I've been attempting to write about it for the last several weeks, discarding drafts and hoping to make sense of it all, but it's a difficult head space to dwell in. I find that most times, it's so raw and confusing that my mind is only able to skim along the surface of it.
I know there's more.
Something in the center means something; it's important. But excavating and examining are slow tasks. Thus, I have a feeling that I will be re-visiting this day often as I continue to process.
For now, here is an initial, unpolished overview.
The text was ominous. "We need to talk when you get back," J wrote. After spending the flight home steeling myself, I walked into the conversation certain of four things:
1) That J was going to be highly critical. He would mercilessly attempt to find fault with and place blame on me.
2) That he would be self pitying and make a bid for sympathy. He would try to have me accept responsibility for his misery.
3) That I needed to be calm, firm, and resist being sucked into the drama triangle because above all, I knew that:
4) J was not malicious. He was immature and destructive, but he would never intentionally hurt me.
He started out by asking how I felt about the letters my family had sent. By that time, both my parents had joined my brother C in bluntly voicing their intolerance for J's minimizing and blame shifting. "You choose to sin," my father said plainly. "You have grown to love it, and you have done it so much that you can no longer be trusted. Rise up and be a man- a priesthood man. Then you won't need words; we'll hear them in your actions."
"Do you agree with them?" J asked, his eyes wide and hurt. "Don't you think they're harsh for calling me manipulative?"
"I could have written every word of those letters myself," I answered, unblinking.
He nodded, tight lipped.
He brought up therapy and tried to convince me that I'd wasted our therapist's time by using the previous week's hour to announce the divorce. "Did you see him?" J scoffed, his lip curling at me. "He was helpless. There was nothing he could do. It was completely inappropriate of you to put him in such an awkward position. We can never go back now!"
I shook my head, baffled at his bizarre logic. "Discussing divorce was anything but inappropriate," I said patiently. "He's a neutral party who provides a place where I feel safe to bring up sensitive topics. I don't feel guilty for using our time there to do just that."
I tamped down my fury at his bald-faced insensitivity and reminded him that he was not safe for me. That I would only consider engaging in such vulnerable activities after he clearly displayed mastery of the 6 Behaviors I'd written as my signs that he was in recovery.
"You can't be serious," he deadpanned, fixing me with a look that said I was utterly unreasonable. "Those are lifetime goals! You don't honestly expect me to do those things by Christmas, do you?"
I watched him silently instead of replying.
After a beat, the tears in his eyes dried and his face hardened into an angry mask. "If you aren't talking to me, who are you talking to?" he asked in a low, menacing tone. I gawped at him briefly and couldn't contain a sharp laugh of incredulity. He was implying that I was having an affair?
After a beat, the tears in his eyes dried and his face hardened into an angry mask. "If you aren't talking to me, who are you talking to?" he asked in a low, menacing tone. I gawped at him briefly and couldn't contain a sharp laugh of incredulity. He was implying that I was having an affair?
"My mother," I replied sternly, brooking no argument.
He did not appear to believe me, but moved on to inform me that he wished to discuss the upcoming holidays. "If this is to be our last Thanksgiving and Christmas as a family, then I want to spend every minute of them together," he stated proudly. I clenched my teeth, increasingly frustrated by his stubborn refusal to accept what I had already plainly told him.
He did not appear to believe me, but moved on to inform me that he wished to discuss the upcoming holidays. "If this is to be our last Thanksgiving and Christmas as a family, then I want to spend every minute of them together," he stated proudly. I clenched my teeth, increasingly frustrated by his stubborn refusal to accept what I had already plainly told him.
"We will not be spending time together! You are not safe for me!" I asserted once more. "You are not in recovery. You aren't even working toward it! I can hardly stand to be in the same room with you, let alone spend holidays together!"
"So you're just going to quit, is that it?" he needled. "You won't even join me in fighting for our family?"
"We have very different ideas of what it means to fight for our family," I sighed. "You seem to think that it means ignoring reality and hoping for a miracle to come wipe away all my pain so that you can go back to life as usual without actually having to change."
"You expect me to give up," he huffed, throwing his hands up dramatically. "You're telling me to curse God and die?!"
"I never said to give up," I corrected him. "I said that instead of insisting I give you one more chance, you should take the chance you've already been given and do something real."
"But I am in real recovery," he started.
"No," I said firmly. "You're not."
I leaned back and opened my calendar. "We should decide how to split the holidays now, " I said. "I already have plans to spend Thanksgiving with family, so it would be nice to have the kids with me, but that leaves Christmas Eve and Christmas Day."
He glowered at me. "You aren't taking my kids out of town without my permission." He stated flatly.
"I won't be," I said breezily. "My brother C and his family are coming to stay here for a few weeks. My parents and brothers will join them in November."
There was a long moment of silence. J was sitting across the room from me, his head down, his form deathly still when, without warning, he looked up, his face red and contorted, and yelled, "Are you kidding me?"
He bellowed it with such force and such fury that I jumped in my seat and actually looked over my shoulder to see who he was shouting at. He leapt suddenly to his feet, pacing the floor while glaring at me, seething.
He bellowed it with such force and such fury that I jumped in my seat and actually looked over my shoulder to see who he was shouting at. He leapt suddenly to his feet, pacing the floor while glaring at me, seething.
"That man?" He spat. "You expect me to allow that man into my house? He tells me that his Christmas wish is that I feel the pains of hell, and you turn around and invite him to mooch off of my resources?" I sat, paralyzed with fear as he leaned close, his finger inches from my face. "You didn't even ask me!" He thundered. "This is still my house! You are still my wife! As long as we're married, you have no right to go behind my back like that!"
Now, when I reflect on the way I reacted to his outrage, I continue to feel equal parts confusion, hurt and shame. His tactics were so simple- like a shotgun blast, he struck out in all directions and hoped that something would hit home. So why, I ask myself now, Why, when I had been strong and self possessed through all of his previous assertions that I was the guilty party, WHY did it work? Why did I suddenly crumple? Why didn't I stand up to him? Why was I so afraid?
And make no mistake, I was afraid-- I was terrified. I remember trembling as he yelled at me, my mind and heart racing as he insisted that if I needed support, I should stop being so snobbish and accept the help of his family. I remember clenching my teeth to keep them from chattering and thinking frantically to myself, "don't cry, don't cry, don't cry," to no avail. But what stands out in my memory most starkly of all was the look in his eyes when he finally saw me break. It was triumph.
He saw my pain and he enjoyed it.
The minute he knew I was defeated, he got quiet and relaxed-- cocky, even. "I'm going to fast and pray about it," he told me condescendingly. "I'll let you know tomorrow whether they can come visit or not." I didn't respond, and he smiled. "Is there anything I can do for you?" He asked.
"You can leave," I whispered.
He smirked and walked out the door.
It took hours for me to stop shaking. I cried, apologizing over and over to my mom, saying, "I didn't think," and "I should have seen," and "I'm so sorry." She was bewildered.
"What do you have to be sorry for?" She kept asking, waiting for my tears to turn to indignation.
"I told them they could come," I said, thinking of C&P already on their way, "but J says as long as we're married, this is his house..." I dissolved into tears once more, horrified at the thought of turning my brother away and ashamed that I was incapable of defying J. Mom stared at me, her brows knit in confusion and alarm.
"Well then," she said firmly. "Divorce him tomorrow."
That evening, J sent me his nightly 'check in'. It was a copy of the journal entry that he sent his sponsor. In reference to our conversation, he wrote, "I felt heard and listened to. We both had a patient way of listening to each other."
I read his words and as the day concluded, was certain of four things:
1) That J was malicious. He'd set out to hurt me and felt powerful when he succeeded.
2) That my reaction hinted at a greater depth of trauma than I'd previously acknowledged. It was the first time I allowed myself to wonder if J was actually abusive.
3) That he wanted to isolate me from my family.
4) That I never, ever wanted to see him again.
