did not engage in conversation with him beyond questions related to Little One. I limited all contact as much as possible. It didn't matter: I could only think of the fact that he was choosing to go away with this whore the weekend before Christmas and give up time with Little One to do it, so fresh into our parenting plan adventures. And the worst part was that he seemed impervious to the emotional ramifications for me.
That’s where I kept getting caught in my thought process: he simply didn’t care about my feelings anymore.
But really, when had he ever? He would say he did, and he seemed to, sometimes. But other times he’d say horrible things and be terrible. Had that person really ever cared about me?
I wasn't not sure he ever had. He hated himself too much to really love anyone else. Or some other bullshit like that.
Whatever. The truth is, he just didn’t care about how I felt or what I felt anymore. I mean, it was clear that he hadn’t during this whole divorce process, although I guess if you count him “hiding” his relationship with the mother-whore, then sure, he must have cared. But I don’t really think he honestly cared about my feelings. He cared about getting caught and being called out on being the cad he is.
I was so, so disappointed in him. And I was disappointed in myself for loving him for so long and for buying his bullshit for years. He never really changed. He never really wanted the life he said he wanted. He rode my coattails for years, occasionally chipping in when he felt like it, but rather than get a job he told me I should just spend less.
I felt so much hate, so much anger about being betrayed - and it wasn't just that the divorce process had brought all this to light. No, with more time spent apart, I was starting to realize how much of my energy and life had been formerly dedicated to keeping D happy and to keeping the peace.
Man, but that asshole didn't deserve it. And oh, how I had tried.
So I reached out to Mr. Anonymous right after D told me about his little Cityville adventure coming up. Only, I reached out in a way I could feel good about:
I needed to reach out and thank this person who had helped me to achieve my new plot of land on D Needs to Prove He's a Good Guy Lane. Because it appeared I'd be able to live there quite comfortably for some time. Granted, I knew that Mr. Anonymous's motives were selfish ones, but I really did think the balance with D had tipped in my favor as a result of Mr. A. And I wanted him to know that.
Interestingly, I didn't hear back for over a week. When I did hear back, Mr. Anonymous timed his response to coincide with the trip that his wife and my husband were embarking on.
The more vengeful part of my brain replied, Ah, interesting, Mr. Anonymous - your timing is impeccable, as you must know that I could not be happy about the impending trip. What's more, you want to talk, eh? Well, now. This could be fun.
The paranoid part, the larger part, said in big bold letters, THIS GUY IS FUCKING CREEPY AND YOU NEED TO STEER CLEAR OF HIM UNTIL THE DIVORCE IS DONE! RUN! RUN!!
So, I did what I had failed to do throughout most of my marriage: I put myself first:
From: "Penelope" <>
Date: Fri, 18 Dec 10:02:44 -0800
To: anonymous
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Glad you wrote back. My interest is piqued, as is my curiosity. If I can, I would be happy to help you.
So - I will give you a qualified "yes," meaning that I'd be happy to talk to you on the phone, but can't really be sure what information I can and will share until I know who you are, and in what context you're asking. Strictly in the interest of protecting myself and the delicacies of my current situation - I hope you understand.
Does that work for you?
"Have you called a lawyer to represent you?" I'd ask.
"No, I trust you to do everything and to do it right," D would reply.
"We have to work out the parenting plan, to establish what nights you'll have her. Let's sit down and talk through these 18 outstanding points," I'd say.
"Okay," he would reply. And after I'd taken him through each one, he'd say, "They all sound great."
"I can't afford to and won't give you alimony," I'd say.
"Okay, I understand," he'd say.
"The state expects you to pay this much in child support every month," I'd say.
"Okay," he'd say. "When are you giving me half of your 401K again?"
Well, okay. Up until that last point - which came up a lot, and the answer was "not until after the divorce is final, so I can provide the financial firm with the divorce decree" - you can see that we had turned a corner in our conflict negotiation. We'd been on D Wins No Matter What Street so long, I nearly missed the hard right turn around D Screwed Up Big-Time Corner leading into to D Needs to Prove He's a Good Guy Lane. And now that I was there, I was planning on building a house there.
But all was not well. Even though the divorce was going easily and quickly - it appeared that the divorce process would last only four months - I was deeply hurt that D would be going to Cityville with Bellydancer a few days before Christmas. It just plain hurt, for the reasons I outlined in the last post. And it was clear to me that he really didn't get why I would be hurt.
So I tuned him out, as best I could. When he came over, I said please and thank you, but did not engage in conversation with him beyond questions related to Little One. I limited all contact as much as possible. It didn't matter: I could only think of the fact that he was choosing to go away with this whore the weekend before Christmas and give up time with Little One to do it, so fresh into our parenting plan adventures. And the worst part was that he seemed impervious to the emotional ramifications for me.
That’s where I kept getting caught in my thought process: he simply didn’t care about my feelings anymore.
But really, when had he ever? He would say he did, and he seemed to, sometimes. But other times he’d say horrible things and be terrible. Had that person really ever cared about me?
I wasn't not sure he ever had. He hated himself too much to really love anyone else. Or some other bullshit like that.
Whatever. The truth is, he just didn’t care about how I felt or what I felt anymore. I mean, it was clear that he hadn’t during this whole divorce process, although I guess if you count him “hiding” his relationship with the mother-whore, then sure, he must have cared. But I don’t really think he honestly cared about my feelings. He cared about getting caught and being called out on being the cad he is.
I was so, so disappointed in him. And I was disappointed in myself for loving him for so long and for buying his bullshit for years. He never really changed. He never really wanted the life he said he wanted. He rode my coattails for years, occasionally chipping in when he felt like it, but rather than get a job he told me I should just spend less.
I felt so much hate, so much anger about being betrayed - and it wasn't just that the divorce process had brought all this to light. No, with more time spent apart, I was starting to realize how much of my energy and life had been formerly dedicated to keeping D happy and to keeping the peace.
Man, but that asshole didn't deserve it. And oh, how I had tried.
So I reached out to Mr. Anonymous right after D told me about his little Cityville adventure coming up. Only, I reached out in a way I could feel good about:
From: Penelope <>
Sent: Friday, December 11, 9:45 AM
To: d_is_having_an_affair
Subject: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Hello again. I just wanted to let you know that I still appreciate you helping me to see the situation as it actually was, and not how it was being presented to me. It sparked a rather interesting and bumpy chain of events, the result of which is me getting the divorce my daughter and I deserve, so there was a lot of good that came out of it.
And the two people who caused this will now have each other to contend with. I can't tell you how much that both annoys me and pleases me. More so the latter than the former, however.
Granted, I still don't officially know who you are. So there's not much I can specifically address. Regardless, I wanted to wish you well, and again express my gratitude for having the balls to tell me what the coward I'm divorcing could not. It made a world of difference.
Penelope
Sent: Friday, December 11, 9:45 AM
To: d_is_having_an_affair
Subject: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Hello again. I just wanted to let you know that I still appreciate you helping me to see the situation as it actually was, and not how it was being presented to me. It sparked a rather interesting and bumpy chain of events, the result of which is me getting the divorce my daughter and I deserve, so there was a lot of good that came out of it.
And the two people who caused this will now have each other to contend with. I can't tell you how much that both annoys me and pleases me. More so the latter than the former, however.
Granted, I still don't officially know who you are. So there's not much I can specifically address. Regardless, I wanted to wish you well, and again express my gratitude for having the balls to tell me what the coward I'm divorcing could not. It made a world of difference.
Penelope
I needed to reach out and thank this person who had helped me to achieve my new plot of land on D Needs to Prove He's a Good Guy Lane. Because it appeared I'd be able to live there quite comfortably for some time. Granted, I knew that Mr. Anonymous's motives were selfish ones, but I really did think the balance with D had tipped in my favor as a result of Mr. A. And I wanted him to know that.
Interestingly, I didn't hear back for over a week. When I did hear back, Mr. Anonymous timed his response to coincide with the trip that his wife and my husband were embarking on.
From: anonymous [mailto:husbandishavinganaffair@gmail.com]
Sent: Friday, December 18, 9:51 AM
To: Penelope
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Penelope, I'm glad to know this was helpful to you. I struggled with whether or not to tell you. I did not want to meddle. But it was the right thing to do. I would have wanted someone to tell me.
It turns out that there is a chance you might have information that could help me. I wonder if we might set up a brief phone call sometime in the next couple weeks? I will be happy to confirm my identity then. Not trying to play games, it would just be easier that way.
Sent: Friday, December 18, 9:51 AM
To: Penelope
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Penelope, I'm glad to know this was helpful to you. I struggled with whether or not to tell you. I did not want to meddle. But it was the right thing to do. I would have wanted someone to tell me.
It turns out that there is a chance you might have information that could help me. I wonder if we might set up a brief phone call sometime in the next couple weeks? I will be happy to confirm my identity then. Not trying to play games, it would just be easier that way.
The more vengeful part of my brain replied, Ah, interesting, Mr. Anonymous - your timing is impeccable, as you must know that I could not be happy about the impending trip. What's more, you want to talk, eh? Well, now. This could be fun.
The paranoid part, the larger part, said in big bold letters, THIS GUY IS FUCKING CREEPY AND YOU NEED TO STEER CLEAR OF HIM UNTIL THE DIVORCE IS DONE! RUN! RUN!!
So, I did what I had failed to do throughout most of my marriage: I put myself first:
From: "Penelope" <>
Date: Fri, 18 Dec 10:02:44 -0800
To: anonymous
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Glad you wrote back. My interest is piqued, as is my curiosity. If I can, I would be happy to help you.
So - I will give you a qualified "yes," meaning that I'd be happy to talk to you on the phone, but can't really be sure what information I can and will share until I know who you are, and in what context you're asking. Strictly in the interest of protecting myself and the delicacies of my current situation - I hope you understand.
Does that work for you?
Saturday, August 28, 2010
23. All I want for Christmas is his two front teeth
One of the saddest parts of our marriage, for me, was that we never did anything. Try as I might, I could not entice D to go anywhere with me for a nice weekend away. And where we live, there are plenty of majestic, fantastic places to visit. I wanted to take Little One on some little adventures. But every time I would try to broach the subject, I was told, "I don't feel like it. I have too much to do. [!] It's too expensive. I just want to stay at home."
So imagine my surprise when I heard this proclamation from D in early December:
"Just so you know, I'm going to be going out of town on the weekend before Christmas."
Now, dear reader, this is where the internet is oh-so-helpful. See, Sally Lee, Sally's bellydancer alter-ego, had a website, on which she listed her upcoming performances. And on this weekend in question, there was a performance listed at some sort of bellydancer conference (I kid you not) in a large city a few hours away from here. We'll call it Cityville.
So, my response was, "Oh, so you're going to Cityville?"
The shock on his face was instantaneous. He paled. "You - what - yeah, um." Eloquent as ever.
"Yeah, it's amazing what you can find on the internet these days," I said, not exactly letting him know how I knew. That just freaked him out even more.
"Let me get this straight," I continued. "You're actually going out of town - that's surprise number 1. Number 2 - you're leaving for four days, right before Christmas. 3 - you're going with Sally. And 4 - and I love this one - you're going to the same city where we had our Babymoon?" (This was the last trip he and I had taken together before Little One was born, and I was about 5 months pregnant.)
To his credit, he looked like he got it. "Yes," he said.
"Okay, then, have a good trip," I said. As I calmly shut the door behind him (regretting that I was too well-raised to slam it), I had to fight the tears, nausea, and anger, all welling up at the same time. Little One needed me, so it would have to wait. And so it did.
I poured the anger into research. What I needed to know was, did my state consider an agreement created via email to be a binding contract? I was checking because I wanted to make sure this damn bellydancer stayed away from my kid, since it was plain she was going to be around my husband for a while. And while D had been visiting his relatives for Thanksgiving, I had decided I was going to get EVERYTHING in writing. Such as:
D,
My goal is to ensure that you and I are on exactly the same page with regard to matters we have discussed on the phone. Therefore I would like you to respond to this email with your own written response, for purposes of documentation.
1. Sally A. Smith will not be present during any time you and Little One are going to have together, until such time that you and I mutually agree to change this arrangement if necessary and appropriate.
2. We will carefully work together on the parenting plan to ensure that we create something the court will accept, particularly with respect to your substance abuse history and DUI/assault charges. My intention is to ensure that, while the court may consider those as safety concerns, we construct a plan which responsibly addresses both your past, and contingencies with respect to these issues going forward. I appreciate your offer to continue AA and have a record of your attendance, etc.; that may be one good option. I commit to working with you to construct this plan.
3. I will continue to pack your remaining items, including clothing, shoes/shoe racks, toys, and posters, in boxes, with the exception of the items hanging in Little One's closet, which I will leave on the hangers. (Which you can keep, of course.)
4. I will also give you the coffee table in the living room.
5. I believe that you have every intention of keeping Little One safe and maintaining a close relationship with her. Insofar as this is in Little One’s best interest, I will do what I can to help you make that happen.
His response had been, "That all sounds fine." He then went on to clarify what qualified as "substance abuse" and give me a lesson in alcoholism recovery. I won't bore you with it. (I just read it again and my eyes glaze over every time.)
You may notice that the #1 statement, that Sally would steer clear of Little One, wasn't even addressed outright. This was because I had already secured his verbal commitment on this one during a phone conversation. This was also because it wasn't the most important part of the email to him - his drinking/substance abuse was.
Back to the legal research. What it indicated was that I would indeed be able to use emails, such as the exchange above, as a binding contract, should the need arise. In other words, I could threaten to sue him for breach of contract, should he put Sally and Little One together without my knowledge.
That was all I had to make me feel safer in this moment, and so I clung to it. Because I was NOT happy about him going away with her the days before Christmas.
As it turns out, there was someone else who was not entirely happy about it, either: Mr. Anonymous.
So imagine my surprise when I heard this proclamation from D in early December:
"Just so you know, I'm going to be going out of town on the weekend before Christmas."
Now, dear reader, this is where the internet is oh-so-helpful. See, Sally Lee, Sally's bellydancer alter-ego, had a website, on which she listed her upcoming performances. And on this weekend in question, there was a performance listed at some sort of bellydancer conference (I kid you not) in a large city a few hours away from here. We'll call it Cityville.
So, my response was, "Oh, so you're going to Cityville?"
The shock on his face was instantaneous. He paled. "You - what - yeah, um." Eloquent as ever.
"Yeah, it's amazing what you can find on the internet these days," I said, not exactly letting him know how I knew. That just freaked him out even more.
"Let me get this straight," I continued. "You're actually going out of town - that's surprise number 1. Number 2 - you're leaving for four days, right before Christmas. 3 - you're going with Sally. And 4 - and I love this one - you're going to the same city where we had our Babymoon?" (This was the last trip he and I had taken together before Little One was born, and I was about 5 months pregnant.)
To his credit, he looked like he got it. "Yes," he said.
"Okay, then, have a good trip," I said. As I calmly shut the door behind him (regretting that I was too well-raised to slam it), I had to fight the tears, nausea, and anger, all welling up at the same time. Little One needed me, so it would have to wait. And so it did.
I poured the anger into research. What I needed to know was, did my state consider an agreement created via email to be a binding contract? I was checking because I wanted to make sure this damn bellydancer stayed away from my kid, since it was plain she was going to be around my husband for a while. And while D had been visiting his relatives for Thanksgiving, I had decided I was going to get EVERYTHING in writing. Such as:
D,
My goal is to ensure that you and I are on exactly the same page with regard to matters we have discussed on the phone. Therefore I would like you to respond to this email with your own written response, for purposes of documentation.
1. Sally A. Smith will not be present during any time you and Little One are going to have together, until such time that you and I mutually agree to change this arrangement if necessary and appropriate.
2. We will carefully work together on the parenting plan to ensure that we create something the court will accept, particularly with respect to your substance abuse history and DUI/assault charges. My intention is to ensure that, while the court may consider those as safety concerns, we construct a plan which responsibly addresses both your past, and contingencies with respect to these issues going forward. I appreciate your offer to continue AA and have a record of your attendance, etc.; that may be one good option. I commit to working with you to construct this plan.
3. I will continue to pack your remaining items, including clothing, shoes/shoe racks, toys, and posters, in boxes, with the exception of the items hanging in Little One's closet, which I will leave on the hangers. (Which you can keep, of course.)
4. I will also give you the coffee table in the living room.
5. I believe that you have every intention of keeping Little One safe and maintaining a close relationship with her. Insofar as this is in Little One’s best interest, I will do what I can to help you make that happen.
His response had been, "That all sounds fine." He then went on to clarify what qualified as "substance abuse" and give me a lesson in alcoholism recovery. I won't bore you with it. (I just read it again and my eyes glaze over every time.)
You may notice that the #1 statement, that Sally would steer clear of Little One, wasn't even addressed outright. This was because I had already secured his verbal commitment on this one during a phone conversation. This was also because it wasn't the most important part of the email to him - his drinking/substance abuse was.
Back to the legal research. What it indicated was that I would indeed be able to use emails, such as the exchange above, as a binding contract, should the need arise. In other words, I could threaten to sue him for breach of contract, should he put Sally and Little One together without my knowledge.
That was all I had to make me feel safer in this moment, and so I clung to it. Because I was NOT happy about him going away with her the days before Christmas.
As it turns out, there was someone else who was not entirely happy about it, either: Mr. Anonymous.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
22. Cherry Chapstick Capitulation
During the first week of December, I got to have another one of those "here's how I feel" sessions with D. We had started to get into a rhythm with childcare: I had Little One 100% of the time outside of daycare, except for 3-4 evenings a week when D would take her to his place for a few hours at a time. She never slept anywhere else but home, with me. That was how it needed to be, because I did not trust D at all. It made me crazy that he was alone with her at all, primarily because he had so little prior experience in this area.
I was, in retrospect, rather glad I had no social life to speak of, since this arrangement would not have helped it.
On this particular day, D had discovered, much to his chagrin, that some of his local relatives were not interested in having him come to their house. They did not approve of his behavior, and told him so. His response - no shocker here - was to be shitty to me. This time, however, I called him on it. I pushed him to tell me why he was being short with me, even though I knew. (He didn't know I knew, or perhaps he assumed I was behind the ostracizing. I was not.)
This turned into a loooooong phone call, during which he was also taking care of Little One. (Later, I would find out that she was quietly mashing cherry Chapstick into his carpets while he was on the phone with me in the other room. I love that kid.) I was pissed off and I was no longer going to let him be shitty to me, especially given that he thought it was okay to treat me that way given that it was HIS behavior which had caused these consequences which he didn't find palatable.
During this phone call - which I will not rehash here, because quite frankly, dear reader, you've heard it all before - I accused him of having used Sally to fuck his way out of two relationships. That really got to him. It felt good. Once again, I found myself yelling at him while sitting in my car, in my driveway. Only this time, I was alone, and it was dark, and I had much, much less to fear.
I had been able, once again, to say everything I could possibly think of, and had pretty much done it in a way I can be proud of. No name-calling (except liar, etc. - you know, factually accurate ones), no fighting dirty. I had just said everything that I'd been feeling, all the conversations I'd been having with D in my head for weeks now - all of that, I got to say to him.
All that nasty stuff I had to get out of my system, all the ways in which he done me wrong, I got it out. I told him that I mourned his passing. I felt like the man I had married was dead. Not that he was any sort of prince, but at least I thought I knew who I was divorcing. Turns out that guy didn't really exist, not really. He was a figment of our collective imagination, created by Sally's interaction with him.
I got to clarify that no, Sally was not the reason we were getting a divorce. I got to explain that she was the reason we were getting a divorce at that moment, and the reason that the divorce was now the way that it was. So there, assholes.
I wish I could say that I made him feel bad. But even though he'd tell you I did hurt him and I did make him feel bad about his behavior, I honestly didn't believe he was the kind of person who would ever really get it. He would never be the kind of guy to really truly get what he'd done, and the depth of how it had impacted me. Nothing I could ever say would get me there.
So now I knew from experience.
A part of me - which diminished quickly, with time - wished at this moment that I hadn't had this conversation with him. But a bigger part of me was so glad to have had the opportunity to get this all out in the open.
When the call was done, and I had once again said everything I could possibly want to say, in the way that I wanted, and had him respond to everything the best possible way that he could, I walked into the house.
And right then, I found myself calling up Athena, sobbing to her, telling her I didn't feel any better.
When D brought Little One home, maybe a half hour later, he didn't get out of his car. It was not an offensive he was mounting; rather, I took that as a sign that he understood how little I wanted to see him.
When I had put Little One to bed, and returned downstairs, I realized I felt different.
I was looking around the house, alone there, and suddenly, it doesn't feel so violated or violating for me to be there.
Maybe, I thought, just maybe, one day, I'll be able to walk into that office again, where he and Sally did whatever. Maybe.
Or maybe I'll just sell the fucking house.
As with all emotional states around D, this feeling of hope was short-lived. Because the next day, he informed me about a trip he was going to be taking right before Christmas. With Mrs. Bellydancer. Ah, but this did not go well.
I was, in retrospect, rather glad I had no social life to speak of, since this arrangement would not have helped it.
On this particular day, D had discovered, much to his chagrin, that some of his local relatives were not interested in having him come to their house. They did not approve of his behavior, and told him so. His response - no shocker here - was to be shitty to me. This time, however, I called him on it. I pushed him to tell me why he was being short with me, even though I knew. (He didn't know I knew, or perhaps he assumed I was behind the ostracizing. I was not.)
This turned into a loooooong phone call, during which he was also taking care of Little One. (Later, I would find out that she was quietly mashing cherry Chapstick into his carpets while he was on the phone with me in the other room. I love that kid.) I was pissed off and I was no longer going to let him be shitty to me, especially given that he thought it was okay to treat me that way given that it was HIS behavior which had caused these consequences which he didn't find palatable.
During this phone call - which I will not rehash here, because quite frankly, dear reader, you've heard it all before - I accused him of having used Sally to fuck his way out of two relationships. That really got to him. It felt good. Once again, I found myself yelling at him while sitting in my car, in my driveway. Only this time, I was alone, and it was dark, and I had much, much less to fear.
I had been able, once again, to say everything I could possibly think of, and had pretty much done it in a way I can be proud of. No name-calling (except liar, etc. - you know, factually accurate ones), no fighting dirty. I had just said everything that I'd been feeling, all the conversations I'd been having with D in my head for weeks now - all of that, I got to say to him.
All that nasty stuff I had to get out of my system, all the ways in which he done me wrong, I got it out. I told him that I mourned his passing. I felt like the man I had married was dead. Not that he was any sort of prince, but at least I thought I knew who I was divorcing. Turns out that guy didn't really exist, not really. He was a figment of our collective imagination, created by Sally's interaction with him.
I got to clarify that no, Sally was not the reason we were getting a divorce. I got to explain that she was the reason we were getting a divorce at that moment, and the reason that the divorce was now the way that it was. So there, assholes.
I wish I could say that I made him feel bad. But even though he'd tell you I did hurt him and I did make him feel bad about his behavior, I honestly didn't believe he was the kind of person who would ever really get it. He would never be the kind of guy to really truly get what he'd done, and the depth of how it had impacted me. Nothing I could ever say would get me there.
So now I knew from experience.
A part of me - which diminished quickly, with time - wished at this moment that I hadn't had this conversation with him. But a bigger part of me was so glad to have had the opportunity to get this all out in the open.
When the call was done, and I had once again said everything I could possibly want to say, in the way that I wanted, and had him respond to everything the best possible way that he could, I walked into the house.
And right then, I found myself calling up Athena, sobbing to her, telling her I didn't feel any better.
When D brought Little One home, maybe a half hour later, he didn't get out of his car. It was not an offensive he was mounting; rather, I took that as a sign that he understood how little I wanted to see him.
When I had put Little One to bed, and returned downstairs, I realized I felt different.
I was looking around the house, alone there, and suddenly, it doesn't feel so violated or violating for me to be there.
Maybe, I thought, just maybe, one day, I'll be able to walk into that office again, where he and Sally did whatever. Maybe.
Or maybe I'll just sell the fucking house.
As with all emotional states around D, this feeling of hope was short-lived. Because the next day, he informed me about a trip he was going to be taking right before Christmas. With Mrs. Bellydancer. Ah, but this did not go well.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
21. Writing Unsendable Letters
I had tried. Honestly, I had. I had really, really tried to elevate myself above the negative, to be grateful, to rise above, so to speak. I really had.
But I was in an absolute rage. Seething with bitterness and longing for vengeance. When Little One was around, I felt calmer, more at ease - I looked at her, and I knew why things were already on a good path, a better one for her and for me. I knew that she wouldn't have to grow up watching her mother mistreated by her father. And even among all that suffocating, anxious anger, I used that as my anchor: what had happened was right for her, and therefore, was right for me.
What I did not understand - to this day - was how a woman, namely Sally Bellydancer, could participate in deceiving another woman. Was she dumb? Was she mean? She'd seemed perfectly nice when I had met her. And yet, she had not only married a man who saw fit to reach out and piss off her boyfriend's wife via anonymous email (allegedly), but she had helped that boyfriend to completely dupe his wife into thinking that he was a decent guy, dedicated to family and not to getting laid by a tattoo-covered bellydancer.
So the jury was out. But I wrote her a letter - you know, one of those letters that you never send, you just feel better writing it:
Dear Sally,
You stupid, stupid bitch.
What kind of mother does this to another mother?
What kind of woman does this to another woman?
How could you be so complicit in his lies, his deceptions?
Are you so desperate for affection that you would accept a sub-par human being like D?
Do you understand the fact that he "seems" to know himself so well only gives him license to behave however he wants?
Do you realize you don't know him at all, because he himself has no idea who he really is?
Do you understand the damage YOU have caused to my relationship with him?
Did you really think it was appropriate to come into our house and have intimate relations with him?
How could you participate in the breakup of a family when that family so needed to stick together through a tough time?
How could you do this to a child, to a child's mother?
I hope you suffer and hurt and that, when you wake up to who D is, it's too late for you to leave. I hope you drown in him.
You fucking whore.
Love,
Penelope
So. Yeah, so. I was angry. But it doesn't stop there: I was still angry at D, too, and itching to tell him all about it. For now, precariously perched in that "jolly" time between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I was content to write him a "never-to-be-sent" letter, too:
Dear D,
I don't care anymore.
There, I said it. I can't and won't care anymore about how you live your life and who you live it with.
I won't try to fix you anymore.
I won't try to prove to you that I'm right.
I only need you to be a good dad. I need and want nothing else from you.
I don't care who you're with or what you're doing with them.
I don't care if you're sick or if you're well - as long as, when you're sick, you're not with Little One. And by sick I mean in every way, shape or form.
I will no longer invest my emotional energy in whether you are unhappy or happy or feeling guilty or sad or angry. I will no longer have my actions be dictated by your anger.
I will no longer harbor any illusions about you and who you really are: You are your mother's son.
I will no longer try to show you that I'm better than you thought I was. You do not deserve the attention.
I won't engage in conversations with you that have nothing to do with Little One or the divorce. I will also try to apply this rule to the many conversations I have with you in my head.
I will treat you civilly and decently, but I will not go out of my way to make you comfortable or happy.
I will no longer hold your happiness above mine.
I will, however, and probably for a long time, wish you complete and utter suffering in your new relationship and throughout the rest of your life. Though someday I hope to be able to retract this statement.
You are worthless. You are scum. You never deserved me and you never will. I will watch you like a hawk with regards to Little One, her safety, and her happiness. And if you are not precisely synced up on those items I will come down on you with the hammer of the law. Repeatedly and with great glee.
Do not piss me off again, joker. You don't know who you're dealing with.
Very sincerely,
Your soon-to-be-ex-wife-and-couldn't-be-happier-about-it,
Penelope
But I was in an absolute rage. Seething with bitterness and longing for vengeance. When Little One was around, I felt calmer, more at ease - I looked at her, and I knew why things were already on a good path, a better one for her and for me. I knew that she wouldn't have to grow up watching her mother mistreated by her father. And even among all that suffocating, anxious anger, I used that as my anchor: what had happened was right for her, and therefore, was right for me.
What I did not understand - to this day - was how a woman, namely Sally Bellydancer, could participate in deceiving another woman. Was she dumb? Was she mean? She'd seemed perfectly nice when I had met her. And yet, she had not only married a man who saw fit to reach out and piss off her boyfriend's wife via anonymous email (allegedly), but she had helped that boyfriend to completely dupe his wife into thinking that he was a decent guy, dedicated to family and not to getting laid by a tattoo-covered bellydancer.
So the jury was out. But I wrote her a letter - you know, one of those letters that you never send, you just feel better writing it:
Dear Sally,
You stupid, stupid bitch.
What kind of mother does this to another mother?
What kind of woman does this to another woman?
How could you be so complicit in his lies, his deceptions?
Are you so desperate for affection that you would accept a sub-par human being like D?
Do you understand the fact that he "seems" to know himself so well only gives him license to behave however he wants?
Do you realize you don't know him at all, because he himself has no idea who he really is?
Do you understand the damage YOU have caused to my relationship with him?
Did you really think it was appropriate to come into our house and have intimate relations with him?
How could you participate in the breakup of a family when that family so needed to stick together through a tough time?
How could you do this to a child, to a child's mother?
I hope you suffer and hurt and that, when you wake up to who D is, it's too late for you to leave. I hope you drown in him.
You fucking whore.
Love,
Penelope
So. Yeah, so. I was angry. But it doesn't stop there: I was still angry at D, too, and itching to tell him all about it. For now, precariously perched in that "jolly" time between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I was content to write him a "never-to-be-sent" letter, too:
Dear D,
I don't care anymore.
There, I said it. I can't and won't care anymore about how you live your life and who you live it with.
I won't try to fix you anymore.
I won't try to prove to you that I'm right.
I only need you to be a good dad. I need and want nothing else from you.
I don't care who you're with or what you're doing with them.
I don't care if you're sick or if you're well - as long as, when you're sick, you're not with Little One. And by sick I mean in every way, shape or form.
I will no longer invest my emotional energy in whether you are unhappy or happy or feeling guilty or sad or angry. I will no longer have my actions be dictated by your anger.
I will no longer harbor any illusions about you and who you really are: You are your mother's son.
I will no longer try to show you that I'm better than you thought I was. You do not deserve the attention.
I won't engage in conversations with you that have nothing to do with Little One or the divorce. I will also try to apply this rule to the many conversations I have with you in my head.
I will treat you civilly and decently, but I will not go out of my way to make you comfortable or happy.
I will no longer hold your happiness above mine.
I will, however, and probably for a long time, wish you complete and utter suffering in your new relationship and throughout the rest of your life. Though someday I hope to be able to retract this statement.
You are worthless. You are scum. You never deserved me and you never will. I will watch you like a hawk with regards to Little One, her safety, and her happiness. And if you are not precisely synced up on those items I will come down on you with the hammer of the law. Repeatedly and with great glee.
Do not piss me off again, joker. You don't know who you're dealing with.
Very sincerely,
Your soon-to-be-ex-wife-and-couldn't-be-happier-about-it,
Penelope
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
20. Next Exit: Douchebag Dickhead Parking
Ugh, Thanksgiving during a divorce. Only to be topped by Christmas during a divorce. I soothed myself by remembering that D was with his not-entirely-approving-of-his-life-choices family and not with his bellydancer; that I was NOT with D; and that I would only ever have one "during-divorce Thanksgiving" to contend with.
Fortunately, Little One was thriving. Deprived only of her parents' unhappiness and fighting, she was able to have each of us to her very own self for hours at a time. This was a new phenomenon, as D had spent nearly no, one-on-one alone time with her at this point in her life. And I hadn't pushed it, simply because I didn't trust him to be a) sober and b) an actual parent.
Sidebar. There was this one time, when Little One was about 4 months old, and I was driving our SUV. D was in the back seat with Little One, and we decided to stop at a grocery store on our way home. It was about 75 degrees and the sun was shining. I left the keys in the car, notated this, and went inside. Approximately 6 minutes later, I returned to the car to find Little One screaming, and D livid. Apoplectic. What had happened, I asked? "She got hot!" he yelled back, freaking out. So I asked the obvious question: "Why didn't you open the car door?" I was told to shut up and "just fucking drive."
It was times like this that made me pessimistic about D's ability to parent independently.
Back to Thanksgiving. So I had conjured up as much gratitude as I could, and I was still feeling like I was carrying a very large weight. I hadn't seen D in about 6 days, other than a couple of iChat episodes which were comical, particularly with his brothers and extended family waving to me uncomfortably in the background. "Hi, Penelope!" they'd say. What I heard: "We're really sorry D is such a douchebag dickhead!"
I waved back emphatically.
For the actual Thanksgiving dinner, I'd gone to D's cousin's house, the cousin whose substantial presence in the house during the Talking Points talk had made me feel like I was relatively safe from D hurting me. I felt safe with this cousin, and his amazing wife and kids. They wanted what was best for Little One, and they understood that taking care of me was a big part of taking care of her. They also knew all the details of D's infidelities, and didn't seem the least surprised when I first told them we were divorcing.
Huh.
In any case, this Thanksgiving, I was most grateful for having them to help me weather this tremendous storm. Whatever I needed, they were there. It was one of the two things in all this miserableness that I completely cherished, the other one being Little One.
They also understood that D was, emotionally speaking, a few cards short of a full deck, a few sandwiches short of a picnic, and all those other wonderful ways of saying "not 100% there."
To wit: During the last of those iChat conversations, he made sure to point out, in front of his family, that he had parked at the airport, so I wouldn't have to come pick him up or anything.
Yes, really. I know, I know.
I politely said, not wanting to embarrass him, "Good."
"Bye, Penelope!" D's family waved in the background. What I heard: "We're really, really, really sorry D is such a douchebag dickhead!"
Fortunately, Little One was thriving. Deprived only of her parents' unhappiness and fighting, she was able to have each of us to her very own self for hours at a time. This was a new phenomenon, as D had spent nearly no, one-on-one alone time with her at this point in her life. And I hadn't pushed it, simply because I didn't trust him to be a) sober and b) an actual parent.
Sidebar. There was this one time, when Little One was about 4 months old, and I was driving our SUV. D was in the back seat with Little One, and we decided to stop at a grocery store on our way home. It was about 75 degrees and the sun was shining. I left the keys in the car, notated this, and went inside. Approximately 6 minutes later, I returned to the car to find Little One screaming, and D livid. Apoplectic. What had happened, I asked? "She got hot!" he yelled back, freaking out. So I asked the obvious question: "Why didn't you open the car door?" I was told to shut up and "just fucking drive."
It was times like this that made me pessimistic about D's ability to parent independently.
Back to Thanksgiving. So I had conjured up as much gratitude as I could, and I was still feeling like I was carrying a very large weight. I hadn't seen D in about 6 days, other than a couple of iChat episodes which were comical, particularly with his brothers and extended family waving to me uncomfortably in the background. "Hi, Penelope!" they'd say. What I heard: "We're really sorry D is such a douchebag dickhead!"
I waved back emphatically.
For the actual Thanksgiving dinner, I'd gone to D's cousin's house, the cousin whose substantial presence in the house during the Talking Points talk had made me feel like I was relatively safe from D hurting me. I felt safe with this cousin, and his amazing wife and kids. They wanted what was best for Little One, and they understood that taking care of me was a big part of taking care of her. They also knew all the details of D's infidelities, and didn't seem the least surprised when I first told them we were divorcing.
Huh.
In any case, this Thanksgiving, I was most grateful for having them to help me weather this tremendous storm. Whatever I needed, they were there. It was one of the two things in all this miserableness that I completely cherished, the other one being Little One.
They also understood that D was, emotionally speaking, a few cards short of a full deck, a few sandwiches short of a picnic, and all those other wonderful ways of saying "not 100% there."
To wit: During the last of those iChat conversations, he made sure to point out, in front of his family, that he had parked at the airport, so I wouldn't have to come pick him up or anything.
Yes, really. I know, I know.
I politely said, not wanting to embarrass him, "Good."
"Bye, Penelope!" D's family waved in the background. What I heard: "We're really, really, really sorry D is such a douchebag dickhead!"
Saturday, August 14, 2010
19. There's something good in here. Now where did I put it...
I was struggling for gratitude. Here it was, my first holiday season without my husband in nearly eight years. And I wasn't sure how I felt about that. One the one hand, it seemed awfully freeing. On the other, it was hopelessly tragic.
Maybe it was because Thanksgiving was right around the corner, but I was trying really hard to be grateful for what I had, in the midst of the shock and awe campaign my husband had launched.
I'm a pretty sunny person, most often. I haven't committed any major crimes or sins. I have tried to be good to people, I've tried to be a positive influence on those around me. So it felt all the more incongruous that all of this bullshit had piled up around me.
So I sat down and, through my tears, wrote up a list. I tried to conjure up everything that I could that I was grateful for, and I share it with you now.
I am grateful that I now know the truth.
I am grateful that new beginnings are just around the corner.
I am grateful that my daughter is healthy, happy, loving, and the absolute center of my crazy universe.
I’m grateful for the moments of quietude.
I’m grateful for the moments of toddler craziness.
I’m grateful that I have a nice home and that I’ll be able to continue to provide a safe environment for my daughter.
I’m grateful that I am who I am.
I’m grateful that I have so, so many people in my life who care about me, and I’m grateful to finally know that they are there.
I’m grateful to be rediscovering my self-worth.
I’m grateful that I let myself cry every once in a while, but that I never do it in front of my baby.
I’m grateful for my Roomba.
I’m grateful to be leaving an unhealthy relationship.
I’m grateful that I have my health, even if I could do better to take care of myself.
I’m grateful for my job.
I’m grateful that I want for nothing.
I’m grateful that my parents raised me with a solid sense of propriety, morality, and integrity.
I’m grateful that my daughter will likely spend the majority of the next fifteen and a half years with me.
I’m grateful that I have no plans to get into a relationship with someone else for a long time.
I’m grateful that I’m okay being single for a while.
I’m grateful for my family.
I’m grateful for all my cousins and aunts and uncles and Grandpop.
I’m grateful that my grandmother didn’t have to see me go through this.
Maybe it was because Thanksgiving was right around the corner, but I was trying really hard to be grateful for what I had, in the midst of the shock and awe campaign my husband had launched.
I'm a pretty sunny person, most often. I haven't committed any major crimes or sins. I have tried to be good to people, I've tried to be a positive influence on those around me. So it felt all the more incongruous that all of this bullshit had piled up around me.
So I sat down and, through my tears, wrote up a list. I tried to conjure up everything that I could that I was grateful for, and I share it with you now.
I am grateful that I now know the truth.
I am grateful that new beginnings are just around the corner.
I am grateful that my daughter is healthy, happy, loving, and the absolute center of my crazy universe.
I’m grateful for the moments of quietude.
I’m grateful for the moments of toddler craziness.
I’m grateful that I have a nice home and that I’ll be able to continue to provide a safe environment for my daughter.
I’m grateful that I am who I am.
I’m grateful that I have so, so many people in my life who care about me, and I’m grateful to finally know that they are there.
I’m grateful to be rediscovering my self-worth.
I’m grateful that I let myself cry every once in a while, but that I never do it in front of my baby.
I’m grateful for my Roomba.
I’m grateful to be leaving an unhealthy relationship.
I’m grateful that I have my health, even if I could do better to take care of myself.
I’m grateful for my job.
I’m grateful that I want for nothing.
I’m grateful that my parents raised me with a solid sense of propriety, morality, and integrity.
I’m grateful that my daughter will likely spend the majority of the next fifteen and a half years with me.
I’m grateful that I have no plans to get into a relationship with someone else for a long time.
I’m grateful that I’m okay being single for a while.
I’m grateful for my family.
I’m grateful for all my cousins and aunts and uncles and Grandpop.
I’m grateful that my grandmother didn’t have to see me go through this.
18. Wait - the bellydancer who what now?
Two days after the Talking Points talk, D left for that trip I mentioned. He was thousands of miles away, and it was a great time to have some distance between the two of us. It also meant that I didn't have to see him for nearly a week - that was, in itself, extremely comforting.
As I am wont to do, I called my friend Gaia, who was one half of a couple who'd introduced D and I nearly 10 years before. Her boyfriend, Ted, had been friends with D for years. Gaia and D didn't get along very well; she made him anxious, and he made her uncomfortable. But she and Ted knew him like no one else, so I'd been leaning on Gaia a lot recently, asking for her uniquely spiritual perspective on things.
The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, I called Gaia during work on my cellphone, so I could pace. I was having a particularly rotten day, thinking about everything that had transpired, feeling anxious about how the hell things were going to work out in the long run. Ultimately, I couldn't escape that feeling that Little One was going to suffer because her father was such a turd. That was the last thing I wanted, so I was basically coming to terms with what it was going to mean to have to deal with said turd and make him seem like the father Little One deserved, not the father he actually had been, and was.
So in speaking to Gaia, she mentioned out loud about "the bellydancer." And I heard Ted in the background say something (I couldn't make it out). And then Gaia said, "Hey, you said this bellydancer's name was Sally, right?" And I said yes. And she said, "Ted, was that her? Sally?" and I heard him say "Yeah, that was her, no doubt about it." Her what?
Gaia paused a moment before speaking. "So - you knew that D and Sally knew each other before, right?"
"Yes," I said. "She was a friend of his when he went to college."
"Did you know that they were involved back then?" She was referring to the mid-90s.
I paused. Had I known? I thought back. Nope, definitely not. I can pretty much guarantee that this was knowledge that was new to me.
"No," I said quietly.
I heard Ted say something in the background. Gaia said to me, "Yeah, so - I don't know if this is going to make you feel better or worse, but it was D's involvement with Sally that caused April to break it off with him. There was some sort of menage-a-trois thing going on with them, only April didn't want Sally in it. D got involved with Sally anyway, so April broke off the engagement. And she never spoke to him again." Gaia paused. "I'm sorry."
I got that rush of anxiety-ridden adrenaline again, the one that had become so familiar to me. You might call it batshit-crazy-anger.
"Gaia," I said, as calmly as possible, "Thank you for telling me this."
"I'm sorry," she repeated.
"No, really - it's okay," I said. "I didn't know, but given that D has now used Sally to end the two most committed relationships he's ever had, I think this puts things into a bit more context." I was gearing up. "You know what, Gaia?" I said. "I will call you back later - I really think I need to talk to D right now." The pacing had become more frenetic. I'm sure I looked like a lunatic at this moment, walking in circles around the lobby of my big office building. I thanked Gaia again and dialed D's number.
"Hello?" D said.
"D, how are you," I said flatly.
"Good," he said, somewhat hesitantly.
"Great," I shot back. "Hey, I've got a quick question for you."
"Sure, what?"
"Were you involved with Sally back in the mid-90s, and was your involvement with her what caused April to break off your engagement?"
He paused. "Well, yeah, but - "
"That's all I needed to know," I said, and hung up.
Hey, I'm not proud of it. But I knew, if asked a direct question, using the element of surprise, D would manage to tell me the truth. And he did, so bully for him.
It was approximately 4 minutes later that I saw that he was calling me back. I had already traveled up the elevator to my floor, and ducked into a nearby empty conference room.
"What?" I answered the phone.
He sighed, forcefully. "You - what was - what the hell - why - ?"
"D, did it ever occur to you that this was something you should tell me?"
"I did tell you!" I'm sorry, you imbecile, but this is the kind of thing a woman never forgets.
"NO, D, you did NOT tell me. You want to know why I know this? Because if I had known that you were doing 'yard work' for someone that you had FUCKED previously? I can tell you that things would have gone down VERY differently."
He was livid, I could tell, but also knew he was wrong. "I thought I had told you," he said tightly.
"No, you hadn't, D."
"I - I don't know, I really thought - "
"You know what, D? You spend the rest of your trip thinking of anything else that I should know, and we can talk when you get home. Kay?"
"I - look, Penelope, I'm sorry, I really don't know why I didn't tell you."
"Yes, you do know," I said. "You know exactly why. Don't give me that bullshit. Tell your family hi from me. Have a nice trip."
I hung up.
As I am wont to do, I called my friend Gaia, who was one half of a couple who'd introduced D and I nearly 10 years before. Her boyfriend, Ted, had been friends with D for years. Gaia and D didn't get along very well; she made him anxious, and he made her uncomfortable. But she and Ted knew him like no one else, so I'd been leaning on Gaia a lot recently, asking for her uniquely spiritual perspective on things.
The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, I called Gaia during work on my cellphone, so I could pace. I was having a particularly rotten day, thinking about everything that had transpired, feeling anxious about how the hell things were going to work out in the long run. Ultimately, I couldn't escape that feeling that Little One was going to suffer because her father was such a turd. That was the last thing I wanted, so I was basically coming to terms with what it was going to mean to have to deal with said turd and make him seem like the father Little One deserved, not the father he actually had been, and was.
So in speaking to Gaia, she mentioned out loud about "the bellydancer." And I heard Ted in the background say something (I couldn't make it out). And then Gaia said, "Hey, you said this bellydancer's name was Sally, right?" And I said yes. And she said, "Ted, was that her? Sally?" and I heard him say "Yeah, that was her, no doubt about it." Her what?
Gaia paused a moment before speaking. "So - you knew that D and Sally knew each other before, right?"
"Yes," I said. "She was a friend of his when he went to college."
"Did you know that they were involved back then?" She was referring to the mid-90s.
I paused. Had I known? I thought back. Nope, definitely not. I can pretty much guarantee that this was knowledge that was new to me.
"No," I said quietly.
I heard Ted say something in the background. Gaia said to me, "Yeah, so - I don't know if this is going to make you feel better or worse, but it was D's involvement with Sally that caused April to break it off with him. There was some sort of menage-a-trois thing going on with them, only April didn't want Sally in it. D got involved with Sally anyway, so April broke off the engagement. And she never spoke to him again." Gaia paused. "I'm sorry."
I got that rush of anxiety-ridden adrenaline again, the one that had become so familiar to me. You might call it batshit-crazy-anger.
"Gaia," I said, as calmly as possible, "Thank you for telling me this."
"I'm sorry," she repeated.
"No, really - it's okay," I said. "I didn't know, but given that D has now used Sally to end the two most committed relationships he's ever had, I think this puts things into a bit more context." I was gearing up. "You know what, Gaia?" I said. "I will call you back later - I really think I need to talk to D right now." The pacing had become more frenetic. I'm sure I looked like a lunatic at this moment, walking in circles around the lobby of my big office building. I thanked Gaia again and dialed D's number.
"Hello?" D said.
"D, how are you," I said flatly.
"Good," he said, somewhat hesitantly.
"Great," I shot back. "Hey, I've got a quick question for you."
"Sure, what?"
"Were you involved with Sally back in the mid-90s, and was your involvement with her what caused April to break off your engagement?"
He paused. "Well, yeah, but - "
"That's all I needed to know," I said, and hung up.
Hey, I'm not proud of it. But I knew, if asked a direct question, using the element of surprise, D would manage to tell me the truth. And he did, so bully for him.
It was approximately 4 minutes later that I saw that he was calling me back. I had already traveled up the elevator to my floor, and ducked into a nearby empty conference room.
"What?" I answered the phone.
He sighed, forcefully. "You - what was - what the hell - why - ?"
"D, did it ever occur to you that this was something you should tell me?"
"I did tell you!" I'm sorry, you imbecile, but this is the kind of thing a woman never forgets.
"NO, D, you did NOT tell me. You want to know why I know this? Because if I had known that you were doing 'yard work' for someone that you had FUCKED previously? I can tell you that things would have gone down VERY differently."
He was livid, I could tell, but also knew he was wrong. "I thought I had told you," he said tightly.
"No, you hadn't, D."
"I - I don't know, I really thought - "
"You know what, D? You spend the rest of your trip thinking of anything else that I should know, and we can talk when you get home. Kay?"
"I - look, Penelope, I'm sorry, I really don't know why I didn't tell you."
"Yes, you do know," I said. "You know exactly why. Don't give me that bullshit. Tell your family hi from me. Have a nice trip."
I hung up.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
17. J'accuse! Now what?
I couldn't begin to imagine what D thought as he drove away from his former home that night, after being called out for lying. J'accuse! I had exclaimed, and he could do nothing but acquiesce.
I had said everything I wanted to say. Every dress rehearsal in my head, every line that I wanted to deliver, everything that I wanted to get across. I had absolutely no "I wish I had said THAT instead!" moments after the fact.
But here's the lesson I learned, which I would end up learning again and again until I could recite it in my sleep. I had gotten my message across, and I did not feel one bit better.
You can say everything you want to say. Everything you rehearsed, those "perfect lines" that you wish you had said in the moment. Well, I have to tell you: I said them all, every last one of them. And I couldn't have asked for a better reception on D's end.
But nothing changed. Having that chance, to say so much, did not change one damn thing. Everything that had happened, had still happened. It didn't change the past, it didn't change how I found out about it, and it didn't change who D was or how hurt I felt.
What I found was that getting all of that said was more of a logistical victory. It set the stage for the coming months, where I was going to have to "negotiate" with my own husband for control of our finances, our child's welfare, our house, and our divorce. I was not feeling optimistic about husband-wrangling.
At least I had now tipped the balance of power in my favor. This was a new feeling, this sense of being at least equal with D and not being so afraid of him anymore. I hated him, but mostly I hated myself for letting him control me. That would become a common theme in the coming months.
But then I went to the state-mandated parenting seminar the next day, and realized I was going to have to deal with this prick for the rest of my life, in some way or another. I entered that seminar knowing full well that I was going to have to co-parent with this man. What I left with was the lingering feeling that I was going to hate this long haul. I actually used the analogy - and please forgive me, as I look back on this now and cringe - but back then I would tell people that D was like a tumor that I couldn't get removed, so having to deal with him was going to be like having chemo for the next 15 years. Or, in another desperate analogy, I told people I felt like I was going to prison for 15 years.
Either way, you see the desperation and the utter, simple despair that I felt. I don't feel that way now, which mystifies me somewhat, that I feel better now than I did. (It's that whole "time heals all wounds" thing that sucks in its truth.)
Ah, but there is more drama ahead. Because this utterly ridiculous divorce process would have a break, in the form of D going to visit his relatives in the South for a week, over Thanksgiving.
It was not exactly the break you'd think it would be.
I had said everything I wanted to say. Every dress rehearsal in my head, every line that I wanted to deliver, everything that I wanted to get across. I had absolutely no "I wish I had said THAT instead!" moments after the fact.
But here's the lesson I learned, which I would end up learning again and again until I could recite it in my sleep. I had gotten my message across, and I did not feel one bit better.
You can say everything you want to say. Everything you rehearsed, those "perfect lines" that you wish you had said in the moment. Well, I have to tell you: I said them all, every last one of them. And I couldn't have asked for a better reception on D's end.
But nothing changed. Having that chance, to say so much, did not change one damn thing. Everything that had happened, had still happened. It didn't change the past, it didn't change how I found out about it, and it didn't change who D was or how hurt I felt.
What I found was that getting all of that said was more of a logistical victory. It set the stage for the coming months, where I was going to have to "negotiate" with my own husband for control of our finances, our child's welfare, our house, and our divorce. I was not feeling optimistic about husband-wrangling.
At least I had now tipped the balance of power in my favor. This was a new feeling, this sense of being at least equal with D and not being so afraid of him anymore. I hated him, but mostly I hated myself for letting him control me. That would become a common theme in the coming months.
But then I went to the state-mandated parenting seminar the next day, and realized I was going to have to deal with this prick for the rest of my life, in some way or another. I entered that seminar knowing full well that I was going to have to co-parent with this man. What I left with was the lingering feeling that I was going to hate this long haul. I actually used the analogy - and please forgive me, as I look back on this now and cringe - but back then I would tell people that D was like a tumor that I couldn't get removed, so having to deal with him was going to be like having chemo for the next 15 years. Or, in another desperate analogy, I told people I felt like I was going to prison for 15 years.
Either way, you see the desperation and the utter, simple despair that I felt. I don't feel that way now, which mystifies me somewhat, that I feel better now than I did. (It's that whole "time heals all wounds" thing that sucks in its truth.)
Ah, but there is more drama ahead. Because this utterly ridiculous divorce process would have a break, in the form of D going to visit his relatives in the South for a week, over Thanksgiving.
It was not exactly the break you'd think it would be.
Monday, August 9, 2010
16. The Talking Points: Part 2
After sitting silently for nearly a minute, I had to get across what my most important points were: my Talking Points.
"I really hoped that we were going to be able to do the kind of relationship that we had agreed upon, but when I needed you to be honest the most, you weren’t. When it meant the most."
D sputtered, "What’s the consequence of – of – I was honest about everything except for that. Since our marriage was over, um -"
"You made a promise, D. You made a promise that you wouldn’t get involved with anyone while you were still living under this roof. You broke the promise, you lied. You lied repeatedly about who you were with, and what you were doing. Your activities are detailed ad nauseum on a daily basis, on this Facebook page."
At this point, D's family member, still upstairs playing with Little One, called me for some motherly advice. I excused myself for about a minute to let him know where to find a diaper. It was a nice opening to enlighten D. Returning to my perch on the couch, I said: "In case you’re wondering why your cousin is here - "
"I’m not."
"Ok. But in case you were, I’d like for you to understand what my motivation was in asking him to come, actually, they offered to come. Having had this put in front of me in the way that it has been, and actually having been able to verify that this person is telling me the truth, 100%, I simply can no longer trust you. And it breaks my heart to say that, because we spent seven and a half years creating a relationship that you’ve just completely killed with a three-month affair."
"When our marriage was done, because I didn’t fully wait until I'd moved out, but all of the inability to accomplish what we promised each other when we got married doesn’t matter anything, um, when it led us to this point, and that I would still want to try and have a relationship with you and see the value and the things I appreciate about you despite there being very little accomplished in seven and a half years. So because of me spending my time with someone who for whatever purpose or whatever I was getting out of it made me feel better about myself, when I hadn’t for that long, or a portion of that time, you’ve chosen that as the trigger, um, and I overlooked much more than that in wanting to try to keep … interactions …"
"What did you overlook?" I asked, as evenly as possible. D cleared his throat, staying silent for a moment. As he’s about to speak, I cut in: "Actually, you know what? It doesn’t really matter."
"You probably don’t, I mean, that’s just one aspect of this, that you, for whatever reasons, my drinking, the yelling, we had talked – "
"Throwing things – " I interjected.
D continued: "We had talked ad nauseum during our marriage about how there was a lot that was very easily pointed at, about my behavior. But – "
Whoa, buddy. "Let’s be clear. Our marriage did not cause your affair. Your choices caused you to enter into a relationship with this woman and to lie to me about it, and to go to great duplicitous efforts to cover it up."
"Once our marriage was over." That's right, folks: he's going to justify!
Sigh. "Once our marriage was over, and we were trying to get to a point where we could actually have a civil friendship going forward. You invalidated all of that with this."
"No I didn’t." And now the 8-year-old comes to the party. "You’re looking for a reason to wipe clean any responsibility you have in seven and a half years – "
"You’re looking for a reason to justify an affair."
"No, I’m not." Yeah, I'm not kidding. He really did say that.
"You’re really gonna tell me this relationship didn’t start before we decided to divorce? You’re going to tell me that this relationship started after we decided to divorce?"
"Yup." You fucking liar, D. You great, big, fat, liar.
That was what I was thinking, anyway. What I said was, "Okay then. It depends on what you define as “affair” then, doesn’t it."
"Yeah, I suppose it does." I was beginning to have flashbacks to preschool at this point.
"The point of the matter is – I don’t care. I don’t care how we got to this point. The point is that you lied to me repeatedly. I no longer trust you. That is going to inform every decision that I make from here on out and you need to know that. I don’t care how we got here. It’s completely moot." Talking Points FTW!
"No, you should have cared in the first place." Come ON, D.
I continued: "It’s a completely moot point. If you cared too, you would have stopped drinking a long time ago, you would have stopped shoving me, sober or drunk. You would have stopped throwing beer bottles across the room – "
D was actually hurt. "I only did that once!"
"You’re right, because that makes it better, that it was only one time." I looked at him, squarely, not letting him off the hook. "I’m not going to rehash our marriage, D."
"Yeah, well, I could see where you wouldn’t want to beat it, um, you don’t really like looking at anything that might suggest that there was anything that you could have done and that it wasn’t just me."
"So I'll ask you this, D: You started drinking again yet?"
"What do you think?"
"I don’t know," I continued innocently, "what I saw on that Facebook page makes me wonder. There are a couple of things on there that are references to you drinking. Absinthe? I mean, I know you’re eating a lot of pie, but…" (OK, folks, I could not resist a barb there. I was trying really, really hard at this moment to be the "bigger person." But I just had to mention the pies that Sally had written so many status updates about, and that D had apparently eaten so many of.)
That got him, too. "You are so full of yourself and self-centered." Niiiice comeback.
I surprised myself when I said, "I don’t give a shit what you think about me anymore" - and it was true.
At this point, I instructed D to leave. He seemed shocked - shocked! - that I would ask him to get out. I asked nicely. I think he was just battening down the hatches for the big brawl - the one that never came, because I just wasn't going to be baited. I had, after all, my Talking Points.
But he didn't leave, not yet. He was reeling now, and needed to lash out. I knew this dance well. "You know, you never did a thing wrong the whole time, or there’s nothing about our marriage or our divorce that is on you."
Sorry, buddy. That is not one of the Talking Points. "Your affair with Sally has NOTHING to do with me. It was your choice. You violated my trust."
"Our marriage was over. You had already turned in divorce papers."
Oh, dude. Dude, dude, dude. Did you really want to look so irretrievably stupid? You need to get your facts straight. I was quick to make sure that he stood corrected. Moreover, I wanted him to know that I had documented EVERYTHING.
"Ohhhh, no. No," I stated. "No, actually. If you want to look at the dates? You might want to be very careful about making that statement. Very careful. Please go get your things."
At that moment, something in this inevitable power play shifted. I think he was, finally, out of his league, and knew it: I had proof, he had nothing but his own anger (and his bellydancer).
"Do you want me to – I mean – how do you want me to arrange getting stuff out of the house?"
I was formal in my response. "We will arrange times for you to be here, and I’ll be here to let you in, and I’ll help you move stuff out. I just want you to be very clear that, regardless of what you think about our marriage, and the fact that you seem to think that your drinking and your yelling were tiny little things in the marriage?"
"I don’t think they were tiny. I have great regrets about that."
"Well, I appreciate that. But you need to know that you are now THE most hurtful person I’ve ever known in my entire life. You have hurt me more than anyone else in my entire life. So I’m going to beat myself up about that for a while. But you’re still my child’s father." Damn it, I thought. "Your actions have put us here. Your behavior – publicly, publicly! – has put us here."
"It’s not public." Aw, for Christ's sake.
"It’s completely public on Facebook, D. 'Sally Smith, In a Relationship with Don Jeremy.'"
Despite his repeated affirmations that Facebook simply isn't public, there was still one thing I needed to know. So I brought it all back to the Talking Points.
(Here we go, down the rabbit hole!) "Has Sally ever been in this house?"
"She’s been here."
"How many times?"
"Once or twice."
Despite the wave of nausea and violent bitterness, I held back. I figured that simple, short questions were the way to go here.
Further down the rabbit hole. "Has she slept here?"
"Yeah. She slept in the office." (This, you might remember, was D's de facto bedroom for a few months before he moved out.)
"Was that her hairband on the sink?"
"I don’t know."
"Has she met Little One?"
"No." He was lying.
"You telling me the truth?"
D relented. Slightly. "Actually, she did. She met her at the park. She didn’t really interact with her. She just saw her." Again, semantics! Please.
"So not only have you been having this relationship, you’ve had Sally in the house, without my knowledge, and you’ve had her meet our little one, without my knowledge."
"She didn’t really meet her. I – you know – " Flummoxed, I think is the word.
"D, I appreciate your honesty when I ask you direct questions. What I would have loved to have you do is sit me down two months ago, and say “look, I know this is going to be really hard to hear. But I’ve got this relationship going with Sally. I know it sucks for you, and I’m sorry about that, but I’m happy.” What would have been wrong with that course of action? Was it more fun to be duplicitous?"
"No. It was – I really felt like I was incredibly disappointed about our marriage being over. I didn’t want to hurt you further." He looked down. "You’ve already told me that you’re not going to believe anything I say or that you don’t care about anything."
I had to draw the distinction. "No, I believe what you’re saying right now. I just don’t trust you going forward."
"I never felt like you really did." D's voice was starting to shake. "I’ve done enough things where I could see you wouldn’t trust me. [pause] [shaky voice] I don’t want to claw, and scratch, and – I don’t want it to matter so much that I need there to be recognition that there were times where I tried to approach you and you didn’t treat me very well or that you didn’t like me very much. Or that you were mean to me. Before any of these things happened."
"Tell you what, D. Here's what I'll do. I will go through the notes that I’ve kept since the beginning of our marriage, and I’ll pull out the key phrases that you’ve used against me. Repeatedly. Did you know that that’s actually called emotional abuse?"
"I’m sure it’s emotional abuse. But you abused me too. I felt – I felt a lot of those things as well. And – you know that I always regretted the things I said, and wished I hadn’t said them, and I told you that I either didn’t feel – I was striking out, and it was wrong."
"Yeah, it was. And ultimately it led me to not trust you anymore and to fight back in ways that I felt comfortable. I’ve spent the last 5 years afraid of you."
Quietly, D said, "I’m sorry." He was always sorry. It was just always after the fact, after the damage had been done. And it never changed anything.
"D, I really, really hope for your sake that Sally already knows who you truly are. I doubt it. Because when I first met you, and fell in love with you, too, you were sober. And you weren’t smoking, you weren’t spiraling. Right now, I don’t see your true self." I wound up for the pitch: fastball down the center. This line, I had rehearsed:
"The fact that she’s 'in a relationship with' a fictitious character is beautifully metaphorical." (That might be my favorite line, like, ever, to come out of my mouth.)
"Why do you feel like I’m not me right now?"
"What about you matches the guy that I’ve known? The guy that you’ve been the last seven and a half years? The fact that you even thought that having her in this house was appropriate? I had already decided that, if you told me that, I’m gonna sell the fucking house."
He looked mildly surprised. "Okay."
I kept going: "Because of YOU, and your choices. And that woman was in MY house. Without my knowledge. How dare you." I paused. He didn't say anything.
"D, you will get what you fairly deserve out of this divorce. Nothing more. My lawyer and I are going through what “community property” is. You will get half. You will have time with Little One. You will, someday, regret this conversation and your behavior. I don’t wish for that day because it’s going to be really hard for you and I still care about you enough to know that."
"Penelope, I already feel a lot of regrets and have been trying -"
"You feel guilt. Guilt, D."
"No, I feel a whole lot of regret. You don’t think these things are addressed in what I’ve been dealing with in AA?"
"No, apparently not. Because you have valued your happiness above anyone else’s, including mine, for the last three months. You knew – you KNEW – specifically – how hurt I was by your relationship with Sally before it even became a full-blown relationship. And yet, you didn’t care. You just kept going."
"I did care! You mean, if you really care, you won’t do something?"
Here's the summary, dipshit. I spoke slowly, carefully, enunciating ev-er-y syll-a-ble. "If you promise not to do it, yes, you don’t do it. If you promise the woman who begs you with tears in her eyes, who loves you, that you will not do something, you DON’T do it if you say, I agree, I won’t do it. It’s that simple. It’s called integrity. It’s called honesty. And it’s called not lying to your wife. I don’t care if we were already on the path to divorce. I’d already put a lot of time and effort into supporting you. Up until recently, I was still your biggest fan. You have got to understand that there are broader consequences here. What you’re giving up here is someone with such a good heart."
I was starting to find the emotion in this for me. It was just so sad, in addition to being utterly ridiculous.
"I know."
It was hard, this part. "It was just never enough for you. I was your number one fan."
"I know, I’m sorry."
"I believed in you, D. I had faith in you. And this is where I find myself? Having other people tell me what you should have told me? YOU. You didn’t even respect me enough." I swallowed hard, mostly to keep my dinner down for what I was about to convey. "D, I’ve read every single post. For legal reasons, I had to, to make sure. I simply don’t deserve to be put in a situation where your behavior impacts me so that I have to get an email from someone. Here – take a look – " I got up and reached over to the table, where I had a print-out of the first email from Mr. Anonymous.
"I don’t want to see it."
Elementary school, here we come! I was tired, I just had to fight back. "I don’t care if you want to see it."
D said, "Well, I’m not gonna look at it just because you want to show it to me."
"Then you can take it home and look at it," I retorted.
"I’m not gonna take it anywhere with me."
"Well, then I’ll leave it here for you."
At this point, the conversation softened a bit. Everything I could say had been said. I had nothing more that I had to get across. Even when, later in the conversation, D told me that Sally and he hadn't done a whole lot of "sleeping" when she was in my house, I kept my cool. (Yeah, he's a really classy douchebag, that D.)
We had talked for nearly an hour and a half when he finally left. He looked worn. I felt alive, emboldened by my bravado in combat. For the first time, I thought that maybe I just might have a really good outcome from all this.
But then D's cousin left, I put Little One to bed, and I sat down on that same couch perch and cried. For a very long time.
"I really hoped that we were going to be able to do the kind of relationship that we had agreed upon, but when I needed you to be honest the most, you weren’t. When it meant the most."
D sputtered, "What’s the consequence of – of – I was honest about everything except for that. Since our marriage was over, um -"
"You made a promise, D. You made a promise that you wouldn’t get involved with anyone while you were still living under this roof. You broke the promise, you lied. You lied repeatedly about who you were with, and what you were doing. Your activities are detailed ad nauseum on a daily basis, on this Facebook page."
At this point, D's family member, still upstairs playing with Little One, called me for some motherly advice. I excused myself for about a minute to let him know where to find a diaper. It was a nice opening to enlighten D. Returning to my perch on the couch, I said: "In case you’re wondering why your cousin is here - "
"I’m not."
"Ok. But in case you were, I’d like for you to understand what my motivation was in asking him to come, actually, they offered to come. Having had this put in front of me in the way that it has been, and actually having been able to verify that this person is telling me the truth, 100%, I simply can no longer trust you. And it breaks my heart to say that, because we spent seven and a half years creating a relationship that you’ve just completely killed with a three-month affair."
"When our marriage was done, because I didn’t fully wait until I'd moved out, but all of the inability to accomplish what we promised each other when we got married doesn’t matter anything, um, when it led us to this point, and that I would still want to try and have a relationship with you and see the value and the things I appreciate about you despite there being very little accomplished in seven and a half years. So because of me spending my time with someone who for whatever purpose or whatever I was getting out of it made me feel better about myself, when I hadn’t for that long, or a portion of that time, you’ve chosen that as the trigger, um, and I overlooked much more than that in wanting to try to keep … interactions …"
"What did you overlook?" I asked, as evenly as possible. D cleared his throat, staying silent for a moment. As he’s about to speak, I cut in: "Actually, you know what? It doesn’t really matter."
"You probably don’t, I mean, that’s just one aspect of this, that you, for whatever reasons, my drinking, the yelling, we had talked – "
"Throwing things – " I interjected.
D continued: "We had talked ad nauseum during our marriage about how there was a lot that was very easily pointed at, about my behavior. But – "
Whoa, buddy. "Let’s be clear. Our marriage did not cause your affair. Your choices caused you to enter into a relationship with this woman and to lie to me about it, and to go to great duplicitous efforts to cover it up."
"Once our marriage was over." That's right, folks: he's going to justify!
Sigh. "Once our marriage was over, and we were trying to get to a point where we could actually have a civil friendship going forward. You invalidated all of that with this."
"No I didn’t." And now the 8-year-old comes to the party. "You’re looking for a reason to wipe clean any responsibility you have in seven and a half years – "
"You’re looking for a reason to justify an affair."
"No, I’m not." Yeah, I'm not kidding. He really did say that.
"You’re really gonna tell me this relationship didn’t start before we decided to divorce? You’re going to tell me that this relationship started after we decided to divorce?"
"Yup." You fucking liar, D. You great, big, fat, liar.
That was what I was thinking, anyway. What I said was, "Okay then. It depends on what you define as “affair” then, doesn’t it."
"Yeah, I suppose it does." I was beginning to have flashbacks to preschool at this point.
"The point of the matter is – I don’t care. I don’t care how we got to this point. The point is that you lied to me repeatedly. I no longer trust you. That is going to inform every decision that I make from here on out and you need to know that. I don’t care how we got here. It’s completely moot." Talking Points FTW!
"No, you should have cared in the first place." Come ON, D.
I continued: "It’s a completely moot point. If you cared too, you would have stopped drinking a long time ago, you would have stopped shoving me, sober or drunk. You would have stopped throwing beer bottles across the room – "
D was actually hurt. "I only did that once!"
"You’re right, because that makes it better, that it was only one time." I looked at him, squarely, not letting him off the hook. "I’m not going to rehash our marriage, D."
"Yeah, well, I could see where you wouldn’t want to beat it, um, you don’t really like looking at anything that might suggest that there was anything that you could have done and that it wasn’t just me."
"So I'll ask you this, D: You started drinking again yet?"
"What do you think?"
"I don’t know," I continued innocently, "what I saw on that Facebook page makes me wonder. There are a couple of things on there that are references to you drinking. Absinthe? I mean, I know you’re eating a lot of pie, but…" (OK, folks, I could not resist a barb there. I was trying really, really hard at this moment to be the "bigger person." But I just had to mention the pies that Sally had written so many status updates about, and that D had apparently eaten so many of.)
That got him, too. "You are so full of yourself and self-centered." Niiiice comeback.
I surprised myself when I said, "I don’t give a shit what you think about me anymore" - and it was true.
At this point, I instructed D to leave. He seemed shocked - shocked! - that I would ask him to get out. I asked nicely. I think he was just battening down the hatches for the big brawl - the one that never came, because I just wasn't going to be baited. I had, after all, my Talking Points.
But he didn't leave, not yet. He was reeling now, and needed to lash out. I knew this dance well. "You know, you never did a thing wrong the whole time, or there’s nothing about our marriage or our divorce that is on you."
Sorry, buddy. That is not one of the Talking Points. "Your affair with Sally has NOTHING to do with me. It was your choice. You violated my trust."
"Our marriage was over. You had already turned in divorce papers."
Oh, dude. Dude, dude, dude. Did you really want to look so irretrievably stupid? You need to get your facts straight. I was quick to make sure that he stood corrected. Moreover, I wanted him to know that I had documented EVERYTHING.
"Ohhhh, no. No," I stated. "No, actually. If you want to look at the dates? You might want to be very careful about making that statement. Very careful. Please go get your things."
At that moment, something in this inevitable power play shifted. I think he was, finally, out of his league, and knew it: I had proof, he had nothing but his own anger (and his bellydancer).
"Do you want me to – I mean – how do you want me to arrange getting stuff out of the house?"
I was formal in my response. "We will arrange times for you to be here, and I’ll be here to let you in, and I’ll help you move stuff out. I just want you to be very clear that, regardless of what you think about our marriage, and the fact that you seem to think that your drinking and your yelling were tiny little things in the marriage?"
"I don’t think they were tiny. I have great regrets about that."
"Well, I appreciate that. But you need to know that you are now THE most hurtful person I’ve ever known in my entire life. You have hurt me more than anyone else in my entire life. So I’m going to beat myself up about that for a while. But you’re still my child’s father." Damn it, I thought. "Your actions have put us here. Your behavior – publicly, publicly! – has put us here."
"It’s not public." Aw, for Christ's sake.
"It’s completely public on Facebook, D. 'Sally Smith, In a Relationship with Don Jeremy.'"
Despite his repeated affirmations that Facebook simply isn't public, there was still one thing I needed to know. So I brought it all back to the Talking Points.
(Here we go, down the rabbit hole!) "Has Sally ever been in this house?"
"She’s been here."
"How many times?"
"Once or twice."
Despite the wave of nausea and violent bitterness, I held back. I figured that simple, short questions were the way to go here.
Further down the rabbit hole. "Has she slept here?"
"Yeah. She slept in the office." (This, you might remember, was D's de facto bedroom for a few months before he moved out.)
"Was that her hairband on the sink?"
"I don’t know."
"Has she met Little One?"
"No." He was lying.
"You telling me the truth?"
D relented. Slightly. "Actually, she did. She met her at the park. She didn’t really interact with her. She just saw her." Again, semantics! Please.
"So not only have you been having this relationship, you’ve had Sally in the house, without my knowledge, and you’ve had her meet our little one, without my knowledge."
"She didn’t really meet her. I – you know – " Flummoxed, I think is the word.
"D, I appreciate your honesty when I ask you direct questions. What I would have loved to have you do is sit me down two months ago, and say “look, I know this is going to be really hard to hear. But I’ve got this relationship going with Sally. I know it sucks for you, and I’m sorry about that, but I’m happy.” What would have been wrong with that course of action? Was it more fun to be duplicitous?"
"No. It was – I really felt like I was incredibly disappointed about our marriage being over. I didn’t want to hurt you further." He looked down. "You’ve already told me that you’re not going to believe anything I say or that you don’t care about anything."
I had to draw the distinction. "No, I believe what you’re saying right now. I just don’t trust you going forward."
"I never felt like you really did." D's voice was starting to shake. "I’ve done enough things where I could see you wouldn’t trust me. [pause] [shaky voice] I don’t want to claw, and scratch, and – I don’t want it to matter so much that I need there to be recognition that there were times where I tried to approach you and you didn’t treat me very well or that you didn’t like me very much. Or that you were mean to me. Before any of these things happened."
"Tell you what, D. Here's what I'll do. I will go through the notes that I’ve kept since the beginning of our marriage, and I’ll pull out the key phrases that you’ve used against me. Repeatedly. Did you know that that’s actually called emotional abuse?"
"I’m sure it’s emotional abuse. But you abused me too. I felt – I felt a lot of those things as well. And – you know that I always regretted the things I said, and wished I hadn’t said them, and I told you that I either didn’t feel – I was striking out, and it was wrong."
"Yeah, it was. And ultimately it led me to not trust you anymore and to fight back in ways that I felt comfortable. I’ve spent the last 5 years afraid of you."
Quietly, D said, "I’m sorry." He was always sorry. It was just always after the fact, after the damage had been done. And it never changed anything.
"D, I really, really hope for your sake that Sally already knows who you truly are. I doubt it. Because when I first met you, and fell in love with you, too, you were sober. And you weren’t smoking, you weren’t spiraling. Right now, I don’t see your true self." I wound up for the pitch: fastball down the center. This line, I had rehearsed:
"The fact that she’s 'in a relationship with' a fictitious character is beautifully metaphorical." (That might be my favorite line, like, ever, to come out of my mouth.)
"Why do you feel like I’m not me right now?"
"What about you matches the guy that I’ve known? The guy that you’ve been the last seven and a half years? The fact that you even thought that having her in this house was appropriate? I had already decided that, if you told me that, I’m gonna sell the fucking house."
He looked mildly surprised. "Okay."
I kept going: "Because of YOU, and your choices. And that woman was in MY house. Without my knowledge. How dare you." I paused. He didn't say anything.
"D, you will get what you fairly deserve out of this divorce. Nothing more. My lawyer and I are going through what “community property” is. You will get half. You will have time with Little One. You will, someday, regret this conversation and your behavior. I don’t wish for that day because it’s going to be really hard for you and I still care about you enough to know that."
"Penelope, I already feel a lot of regrets and have been trying -"
"You feel guilt. Guilt, D."
"No, I feel a whole lot of regret. You don’t think these things are addressed in what I’ve been dealing with in AA?"
"No, apparently not. Because you have valued your happiness above anyone else’s, including mine, for the last three months. You knew – you KNEW – specifically – how hurt I was by your relationship with Sally before it even became a full-blown relationship. And yet, you didn’t care. You just kept going."
"I did care! You mean, if you really care, you won’t do something?"
Here's the summary, dipshit. I spoke slowly, carefully, enunciating ev-er-y syll-a-ble. "If you promise not to do it, yes, you don’t do it. If you promise the woman who begs you with tears in her eyes, who loves you, that you will not do something, you DON’T do it if you say, I agree, I won’t do it. It’s that simple. It’s called integrity. It’s called honesty. And it’s called not lying to your wife. I don’t care if we were already on the path to divorce. I’d already put a lot of time and effort into supporting you. Up until recently, I was still your biggest fan. You have got to understand that there are broader consequences here. What you’re giving up here is someone with such a good heart."
I was starting to find the emotion in this for me. It was just so sad, in addition to being utterly ridiculous.
"I know."
It was hard, this part. "It was just never enough for you. I was your number one fan."
"I know, I’m sorry."
"I believed in you, D. I had faith in you. And this is where I find myself? Having other people tell me what you should have told me? YOU. You didn’t even respect me enough." I swallowed hard, mostly to keep my dinner down for what I was about to convey. "D, I’ve read every single post. For legal reasons, I had to, to make sure. I simply don’t deserve to be put in a situation where your behavior impacts me so that I have to get an email from someone. Here – take a look – " I got up and reached over to the table, where I had a print-out of the first email from Mr. Anonymous.
"I don’t want to see it."
Elementary school, here we come! I was tired, I just had to fight back. "I don’t care if you want to see it."
D said, "Well, I’m not gonna look at it just because you want to show it to me."
"Then you can take it home and look at it," I retorted.
"I’m not gonna take it anywhere with me."
"Well, then I’ll leave it here for you."
At this point, the conversation softened a bit. Everything I could say had been said. I had nothing more that I had to get across. Even when, later in the conversation, D told me that Sally and he hadn't done a whole lot of "sleeping" when she was in my house, I kept my cool. (Yeah, he's a really classy douchebag, that D.)
We had talked for nearly an hour and a half when he finally left. He looked worn. I felt alive, emboldened by my bravado in combat. For the first time, I thought that maybe I just might have a really good outcome from all this.
But then D's cousin left, I put Little One to bed, and I sat down on that same couch perch and cried. For a very long time.
15. The Talking (Taking?) Points: Part 1
While my flagrant attempt at husband provocation via Facebook had largely fallen flat, it did give me a unique opportunity to completely and totally blindside him during our talk that evening.
I had arranged for D to come over. I was also petrified of actually, really provoking him into some sort of altercation. (See post lucky 13.) Granted, he was stone-cold sober - he had been since that night, because a judge told him he'd better be, or he was going to jail - but I had reason to worry. This was not a predictable person coming over, this was D, lord of the fake Facebook account and bellydancer seduction. I was going to be on my guard.
And so I made sure I had company in the house, inviting one of D's own family members to come over and play with Little One upstairs while D and I could talk downstairs. In fact, I didn't exactly invite; they offered to come over when they heard what had been transpiring and what I needed to talk to D about. So any concerns I might have had about "They're D's blood relatives, so they're going to support him" largely went out the window.
D arrived round 6:30. D's family member had just arrived as well, and said a cursory hello to D before getting Little One upstairs to her room to play. D looked wary, but only because he didn't understand why his family member was there.
I sat down on the couch, D perching (voluntarily) on one of Little One's toddler stools. (If that isn't just a great visual, I thought.)
"So, thanks for coming over to talk," I said. D was cordial enough, exchanging pleasantries. He had moved out about 2 weeks prior to this, so he still had some things in the house to remove. We chatted about that for the moment.
I had notes in front of me. Earlier that day, my therapist (God bless that man) and I had created the Talking Points, which I should fall back to if the conversation got off course. And with D, it was going to go off course, that was for sure:
1. You lied to me over and over again.
2. You were dishonest with me when it mattered most to our marriage and our family.
3. I no longer trust you.
I had these scribbles on a piece of yellow lined paper in front of me as D and I exchanged the pleasantries. Then I began what I really wanted to talk about.
"D, I want to thank you," I said, as sincerely as I'm able. "I know the last few months have been hard, and I really appreciate that you and I have been able to be mature, and honest, and have really tried to work through these months together, to maintain our relationship and our family."
"Thanks," he said, looking slightly soothed and yet perplexed, too. "Me too."
"Great," I said. "Which is why I'd like to spend some time now talking to you about Don Jeremy."
I watched the color drain quickly from his face. To his credit, his facial expression barely changed at first. Then it hardened. "Okay," he said, starting down the road to Defensiveland.
"This conversation is, ostensibly," I said [I pull out my big SAT words when really, really pissed] "a discussion about that fake Facebook account, and what you've been using it for."
Crickets. But he was trapped and he knew it. I could see him starting to chew on the inside of his lip, a sure signal that he was churning inside.
I continued: "Do you happen to remember the conversation that we had, a few days after deciding to divorce, that we would not date anyone else while you were still living here, and that we were dedicated to helping each other through this tough time?"
More crickets. I think he might have nodded.
"So, against that backdrop," I said, "you can imagine my surprise here. It has come to my attention that you've been having a relationship with Sally for several months now. Rather openly, as it turns out."
"What do you mean, openly?" He countered. He was about to go into conflict mode - where I had much less stable footing, simply because it intimidated me - and I had to shut it down, fast. At least he hadn't tried to deny that he wasn't Don Jeremy - somewhere he must have remembered what his profile picture was. Dumb ass.
"I mean that I now have pages worth of screen shots of your relationship with Sally, as played out on Facebook, including pictures, love notes, and dates, and that this evidence conclusively illustrates that the two of you have been having a relationship behind my back. For months now. I don't know how I'm going to use this information yet, but I wanted you to know that I'm compiling it. You have been lying to me for months, D. And what's worse, I had to find this out from some anonymous emailer."
This took him off guard. "What? Who? What do you mean?"
I breathed deeply, and collected my thoughts. (Yay, I thought, I'm collecting my thoughts!) "I mean that, in mid-September - which is right around the time that I was in Florida - someone took it upon themselves to email me, from an anonymous email account, that my husband was having an affair. Any idea who that might be?"
"That's ridiculous. Who would do that? None of my friends would do that. No one who knew -"
"I don't know," I answered. I was thrilled that I had riled him, but very, very glad that his (rather tall and strong) family member was upstairs in case he was needed. "Whoever this person is, for what it’s worth, felt that your behavior with Sally in mid-September among friends was already so public and so indiscreet, they found it unkind and felt I had a right to know."
"Well, it wasn’t public." Haggle, haggle. That's the D way.
"Whatever. Unfortunately, I have to draw a boundary around my life now, one that I had hoped that you would be a bigger part of. That’s no longer going to happen, so what we need to figure out is – and the parenting plan seminar will help me figure this out a little tomorrow – is what’s in Little One’s best interest going forward. And at this point, I am going to investigate ALL possibilities as to what is in her best interest."
Sitting on that little chair, I almost - almost - felt sorry for him. "What. Meaning? Meaning, keeping me from seeing her?"
"No, not at all, that’s not what I mean at all. I would only do that if it were in Little One's best interest. It does, however, mean that there will have to be considerations about whether she’s going to spend time with Sally when you are with her. If that’s already happened, well, nothing I can do about that now, other than to reinforce the fact that that was something you should never have done behind my back, use our child that way. I’m assuming it’s hasn’t, I’d like to think that it hasn’t, I’d like to think that you’re not that guy."
"What do you mean, use our child that way?" Yes, D, semantics. Exactly what you should be concerned with right now. Good job.
I continued, "I would prefer to think that you would separate your current personal situation with Sally from our family situation, which has been difficult enough for everyone involved. Now, the fact that you went to such great lengths to hide your relationship with Sally from me makes me wonder what else I don’t know. Natural human instinct. So in light of the fact that I would like to minimize my time spent with you, I would prefer that we figure out another couple of times when we can help you move your stuff, whatever else you want to take, um and we can arrange that once you get back from your trip to visit your family. [Upcoming - he was going to the south to visit his immediate relatives for Thanksgiving.] And that’s why I would also like for you to think about how much time you want to spend with our kid, because you do have this other person in your life, what the interaction between that person and our daughter is going to be, if any, because I want that to be very clearly delineated going forward." I paused.
I was really, really surprised to hear myself say these things, to sound so sure of myself. I had never really had that in our marriage. All it took was a bellydancer to push it out of me, I guess. "I would like you to start being honest with me now. And I have no intention of keeping Little One from you. I have no intention of using our child as a pawn, no matter how I feel. That would simply be the wrong thing to do, and it’s well below what I would ever consider to do, even to you." Here, I have to admit, I paused for dramatic effect. He was processing everything I had said, figuring out his next maneuver. I could see the gears turning behind those scared eyes. He was cornered, and he was going to have to try and figure out a way out. We were both silent for nearly a minute.
I've never really enjoyed silence during arguments, however, so I started again.
I had arranged for D to come over. I was also petrified of actually, really provoking him into some sort of altercation. (See post lucky 13.) Granted, he was stone-cold sober - he had been since that night, because a judge told him he'd better be, or he was going to jail - but I had reason to worry. This was not a predictable person coming over, this was D, lord of the fake Facebook account and bellydancer seduction. I was going to be on my guard.
And so I made sure I had company in the house, inviting one of D's own family members to come over and play with Little One upstairs while D and I could talk downstairs. In fact, I didn't exactly invite; they offered to come over when they heard what had been transpiring and what I needed to talk to D about. So any concerns I might have had about "They're D's blood relatives, so they're going to support him" largely went out the window.
D arrived round 6:30. D's family member had just arrived as well, and said a cursory hello to D before getting Little One upstairs to her room to play. D looked wary, but only because he didn't understand why his family member was there.
I sat down on the couch, D perching (voluntarily) on one of Little One's toddler stools. (If that isn't just a great visual, I thought.)
"So, thanks for coming over to talk," I said. D was cordial enough, exchanging pleasantries. He had moved out about 2 weeks prior to this, so he still had some things in the house to remove. We chatted about that for the moment.
I had notes in front of me. Earlier that day, my therapist (God bless that man) and I had created the Talking Points, which I should fall back to if the conversation got off course. And with D, it was going to go off course, that was for sure:
1. You lied to me over and over again.
2. You were dishonest with me when it mattered most to our marriage and our family.
3. I no longer trust you.
I had these scribbles on a piece of yellow lined paper in front of me as D and I exchanged the pleasantries. Then I began what I really wanted to talk about.
"D, I want to thank you," I said, as sincerely as I'm able. "I know the last few months have been hard, and I really appreciate that you and I have been able to be mature, and honest, and have really tried to work through these months together, to maintain our relationship and our family."
"Thanks," he said, looking slightly soothed and yet perplexed, too. "Me too."
"Great," I said. "Which is why I'd like to spend some time now talking to you about Don Jeremy."
I watched the color drain quickly from his face. To his credit, his facial expression barely changed at first. Then it hardened. "Okay," he said, starting down the road to Defensiveland.
"This conversation is, ostensibly," I said [I pull out my big SAT words when really, really pissed] "a discussion about that fake Facebook account, and what you've been using it for."
Crickets. But he was trapped and he knew it. I could see him starting to chew on the inside of his lip, a sure signal that he was churning inside.
I continued: "Do you happen to remember the conversation that we had, a few days after deciding to divorce, that we would not date anyone else while you were still living here, and that we were dedicated to helping each other through this tough time?"
More crickets. I think he might have nodded.
"So, against that backdrop," I said, "you can imagine my surprise here. It has come to my attention that you've been having a relationship with Sally for several months now. Rather openly, as it turns out."
"What do you mean, openly?" He countered. He was about to go into conflict mode - where I had much less stable footing, simply because it intimidated me - and I had to shut it down, fast. At least he hadn't tried to deny that he wasn't Don Jeremy - somewhere he must have remembered what his profile picture was. Dumb ass.
"I mean that I now have pages worth of screen shots of your relationship with Sally, as played out on Facebook, including pictures, love notes, and dates, and that this evidence conclusively illustrates that the two of you have been having a relationship behind my back. For months now. I don't know how I'm going to use this information yet, but I wanted you to know that I'm compiling it. You have been lying to me for months, D. And what's worse, I had to find this out from some anonymous emailer."
This took him off guard. "What? Who? What do you mean?"
I breathed deeply, and collected my thoughts. (Yay, I thought, I'm collecting my thoughts!) "I mean that, in mid-September - which is right around the time that I was in Florida - someone took it upon themselves to email me, from an anonymous email account, that my husband was having an affair. Any idea who that might be?"
"That's ridiculous. Who would do that? None of my friends would do that. No one who knew -"
"I don't know," I answered. I was thrilled that I had riled him, but very, very glad that his (rather tall and strong) family member was upstairs in case he was needed. "Whoever this person is, for what it’s worth, felt that your behavior with Sally in mid-September among friends was already so public and so indiscreet, they found it unkind and felt I had a right to know."
"Well, it wasn’t public." Haggle, haggle. That's the D way.
"Whatever. Unfortunately, I have to draw a boundary around my life now, one that I had hoped that you would be a bigger part of. That’s no longer going to happen, so what we need to figure out is – and the parenting plan seminar will help me figure this out a little tomorrow – is what’s in Little One’s best interest going forward. And at this point, I am going to investigate ALL possibilities as to what is in her best interest."
Sitting on that little chair, I almost - almost - felt sorry for him. "What. Meaning? Meaning, keeping me from seeing her?"
"No, not at all, that’s not what I mean at all. I would only do that if it were in Little One's best interest. It does, however, mean that there will have to be considerations about whether she’s going to spend time with Sally when you are with her. If that’s already happened, well, nothing I can do about that now, other than to reinforce the fact that that was something you should never have done behind my back, use our child that way. I’m assuming it’s hasn’t, I’d like to think that it hasn’t, I’d like to think that you’re not that guy."
"What do you mean, use our child that way?" Yes, D, semantics. Exactly what you should be concerned with right now. Good job.
I continued, "I would prefer to think that you would separate your current personal situation with Sally from our family situation, which has been difficult enough for everyone involved. Now, the fact that you went to such great lengths to hide your relationship with Sally from me makes me wonder what else I don’t know. Natural human instinct. So in light of the fact that I would like to minimize my time spent with you, I would prefer that we figure out another couple of times when we can help you move your stuff, whatever else you want to take, um and we can arrange that once you get back from your trip to visit your family. [Upcoming - he was going to the south to visit his immediate relatives for Thanksgiving.] And that’s why I would also like for you to think about how much time you want to spend with our kid, because you do have this other person in your life, what the interaction between that person and our daughter is going to be, if any, because I want that to be very clearly delineated going forward." I paused.
I was really, really surprised to hear myself say these things, to sound so sure of myself. I had never really had that in our marriage. All it took was a bellydancer to push it out of me, I guess. "I would like you to start being honest with me now. And I have no intention of keeping Little One from you. I have no intention of using our child as a pawn, no matter how I feel. That would simply be the wrong thing to do, and it’s well below what I would ever consider to do, even to you." Here, I have to admit, I paused for dramatic effect. He was processing everything I had said, figuring out his next maneuver. I could see the gears turning behind those scared eyes. He was cornered, and he was going to have to try and figure out a way out. We were both silent for nearly a minute.
I've never really enjoyed silence during arguments, however, so I started again.
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