The Rundown, Part 18

I am not afraid of solitude. Traveling accross Europe solo just confirmed to me that I enjoy my own company and have the capacity to be happy regardless of J or his actions. 

That was not always the case. 

When J and I got married, I felt as if I had been on hold up until that point and only then could I finally begin living. 

On our honeymoon, we wrote a list together of things we wanted to do and places we wanted to go-- a bucket list of sorts. I remember finding it again a few years after J's first disclosure and being shocked at how little of myself was contained in that list. I don't want to skydive. I thought. I don't want to learn to ski. But at the time, I'd just wanted to go wherever he went and do whatever he did. I'd lost myself in him. 

J's first disclosure changed all that. In the years following, I'd made a conscious decision to live in such a way that I wouldn't need him for anything. I'd stopped looking for his love or validation to fill my emotional holes. I'd pursued my own interests and cultivated my own talents and developed a relationship with Heavenly Father that enabled me to receive strength, comfort and inspiration independent of my husband. 

Our starkly differing experiences in Europe seemed to highlight how far I'd come. 

In Sweden and Denmark, I walked cobblestone streets, read books in quiet cafes, explored art museums and shopped for simple, modern design goods. I went running in lush parks, biked around Nyhaven and sat in grand cathedrals for Evensong. I navigated on my own, spent hours in absolute silence or made a game of trying to go an entire day without speaking English. It was liberating and empowering and centering all at once. I was pleased to find that despite everything, I felt whole and happy, all on my own. 

Meanwhile, on Instagram, J was posting photos of his travels in Ireland. I'd look at him standing by the Cliffs of Mohr or eating in a pub and think, "I am so glad I'm not there!" I'd wondered if I would have any regrets; instead I felt an exhilarating freedom to see what I'd narrowly escaped; to look around at how purely "me" my trip really was. 

I basked in it. For two weeks, I didn't have to cook, clean, talk, sacrifice or compromise. I simply walked wherever I wanted to walk, ate whatever tasted  good, looked at whatever struck me as beautiful and pondered whatever I found intriguing. It was healing and meditative and revealed to me how easy it was for me to actually enjoy myself once I was unencumbered by J and the psychological weight of his manipulations and betrayals. 

By the end of my trip, I felt absolutely filled to the brim with life and beauty. I dreaded seeing J again, aware of how blatantly impenitent he was, and steeled myself for the long flight home. 

Once I was settled in to the seat next to him, I cautioned myself not to open up-- but I could hardly contain how happy I was! It spilled out all over the place. I cheerfully chatted with the woman next to me and ended up enthusing to J about the sights and experiences. As I waxed poetic, I could see him sinking deeper and deeper in to self pity. I turned on a movie to get myself to shut up. 

"I'm not well" J told me. "I was miserable for the entire trip. I wish you were there. It was torture watching others with their spouses and knowing I was all alone." He pulled his hat down over his face and cried. He asked to hold my hand. For a while, I felt sorry for him and obliged, then instantly felt uncomfortable with it and let go. It did not feel like he was crying out of godlike remorse or genuine sorrow for where his actions had led. Instead, he cried because I was happy and he wasn't, and it didn't seem fair to him. 

As I watched a coming-of-age film on the tiny TV embedded into the seat in front of me. J continued to interrupt, fishing for small nuggets of conversation. J had always loved coming-of-age films. For years, he'd been drawn to the awkward underdog. The misunderstood, socially awkward boy who only needs a woman's love in order to 'find' himself. He'd started countless scripts, attempting to encapsulate these feelings into a single character, but always ended up lost in the second act. He never knew how to end the story; how to get his guy to grow up. 

As I mulled this over, I was struck with the thought that J can't finish his coming of age story because he's never come of age. He can't verbalized something he doesn't know or understand, and he's never learned that you can't expect a person or event to make you happy. Being an adult means taking responsibility for your own actions and feelings, but J was still expecting me to "fix" him. 

For a moment, I couldn't help but look at him and think, "You never grew up. I am married to a thirteen year old boy."

And with that, I felt alone for the first time in two weeks. 

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