My stomach sank as soon as I pulled into the driveway. The trees in the front yard were perfectly pruned, the bushes were freshly trimmed, and the walkway had recently been swept clean. I knew I was looking at a full Saturday worth of work, which meant that J had spent the weekend at the house even though I'd made it very clear that for the duration of our separation, the house was entirely off limits to him.
A weight seemed to settle on my shoulders before I'd even stepped out of the car. I was so tired of these subtle ways he found of crossing my boundaries while simultaneously putting me in a position of looking either unreasonable or weak. In this case, if I pointed out the violation, he'd accuse me of being unappreciative and critical when {supposedly} all he'd been doing was trying to serve me. But if I let it slide, then I'd send the very clear message that I hadn't truly meant it when I set the boundary in the first place and that I didn't respect myself enough to enforce it now.
I hated this game.
It was disorienting and exhausting when he refused to acknowledge what he'd done, and yet I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. "He isn't self aware," I'd lecture myself. "He isn't malicious." So I would try telling him that his 'unselfishness' was actually hurting me and taking an increasingly large toll on me; but to no avail. He only ever gave me that infuriated victim speech-- the one that said he was doing his part to be in recovery and that I had better do my part to forgive him.
In the end, I would be left feeling shrugged off and unsafe, but unable to really explain it to anyone. After all, how stupid would it sound to say that my husband did yard work for me and it made me feel disrespected?
When I walked through the door, I greeted the children before drawing J aside to speak privately. I felt unsettled as he put on a concerned voice and asked about The Togetherness Project. I opened my mouth, but I couldn't make myself share even the most superficial thing about my trip. I had the strange and disquieting notion that he was nibbling away pieces of me-- prodding for more information and asking for more vulnerability-- but that if I wasn't vigilant, he'd devour me whole. For a long moment, I sat across from him knowing the words I could say and the things I could do to invite intimacy between us, and yet the words were frozen on my tongue. I willed my lips to move but it was as if every molecule of my being rebelled allergically. It simply refused to play along.
Instead, I found myself pointing out the way he'd violated my boundary. He launched into his justifications, but I couldn't seem to listen. My mind was chanting, "counterfeit, counterfeit, counterfeit," too loudly. I stared into the middle distance, remaining blank and unresponsive until he finally stopped talking.
And then flatly, I asked him to leave.
{image}
No comments:
Post a Comment