My marriage lasted 8 years, 7 months and 11 days. He wanted a divorce after just 72 days. So for 8 years, 5 months and 1 day, I fought like hell for what I thought was going to be the perfect marriage. We said out vows, didn't we? I thought those words were supposed to mean something. Apparently, he didn't. In just under three months, he broke so many of those vows: love, honor, cherish, respect, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I would say that's pretty much all of them.
Looking back, there were red flags everywhere. The snide remark here, the callous dig there. Blaming me for his alcohol abuse, putting me dead last behind golf or being at the bar with the boys. It would all rise to a head, explode in an epic fight, the apology would happen - and when I say that, I mean me apologizing to him when I knew he was in the wrong - he would bring me flowers and promises to do better next time and then all would be well. The "honeymoon phase" would last up to about three months and then it would spiral downward again. I began to think I was the one who was nuts. Heck, I was told that so often. There were so many instances when I questioned my sanity and mental stability. I have written about it at length
here.
For years I saw this pattern, but I couldn't get up enough confidence and courage to leave. I just didn't have the strength. When I would get up the guts to even attempt to try, he would sense that and be on his best behavior so I would stay. The real beginning of the end in my mind was after the birth of Payton. Our little man was born about a month early and he was sick right off the bat. He was diagnosed with severe Gastro-Esophageal Reflux Disease by the time he was three weeks old. He was labeled as Failure to Thrive and he was in and out of the hospital for nearly a year. When Payton was in the hospital, that meant I was in the hospital, too. There were days when Payton's father didn't even call or show up. I never felt more alone in a sea of people. Everyday. I was forced to be a single mother when I was married. I was told I was being selfish when I emphatically said I needed a break, I was told that I needed to go back to work, I was told that I wasn't doing my job as a mother because Payton wasn't gaining weight. Huh? What? That completely contradicts itself. Why yes it does. See what I mean? Add in post-pregnancy hormones and a screaming child and I'll show you one broken woman. Broken right down to the core.
After Payton was doing much better and he was growing with the aid of a major surgery and a G-Tube, I began to truly think about leaving. My husband had shown me his true colors time and time again. He was giving me no reason to doubt who he really was. Now, I truly believe in things happening for a reason and one day when I was driving, I heard the most amazing conversation on the radio:
There was a relationship councilor on this particular morning show. She was talking about divorced parents. She was giving a lecture to a room full of adults. She asked the question: "How many of you have divorced parents?" About 30% of the people raised their hands. She then asked the question: "How many of you wished that your parents had gotten a divorce?" Another 30% of the audience raised their hands. When she asked, "Why?" The answer given by one of the men was this: "I watched my mother give up who she was and suffer to stay together with my father for us. I felt like it was my fault that she stayed together with him for the kids." Holy crap. Here I was giving up who I KNEW I was at my center. I had pushed my true self down and away for 8 years. I didn't recognize who I was when I looked in the mirror anymore. I had no freedom, I was being treated like a dirty doormat, I had to compromise who I was just to avoid a fight that was going to happen anyway. There was no happiness in my home or marriage, there was no trust, no honor, no respect. How in the would would it be fair to let Payton see me like this as he grew up. I would be dammed if Payton was to EVER treat a woman like his father was treating me.
I knew at that moment that I had to leave. The plans went into motion. I called my mother and set a date to temporarily move to her home as the apartment I had found wouldn't be ready for a month or so. I did a mental inventory of what I would take, what I would leave and how I would go about doing this.
A few weeks after I started making the plans, I was still a bit wishy-washy. However, he managed to seal the deal by playing this card: he said that he didn't want me taking Payton around my parents because he didn't want his son to get to know "people like them". The "people like them" part is in reference to their being overweight. Really? Just because they were overweight made them bad people in his mind. These people have the biggest kindest hearts and they love children. Their lives focus on children in what they do for a job every day. And here was my soon-to-be ex husband attempting to isolate me from my family. He had already done this with my friends which in and of itself is awful, but this is my family. He even went on and said that he didn't want Payton around my brother and sister-in-law either. I remember sitting on the floor in the hallway with my chin in my lap unable to speak. I sat there for about 15 minutes with my mouth open in disbelief while he sat on the couch with a smug gloating look on his face going about his business and channel surfing like nothing was wrong. I simply got up, walked up the stairs and called my mother. I was definitely leaving and I needed some help.
About two weeks later, he left on a business trip and that weekend, I left. I packed up my things, Payton's things and moved into my mom's house. I lived out of boxes in the living room and it was beyond difficult, but I was happier than I had been in a long time. A new volume in my life had just begun and I was ready. It wasn't all smooth sailing - not by a long shot - but I was moving to my OWN music and the cage door had finally opened enough for me to see the light through it.
