The Rundown, Part 2

Late one night, I got up to feed the baby. Our second bedroom served as both an office and a nursery, so when I walked in and found J sitting at the computer, I wasn't surprised. But by his demeanor, I knew what he'd been doing.

With our daughter in the room.

I was livid. Shaking, I packed my things, grabbed the baby, and went to the only place I could go on such short notice-- his parents' house. His parents are good people, but were completely clueless about how to deal with something like this. His dad, in his characteristically inappropriate way told me that, "all men need physical release. He must not be getting enough of it from you." {I still have resentment crop up from time to time about that remark.}

I endured two days there before J showed up with flowers* and agreed to go to therapy together.

That was pretty much the state of things for three years. While J went to therapy, he maintained that "everything was fine" and that we were going to counseling in order to help me with my bitterness. He often told me, "If we get divorced, it won't be due to my problem, it will be due to your unwillingness to forgive."

It was a torturous way to live, and yet all my prayers were answered with, "wait."

So I did. Grudgingly.

I vowed not to have any more children. I went back to school. I opened my own banking account and got my own credit card. While I couldn't bring myself to file for divorce, I also couldn't fully commit to our marriage. I didn't feel safe. Periodically, I found evidence of more acting out, which usually led to apologies and promises to "take this seriously." Each time, I'd turn to the Lord and ask, "Now? Is this enough?" but the answer was always no.

While therapy didn't seem to be having much effect on J, it did dramatically change me. We didn't have the money to afford it, but we turned to his parents and our Bishop for financial help. I found that maintaining this boundary of, "I will only stay as long as we are in therapy" was empowering and healing for me. I grew more patient. I focused on myself. I had help navigating my massive faith crisis, and gradually began to truly trust God again. By 2004, John 14:27 was the scripture I recited like a mantra:

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

Despite the fact that J was certainly not in recovery and wasn't being honest with me {or even with himself} I found peace. I felt the spirit nudge me to accept that I didn't have to put my life on hold while waiting for J to screw up 'enough' for a divorce. I didn't need to live in fear. So I gave permission to myself to invest in an uncertain future.

I became pregnant with our son.

Again, it was a difficult pregnancy, but the birth was beautiful. I labored naturally and had him at home, in our bedroom upstairs. I felt powerful and brave and so near to God.

Our son had severe reflux, which meant he was in constant pain. He regularly screamed until he passed out in exhaustion, only to wake 45 minutes later screaming again. He only seemed to sleep in an upright position, if I held and rocked him just so. I swear, I didn't sleep for a full year after he was born.

At the same time, J started a new job. He still had his own business, and had to commute over 2 1/2 hours a day, so essentially, I never saw him. In the back of my mind, I knew that he was distant, un-empathetic, and probably regularly turning to his addiction, but I honestly didn't have the energy to care. One day, I walked in on him while he sat in the closet, trying to compose a letter confessing of his latest acting out. It was the first time he'd ever attempted to come to me instead of waiting to be caught. I was touched and hopeful.

Our therapist recommended LifeStar, so we scrimped our pennies and did that. J went for several years, but I dropped out after phase 2. At that point, I'd realized that my depression hadn't lifted despite the baby now sleeping, J working only one job, and obvious blessings in my life.

I went to the Dr and got a prescription for Zoloft, and for the first time in years, it was like the world was in color.

*I still hate apology flowers. Flowers are for when you say something unintentionally hurtful or forget to fix the dripping faucet after being asked a million times. They are definitely NOT for when you've selfishly betrayed everything your partner has held dear. Stupid, insulting, inadequate flowers.