After it became clear I would need to end my decades-long marriage, the question of what to with the relics of that union plagued my already shattered heart. At that point, I also began to sense that I would eventually need to move. My wedding dress had been wrapped and living in the corner of an unused closet for many years. The idea of moving it to a new home, where I hoped for a fresh start, disturbed me on many levels. Because every time I saw it, I thought about that innocent, young bride…me. She was so happy and in love. She felt honored that she had found a man who would cherish her, despite her flaws. She felt thrilled that she was going to enter into the covenant of marriage which would endure for the rest of her life and into the eternities. She searched long and hard for the perfect gown—a physical representation of all of those dreams.
You’ll note that I shifted into third person when writing the last few sentences. That is because that hopeful young woman I once was feels so different from the battle-weary woman I am today. Those dreams I cherished at that time were systematically destroyed over years of deceit, betrayal, and cruelty. It is hard for me to connect in with my twenty-two-year-old self, and I often think of me at that time as another person.
I was led to an organization who took wedding gowns and turned them into burial clothing for stillborn babies through a casual conversation with a business connection. And, no, I don’t believe in randomness or coincidence. I believe in guidance and connection into a power much greater than ourselves. This felt so right, that my dress would have a purpose. But, I hesitated, because I didn’t want to get rid of my dress if my daughters wanted it for any reason. Eventually, we were able to have a conversation and there was zero sentimentality around anything to do with my wedding. My daughters agreed with my decision that it would be best to donate it to help others. My dress was lovingly made into several items of burial clothing to be donated to suffering and unprepared families. Knowing that something which once meant so much to me could be repurposed into items that perhaps might offer a bit of peace in another’s time of deep grief was healing. I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that the seamstress made one of the gowns pink, my favorite color.
This small event has become a very symbolic one for me. It shows me the power and capacity of human transformation. That we can put away the past and use whatever we gained from that time to assist ourselves and others to forge ahead in unexpected way. I never would have imagined I would end up in the place I find myself today. Yet, here I am. I’m trying my best to repurpose. It is my deep desire to help women have been injured through betrayal trauma understand how valuable they are and that through much pain and work, they are going to get better. How can I help you in your transformation?
As I have increased my volunteer work as a betrayal trauma mentor, I frequently hear reoccurring themes between my groups and in my one-on-one meetings. When a message keeps coming up over and over again, I feel it is something I need to pay attention to and perhaps publicly address. For the past several weeks, one message has risen above all the others: it’s not fair.
The main idea that seems to be floating out there is that it’s not fair that women who only want to be a wife and mother now find themselves in the situation of seeking work in a glutted and depressed job market. These women were assured by their husbands that they would be supported in leaving behind their careers and attending to their families full-time. This aspect of betrayal trauma is particularly compelling because often these same women put their husband’s through school, neglecting their own education and career aspirations in anticipation of their protected role as wife and mother. This is such a difficult scenario and I am deeply sorry if it is where you find yourself.
I have been struggling with multiple “it’s not fair” complaints of late. Indeed, one of the reasons I have neglected this blog for a few months was because I felt weighed down by all the ideas of what is not fair in my life and I even dabbled for a time in bitterness. I believe that if I am going to speak out, I need to honor my feelings, but also be a place where people can come to glimpse an offer of hope for their future. These past few months, I have not felt capable of those dual roles. I chose silence as the best course of action.
My “it’s not fair” is very compelling to me at this time. It involves my housing security. One value my ex-husband and I shared was the importance of being debt-free. So, when others of our acquaintance were buying boats or adding theater rooms, we scrimped and saved and paid off our home. That indeed was a glorious day. But now, I have to pay my ex-husband his portion of equity in that very house we worked so hard to have as our own.
Back in January, I had a real estate agent come over to give me an idea of my options. As I sat and listened to him explain the lack of inventory in my housing market and how deeply in debt I would need to go into to buy my own, paid off home, I had a full-on PTSD reaction to this news. It is incredibly unfair for me to have to start again in order to stay in a place I live today debt-free just because my ex chose to follow a life course that was contrary to my values. Particularly now when my business had been greatly impacted by COVID and I have no idea what my financial horizons hold.
I needed to sit with this for a time and really honor how painful this feels and how difficult the future will most likely be. I felt weary while contemplating the years of struggle behind and those inevitably to come. Instead of saving robustly for retirement as I planned in this season of my life, I am going to be forced to take out a mortgage again. I’m not ashamed to admit that I dwelled in a pity-party land for several months. I spent many a night crying in my bed about the lack of justice in this situation. Where was my recompense for always attempting to do what was right by my marriage? I have turned my face up to the heavens and said, “Haven’t I suffered enough? When will it be ever enough?!” As if the number of trails I need to live through in this life were pre-set and I feel justified complaining that I’ve met my quota.
But life doesn’t work that way. Our mortal existence is beautiful, but it is also designed to be an experience that engenders growth. It’s not like we suddenly hit the pain-threshold lottery and a game show announcer voice booms, “Congratulations, Azalee! You have passed through your required grief portal and now you will be rewarded with an all-expenses paid vacation to Hawaii!”
Last week, I finally tired of being around myself. I was an onerous companion. One morning, I woke up and said out loud, “Enough!” Though I was proud of myself for leaning into my feelings instead of dismissing them as stupid or irrelevant (what I did for years), it was time to move on. I needed to go back to my basic values. I believe with utmost certainty that Heavenly Father is a compensatory God. I know that he is aware of how frightened and distressed I am. I’m working my hardest to make things right, and I know he will help me to make this all be okay in the end.
Even though I trust completely in my Heavenly Father, this does not mean that my fear vanishes. I remain quite terrified of the future and some days it threatens to overwhelm me. But, I have chosen to change my head-speak message. Knowing that I will be guided and led, I now think for the first time in my life, I get to pay off my own home and be able to say that I am a kick-butt single mom who made it through her own faith, hard work, grit, and determination. My grandmother was a single mom in an era where women simply endured dysfunctional relationships. Throughout her entire life, she was proud of the fact that she had worked hard and paid for her own home. Now, I get to channel and take courage from the difficult lives my ancestors lived. I will live and learn what my grandmother experienced.
I bet you have several things at the top of your mind that could fit into the “it’s not fair” category. There is nothing fair about being betrayed by the person you loved and trusted most in the world. But, is there a way you can honor those feelings, but also change the message in your own mind – and truly own that new message? Yes, it’s not fair. However, spending an inordinate amount of time dwelling on injustice will never change the facts. It will simply rob you of the joy that is available to all of us every day of our lives.
But what if he never faces any real and lasting consequences for his actions?
Have you ever laid awake tormented by the fact that perhaps your partner or ex is going to get away with everything they have done? That justice will never be served? That the world will never see the true monster behind the mask? I have. In fact, that question plagued me to such a great degree that I honestly wondered at times how I would be able to live with it.
This man has destroyed your family. Ripped apart covenants. He used, abused, and neglected you while you exerted every power available to you to try and save your marriage. And then, just like that, he goes off on his merry way. If your situation is like mine, he’s in a rebound relationship before you have even been able to pick yourself up off the floor. My ex, within days of embracing the reality that I indeed planned to file for a divorce, was in a new on-line relationship and had booked a vacation with the woman—while we were living under the same roof! There was never a solitary tear shed over the loss of his wife, who had prayed, fasted, sacrificed, and given him everything. This is not a romance novel ending; he has never looked back with any sorrow at the loss of our relationship. He tells our children all the time how great his life is without me.
Then there are the sometimes lacking consequences from earthly and heavenly courts. We trust these third parties to understand and discern traumatic events. And let’s be honest, we look to them for validation of the incidents that have transpired in our marriages. Everyone’s experience with church discipline is different. For me, while I knew I was loved by church leaders, I did not feel settled that the initial outcome of his discipline fulfilled the laws of justice. In addition, there is a high probability that your ex/husband is engaging in illegal behavior as well. But, often to your relief, he’s never been arrested or paid any penance for his risky behavior.
The reality is that addicts and our friends in the Cluster B category are often quite successful. Psychopaths, sociopaths, and narcissistic are known for rising up through business ranks. The fact that they possess no discernible soul serves them well in corporate America. Oh, you want me to lay-off that man whose wife just had twins and whose mother is dying of cancer? Not a problem. That older gentleman who has served our company for thirty years but is starting to slow down a bit, let’s cut him and strengthen our bottom line. This lack of remorse allows them to see humans as mere tools to profit and loss. These behaviors are often highly rewarded in business settings. So while you are eating questionable food because you don’t know how you are going to pay your mortgage this month, your ex just got a nice promotion and is taking the new girlfriend on a trip.
Talk about riding off into the sunset. How can their life be so amazing when yours is a wreck?
Rest assured. There will be a price paid. Isn’t their shallow, emotionless existence enough of a high toll in and of itself? Their loss of trust and esteem by people who used to care for them? My ex may not be able to feel anything, but I do. That makes me realize a full human experience. Despite the difficulties inherent in a normal mortal journey, I wouldn’t trade his life for mine under any circumstances.
Perhaps your ex will not discernibly pay for his sins in this life. But, we have to trust in our loving Father. I believe that Heavenly Father allows the laws of agency to move forward with little intervention. I, however, will never for one minute believe that we have a hapless God who is easily duped. Oops, turned my head there for a minute and missed that one. Unlikely. He notices and sees. The scriptures are replete with admonitions that we will be held accountable. We need to turn no farther than those sacred books to be assured.
Alma 5:17 says about our judgement, “Or do you imagine to yourselves that you can lie unto the Lord in that day, and say—Lord, our works have been righteous works upon the face of the earth—that he will save you?”
King Benjamin told his people in Mosiah 2:39 when speaking of those who come before the Lord unclean, “And now I say unto you, that mercy hath no claim on that man; therefore his final doom is to endure a never-ending torment.”
And, I have always taken great solace in Jacob, Chapter Two. I think he saw valiant sisters in this day of rampant sexual sin. I particularly feel resonance with verse 33. “For they shall not lead away captive the daughters of my people because of their tenderness, save I shall visit them with a sore curse, even unto destruction;…”
There was a time when I was wracked with so much emotional pain, it translated into physical pain. One day, I knelt down, my chest blazing with sorrow, and asked my heavenly father how…? How could Cory not feel anything and I, who had done nothing to shatter my vows, was harrowed up in darkness unimaginable? I received an undeniable witness that my ex-husband’s actions are known. I was given an assurance that all things will be made right. I was told that my trial is noticed, seen, and honored, and that I would receive compensatory blessings.
The point of this discourse, of course, is not to flame fires of revenge or propagate the idea that we would greedily relish the idea of a man we loved, possibly had a family with, and spent years of our lives with suffering torment. On the contrary, this prospect is a nightmare and a tragedy. My intent is to soothe that we can be assured that although it may seem as if our exs are getting away with everything, they indeed are getting away with nothing. Just like us, they are known and seen. I hope this idea can offer some respite and comfort from the distress of considering that he lives a life with no consequences. None of us are above those.
I was so grateful for this illumination in my mind. I now spend little time worrying about whether or not justice will be served. And when I do catch myself falling into obsessive thought patterns, I turn it back on myself and say, “What am I doing to live a life that will qualify me for the Celestial Kingdom? What am I doing today to make sure I can spend eternity with those I love?” This shift in focus calms me. Ultimately, I tried my best to save my husband. But now, it is time for me to save myself.
At some point, all of us—good and bad—are going to leave this life and move on to our father’s kingdom. Personally, I cannot wait for that blessed day. When it comes, it won’t matter what Cory did in this life to me and others, that will be his sole accountability. What will matter is what I did to refine myself and become more of what I hope to be during my precious mortal existence.
I promised awhile back, after processing some darker feelings through my blog posts, that I was going to keep an eye out for miracles and post about those as well. I have no doubt that miracles exist everywhere in my life and that angels surround me. It is up to me to be in tune, or not. Today, I want to note a seemingly tiny miracle, but one I am incredibly grateful for.
When I first found out about my husband’s sexual addiction, I went through the normal, devastating emotions of shock, denial, anger, bargaining, etc. However, as I worked and worked in an attempt to try to understand my new reality and how to get better, I realized that there were many layers to my recovery and multiples of trauma that I needed to mourn. One of those was my husband’s financially disingenuous behavior. When I discovered his porn usage and other ways he acted out, I realized that this involved a lot of hidden money. Even though my kids were small, I always worked, even if just part-time. Prior to discovery, it seemed like we never quite made ends meet. I would try to pick up extra freelance work and always operated our household as frugally as possible. When I discovered that the truth of our financial struggles lay mainly at the feet of my husband, who had been consistently hiding and siphoning off money, it was another unfathomable betrayal in my already complex network of grief.
At that time in my life, I had decided to stay married to Cory because I believed and hoped his earnest protestations that he had changed and would continue to evolve as a man of God. I felt terrified, unsure, and definitely had not surrendered the illusion of control in his recovery. I had always kept ahold of the reins of our finances, but I went into hyper-drive, obsessively accounting for literally every penny that went in and out of our home. I spent hours over my Excel spreadsheets reckoning and reconciling. I figured that if I could track the minutia of expenditures, I could control his addiction.
How wrong I was. I knew my husband was gifted, but I had no concept of what he could accomplish when he combined his intellect and desire to sexually act out. Of course, the money manipulation never stopped, it just became more deeply hidden and grew exponentially as the years went by.
Last night, I mobile deposited a check for thirteen dollars and change. As soon as the deposit was accepted, I made my way to my computer to note that tiny addition to my income. And then I stopped…and I realized that I don’t have to obsessively track thirteen dollars, because I don’t have anyone in my life who is stealing from me. Nobody is taking the funds I am saving for my daughter’s college education and spending it in strip clubs. I’m not figuring out how to buy groceries while the man I should trust with everything in my life is dating other women. My heart swelled with joy as I halted my progress toward the computer. I’m free!
Of course, I still budget and watch my finances, but what an indescribable blessing in my life that I can work hard for my money and that no one is going to use my own drive and ambition to cheat on me ever again. It is beautiful and I thank the heavens for reminding me of a miracle that might seem small, but is actually huge in my recovery.
As I’ve dedicated myself to fully working through my betrayal trauma recovery, I’ve learned and grown so much. I truly feel that over the past year and a half I have been completely reborn and am an entirely different person. But this process is a journey. Inherent in epic undertakings, there are starts and stops. Sometimes we even take a few steps back. That’s all okay. Worthwhile endeavors lend themselves to a non-linear course. I think if I visually represented my process, it would appear like a meandering stream with many off-shooting tributaries. I often have experiences that remind me that I have much to still grasp and process. And sometimes the old Azalee gets in the way.
As part of my divorce decree, we agreed that I got to stay in the home for two years, mainly because we had a missionary out when we divorced. Of course, all along I’ve known a clock kept a countdown to the time where I would have to deal with the house. In January, a real estate agent reached out to me on LinkedIn and asked if I wanted to meet about my real estate goals. It felt like a gentle nudge from above. I agreed and met the agent at Starbucks and we had a lovely, surface-level chat.
Two weeks later, he came over
to my house to give me an analysis. As he sat there in my kitchen, further
explaining the market, I went into a full-on PTSD “freeze” mode—my brain unable
to keep up with the basic things he explained. While we were married, my ex and
I worked hard to pay off our home. We made a lot of sacrifices and it was with
tremendous joy and pride that we made our final house payment. Now, as this
agent explained how deeply into debt I would need to go in order to buy my own, paid off house in order
to give half of the equity to a man who had already taken so much, my brain
went into full spin out.
That night, as I lay in bed, I
went back to a place I know all too well. Where I couldn’t sleep because my
stomach churned and my head struggled to grasp the truth. Where I wept silently
through the long night while everyone else slept. Where I got up to crawl
through the next day feeling trashed and numb, wishing for nighttime, only to
lie down to repeat the nightmare once again. That awful pattern repeated itself
over and over the next few weeks.
Enter the old Azalee. I began
to castigate myself for my reaction with thoughts such as: it’s
just a house. A possession. When did you become so materialist? Just move. Why
are you being so weird and dramatic? You knew this was coming. Get a grip.
Because, you see, old Azalee wasn’t so skilled in honoring pain. She lived with an addict for far too long and had embraced his blame-game explanation of events. Sometimes it was easier for the old me to accept that everything was indeed my fault than try to grasp who my husband truly was. But now I know better; it was time to take action. I purposefully stopped the circular thoughts and took some quiet time to think and feel. I talked to myself like I would a beloved friend. No, I wasn’t being weird nor dramatic. This is my home that I love. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to go into debt. This is about the precious safety and security of me and my daughters. This is a heartbreakingly expensive reminder that I once had what I thought was a stable and loving relationship and now I know I don’t. As I began to gain some clarity and kindness with myself, I realized that I was missing out on an opportunity to help others by not sharing something that on the surface seems so simple. I know there are many who are experiencing similar issues of grief, and you are not alone.
I won’t say that through the realization that I had failed to honor my pain that it is over. I acknowledge that losing a home is a big stressor, dogpiling on top of the betrayal from a man who I truly loved and supported with my whole being. It’s a lot and it is completely okay for me to feel abandoned, frightened, and traumatized. I have noticed that when I fail to honor my feelings, it is hard for me to connect with the Spirit. I’m too busy running myself down. As soon as I noticed and honored my pain, there flooded in the peace that even though I don’t know what is going to happen, I know I am going to be okay.
When I was a small child, I discovered a gift that would be one of the most momentous influencers in my life: words. Words created sentences, which created paragraphs, which created books. Stories carried me off into other worlds and allowed me to experience adventures I might never have had on my own. It became my life mission to follow my siblings and parents around the house haranguing them to read to me. This love affair with words has never ceased. I make a portion of my living using words to write for companies and help individuals to effectively use words to create their own stories. What a blessing in my life.
Unfortunately, unlike the false proverb of sticks and stones, words really can hurt us. Especially when wielded by addicts, abusers, and Cluster B personality disorder types (narcissists, psychopaths, sociopaths, etc.).
I was cleaning out a cabinet the other day and found a letter from my then-husband. There was no date, however, judging by the contents, I figured it was something he wrote to me about eighteen years ago when I very first discovered his pornography and sex addiction. It said: I know we are going through a rough patch, but I love you, and I promise I will never do anything to hurt or betray you ever again.
It
renders me speechless to attempt to describe much I wanted to believe those
words. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.
Sadly
I’ve learned the hard way that words can be empty nothings when produced with sole
the intent to falsely influence. I have experienced this so painfully that I
literally do not take anything my ex says for truth unless it is somehow
verified by a third-party source. He could tell me the sky was blue today, but
I’m going to look up and see for myself.
I often hear people question aloud while they struggle with the heartbreak of their new reality, “How do I know if my spouse/ex-spouse has changed?” May I suggest it is not through his or her words. It is through action where we notice authentic efforts in the journey to become a transformed person.
My ex-husband often exclaims to our children sometime along the lines of, “I am doing so much better! I’ve changed! I won’t ever fall into temptation again!” Yet, in that very same conversation, he will also break firm and communicated boundaries and display complete emotional disconnection. His actions are in direct opposition to his words.
The fact of the matter is that it is unnecessary to crow about how hard of a worker we are, of what an amazing parent we are through copious posts on social media, or how incredible our recovery is going, because some truths are self-evident. Others around us will feel, see, and notice how our efforts are yielding a new path by how we behave.
Our Savior was a quiet and ordinary man in the eyes of the world. He did not need to shout about his miracles and service. People around him saw what he did. They felt his devotion and power. Our loving Father sees and gives us, through the gift of the Holy Ghost, the power to understand transformative change for ourselves. I’ve learned that when words and actions don’t mesh, I always have spiritual power at my behest to let me know what is truth and what is a carefully constructed act by a spin doctor. All I have to do to access that saving truth is to live worthy of the spirit and then humbly ask.
Once upon a time, I used to go swimming on a weekly basis. Swimming is a tough workout, but since you are in the water, it is a surprisingly calming, womb-like experience. I’d get up early, jump in the pool, and start my day by logging in some laps. Fantastic. As I cruised back and forth across the pool, I’d think and dream about my life and everything would be going along, well, quite swimmingly. But then, sometimes I’d notice someone else in another lane. They’d invariably be swimming so much faster than me or their form was much better than mine. When I started to pay attention to my neighbors and stopped focusing on my own personal time in the pool, stuff happened. Like me colliding into the lane markers (which really hurts!) or crashing into the wall. Focusing on others had a way of ruining my otherwise peaceful time exercising.
Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been getting some pretty strong messages that I need to remember to stay in my own lane. The lane of where I choose to focus my head and heart, that is. The place where I embrace that I am an empowered survivor. The beautiful, freeing space where I own my happiness. Because, for many compelling reasons, I forgot about that for a minute. I’ve been worried about the manipulation my ex is inflicting on others. I’ve been preoccupied by who he’s going to hurt. I’ve been stewing a whole lot about how I can’t foresee and control my future.
Frankly, I’ve been miserable.
The other day I was in a class and we
read 2 Nephi 10:23 “Therefore, cheer up your hearts, and remember that ye are
free to act for yourselves…” Okay! Thanks for the reminder Heavenly Father, I
sure did need it!
Make no mistake, I’m no Pollyanna. This is not to say that we don’t recognize abuse. No, ma’am. When my ex is pulling his manipulative tricks, l actively refute his nonsense with retorts such as, “Nope, that’s not true. That’s gaslighting.” Or, “Not playing the blame game with you today.” It’s important for me to name the emotionally abusive behavior. I find by doing that, I can honor my feelings and not just stuff them inside of myself like I did for oh so many years. It is a trial being married to or divorced from a partner who purposefully throws attention away from him/herself by blaming or projecting their sins on to others. I choose to recognize that, honor my feelings in response, and stay in my own ever-loving lane! I spent most of my adult life trying to change my ex-husband. He is not going to change. But I can.
We can enjoy abundant peace when we work on our own healing and our own self-care. I can’t control the future and what my ex does to others. I wish I could have more power, but I don’t. I do have power to exercise agency in my life and my recovery. This is a difficult road, but I have a lot to be grateful for. Instead of wallowing in abject misery, I’ve decided to actively watch for the miracles in my life. I’ll be happy to report on those soon. I’ve purposefully pulled myself back from the ledge of victim mentality and life is an altogether sunnier place. Still tough? You bet. But I’m managing it better while focused on me, not on those other swimmers in the parallel lanes of my life.
How are you staying in your own lane
during your recovery?
Let me give an example. I live in Northern Utah. As this year’s snow season started, we wondered when we should put on our snow tires. This is an event we dread and avoid as long as possible. Not only due to the expense, but because it makes the cars run rougher and louder. At the end of October, I was scheduled to fly to Los Angeles to attend a client open house. The night before I was set to leave, a winter storm warning was issued. My kids were worried and upset because we still had not put on the tires and things appeared as if they were going to be messy and dangerous. Their worry and fear led to, of course, my worry and fear. I laid awake all night wondering what to do and chastising myself for not having the foresight to put on the snow tires earlier in the year. Now, I had a plane to catch in the morning and no recourse. Finally, I came up with a solution. I got up while the night still slept, loaded the tires in the separate cars, took a shower, and was parked at the tire shop the moment they opened. I explained my dilemma: I had three cars that needed snow tires put on in a few hours. They said they could help. Then I said, “K, um, I have a plane to catch, so I’m going to be doing my hair in your bathroom.” The guy laughed…but then he saw I was serious. And so it went. In between sessions of driving to drop off and deliver cars, I curled my hair in a public bathroom. Yes, it was awkward and embarrassing, but what choice did I have? I made it to the plane okay, and the kids were able to travel to work and school safely. But long about the time when I was supposed to be chipper and upright for the client open house that evening, I was crashing in a big way from my lack of sleep and early morning activities.
It’s the life of a single mom. Maybe if you are reading this you
understand. I’ve got to earn a living and I’ve got to keep my kids safe.
Somehow, I also am supposed to run a house, keep up the yard, hold a church
calling, and delve into recovery self-care.
Yeah, I’m not keeping up.
I own my own business, which is capricious to the tidal shifts of the
economy. It is true feast and famine and I never know which environment I will
be operating in on any given day. It’s scary not to have a financial safety net
of benefits and a steady paycheck. My worry for my kids never ceases. Whether
quiet or vocal, I have serious concerns about how they will ever come to terms
with what happened with their dad. My house is always a disaster—ranging in
status from erupting whirlpool of chaos to World War III ground zero. When I
take care of one thing, two other equally important things plop themselves unbidden
onto my never-ending to-do list. It just doesn’t end…ever.
Every once in a while, particularly when I am tired or overwhelmed, I wonder why I decided to end my marriage. Why I would choose a life of stress and tumult over my old life where at least I had financial security and someone who mowed the lawn.
Then I take a deep breath. I remind myself that I made an impossibly hard choice for the happiness of myself and my children. I am a warrior-mommy. There is no doubt in my mind that even my most difficult day as a single woman is infinitely better than any day with my ex-husband. Because now I choose.
-I choose spiritual healthand safety. Today, I live in a home where the spirit of my heavenly father soars unconstrained. There is no one here covertly watching or participating in behavior that is in opposition to the vows we made at marriage. No one shares the same walls with me who is breaking covenants with intent. The adversary no longer is allowed free reign in my home.
-I choose love unfeigned. I now only have relationships with ethical individuals who do not live false lives. People who share my values. I don’t have to live with a man who is not worthy to be my husband and who doesn’t try, even as years pass where I yearn and beg for him to be the man I hoped he would be. I am better off with the difficult days rather than spending time with someone who does not even attempt to understand my physical and emotional needs. I now nurture myself.
-I choose peace. I don’t have to look over my shoulder every waking moment, anticipating when the dam of secrets will break open. Wondering—really knowing—that my worst nightmare is going to come true. It has already happened. It’s over. I can focus on healing myself and my children. I am free from terrifying discoveries always lurking around the corners to blow up in my face.
-I choose freedom. Yes, I am
ridiculously busy. But I now unabashedly spend the limited free time I have in
self-care and chasing the dreams I desire for my life. I don’t have to cater to
the needs of a man who selfishly takes and takes and takes yet has nothing to
give.
I read a statement recently that said something to the effect that loneliness
is not a physical state, it is about the quality of your relationships and
getting out of them what you want and need. I love this definition because it
confirms what my instincts have been telling me all along: I am actually less lonely now that I am divorced.
I embrace each and every day of my messy, lonely, stressful life.
Because I choose to.
One of the surprising aspects of being a
divorced woman is the amazing people I meet and talk to as I go about the
business of changing my life. As I shift names on credit cards and other
personal details, I spend a lot of time telling a lot of strangers about what
is going on in my life. And here’s the weird thing: most of them have gone
through it too. As a whole, I have found these individuals to be infinitely
kind, patient, and willing to help.
The other day, I called up the credit
card company to get my name changed. When the customer service representative
asked me for the reason why and I explained, she said in a lilting Southern cadence,
“I know what you are going through, when I went through my divorce, I got down
to 82 pounds.”
As we concluded the call she said, “Now,
Miss Azalee, you hang in there. Things are going to get better.”
I wished I could record her affirming
voice, filling in the names of all the ladies I know who are traversing the
living hell of ending a marriage and navigating the unbearable pain of betrayal
trauma. So, I’m going to say what that sweet lady said: you hang in there.
Things are going to get better. You are going to heal.
I am fascinated by the picture that I
have used to head this post. The woman appears to sit on a swing over a chasm.
Yet, she doesn’t give off the sense that she is desperate or unsure. She’s got
her hands on a safe surface, but she’s not gripping in panicked desperation.
Though it seems she is perched over an abyss, there is a confident command in
her posture.
She’s hanging in there.
We may be hovering over own personal abyss. One that was not of our making or choosing. I would have given anything to save my marriage and keep my family together. The tumult of an unknown future may be all that we can see when we look forward. But we can face this with quiet confidence–because we’ve got this. Many of us haven’t been given any other choice.
We’re going to hang in there. We are going to trust that a loving Heavenly Father knows us and is in charge. Always. Forever.
I am
not what you would call a highbrow kind of gal, but I do love all the arts.
Opera. Symphony. Theater. I suppose because duality makes folks more
interesting, I also love things that do not fall anywhere in the arts category.
Like demolition derbies.
And
the Terminator movies.
I
know, I know. The premise is ridiculous, the acting atrocious. Maybe the allure
is because I adore the complexity of stories about time travel (still trying to
figure out a way to have that work for me) but I was a huge consumer of the
early Terminator movies.
Now, I’m not such a devoted fan because I have a Terminator ex-husband.
If
you have seen the movies, there is that scene in the initial one where the
Terminator leans in and with a menacing expression promises, “I’ll be back.”
Well, my Terminator ex, he’ll be back…and back…and back.
I think we all hope that if we find it necessary to end our marriages, we can let each other go with love and an aim of forgiveness. Sure it’s sad it didn’t work out, but if nothing else but for the sake of the children, let’s metaphorically shake hands and wish each other love and light.
My ex-husband is a narcissist. Narcissists don’t let go. They don’t kindly shake hands, metaphorically or otherwise. Because these are vicious emotional vampires who do not like to lose. They can’t live with the fact that their exs now stand for themselves, are becoming strong, and are finally able to clear away the fog to discern through the nonsense.
When I first separated with my now-ex after months of him refusing to move out of our home (that’s a subject worthy of its own entire post), I could not initially distance myself emotionally. I had two self-destructive aims. First, I wanted to get some kind of rise out of the man. A hint of angst for destroying our decades-long marriage? Maybe one tear? Gosh, even the glimmer of sincere show sorrow?!
Unrealistic
and unrealized expectations.
The
second thing was that I kept looking to him to answer the why of what he did. How could he turn his back on his own children?
How could he leave his family and rush into the next relationship with
literally anyone who would engage with him on dating apps without a backward glance?
I was not well enough at the time to see how fruitless it was to ask for
rational answers from a man steeped in the insanity of addiction.
But
I learned.
Eventually I saw the psychologically critical need I had to distance myself from his madness. The second he sensed me drifting away, he went into panic mode. The manipulation and cruelty, all packaged up in niceness, rocketed to a whole new level. Like, for example, when he had a rental car company leave a voice mail on my phone to confirm that my “family-sized van” was ready to pick up. Yep, he definitely wanted me to know that one month after our divorce finalized he was taking his girlfriend and her whole family on a trip to California.
Over time, I healed and I learned about boundaries. It was tough to let go of the control I thought I had, but I set rock-solid rules of how he could and could not engage with me. He is not allowed to contact me in any way except if it has to do with the division of our assets or our children. He can’t even text me to wish me a happy birthday. As his control over me started to fade, he did the only thing left—he turned on the children, because that is a great way to trigger me into defense mode. He is an absolute emotional brute to our kids, but couches his behavior in language of he is “just being sensitive to their needs”. When the kids see him and come home upset, it almost kills me to not defend them, but confronting him does nothing except to add fuel to his narcissistic fire. I have to remind myself that when you have no empathy, you don’t care that your children despise you and that you’ve lost their trust. My comments do nothing to change him or help him see some kind of a healing light.
I’ve come to realize that like the Terminator, who couldn’t be reasoned with or couldn’t be bargained with, my ex is going to attempt to punish me for the rest of my life. But my strong boundaries are barriers that block him at every turn. Terminators can be rendered powerless! We can transform from victims to victors!
