The Rundown, Part 14

For a few days, I worried that I wouldn't be able to go home because J was resisting the idea of separation so much. He even admitted that he looked into what legal recourse he had,  (What? Did he think he could force us all to live under one roof?) but eventually came to the conclusion that pursuing that route would be ugly and fruitless. 

He flew in to help me drive back to Arizona, and as I went to pick him up at the airport, I felt powerful and sure of myself. Writing my list of 6 Recovery Behaviors had reinforced my belief that the safety I was looking for was necessary; what I was asking for was not unreasonable or unattainable, but was in fact the very bare minimum that I would need to see in order to try again, and that I would be ready and willing to recognize safety when I saw it. 

J must have anticipated a weepy, heartbroken, angry mess, because he seemed startled and disoriented by the cheerful yet firm way I explained my expectations for our separation. But he soon appeared to take it in stride, and the next day, we spent our last hours of summer vacation at the county fair with the kids and my parents. 

On the surface, everything looked so happy and healthy. We could sit around a picnic table and talk pleasantly. We divided duties with the children and reveled in their joy at being together again. I felt no animosity towards J and was completely content to spend time around him as long as he did not attempt to touch me. It was all so normal. 

I was grateful that I felt solid in the decisions I'd made, because days like that--where by all appearances, we are the very picture of an ideal family-- could have thrown me into a storm of doubt and confusion. That had often been the case in the past. 

However, the facade began to crumble as we made our way back home. J began questioning my boundaries once again. He struggled to understand why I felt that such "extreme" measures were necessary. He tried, unsuccessfully, to disguise the fact that he felt I was being punitive. 

That afternoon, I'd written a letter to his family in reply to all the emails they'd been sending me, and while I didn't say anything that I hadn't already discussed with J, he felt that I'd been harsh and judgmental in it. He really became concerned with appearances. He thought I was causing him to look bad in front of his family, friends and co-workers, and that being separated was an embarrassment and failure that I was forcing on him. 

That night, we stopped in Utah and had to tell the kids why we would be sleeping in separate rooms, and what life would look like for them when we got home. J was furious with me and refused to participate in the discussion or back me up in any way. I'd foolishly hoped we could present the situation as a team, but instead I was left holding our daughter as she sobbed (she was the only one who could vividly recall the last time we'd separated, and had cried, "I can't do that again!") as our sons asked questions I couldn't answer and J glared daggers at me. 

I was so relieved that we had a therapy appointment already lined up for when we returned, and longed to have someone who might be able to 'get through' to J for me. I began to hope against all hope that the therapy session would change everything. 

It did. But not in the way I expected. 

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