It had been about three weeks since Brad had told me about his feelings for Susan and I was reeling. I was in shock and hurting so incredibly much. The pain was intense. I had no idea I would feel actual physical pain. My skin felt burnt and my stomach ached. I thought my heart was truly breaking into tiny pieces inside my chest. I was going through the motions: taking care of the kids, going to work, grocery shopping, laundry, etc, etc but I was a mess inside. I hadn’t slept more than 4 hours a night for three weeks and I couldn’t keep anything but tea and soup down. I was pretending that everything was normal; when in reality my whole life had been drastically changed. I must have looked like a zombie.
We were going to the Christmas party put on by my work. It was at a really nice hotel in downtown St Pete. Brad and I dressed up and headed downtown. When we entered the restaurant I saw all my co-workers and their spouses. Everyone looked so dressed up and festive. Everyone looked so happy. I wondered how many of them were faking their happiness like I was. And it hit me: I wasn’t special anymore.
You see, my relationship with Brad had always made me feel extraordinary. I knew we had something really special. Sometimes I wondered what I had done to be so lucky. How did I get such a phenomenal husband? He was the absolute love of my life. I could literally feel myself light up when he walked in the room. Wow, someone somewhere must be looking out for me.
Sometimes I felt smug about it. I would look at other couples and laugh to myself about how much better our relationship was. I thought we had it all.
So, when I looked around the restaurant that night, I had an epiphany. I realized I wasn’t special at all. I was ordinary. Actually I was less than ordinary, because I had a husband who felt he needed another woman in his life to fulfill him. I was a failure. And my heart broke a little more.
As we were walking to the car afterwards, I started crying. Brad asked me what my problem was, so I told him. He became angry and told me to stop bringing this stuff up all the time. We drove home in silence.
Showing posts with label separation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label separation. Show all posts
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
D-Day minus 149: The First Dinner
In World War II D-Day was the defining battle that turned the war around. In my life D-Day is the day I learned of the affair. It is the day that changed my marriage and my life.
It’s amazing to me that things spiraled out of control and turned so horribly wrong in such a short time. My husband (I will call him Brad) and I met when we were just kids, 15 and 16 years old. We dated for 9 ½ years and married when we were 25 and 26. We lived a comfortable middle class suburban life. After five years of marriage our first son was born and 4 ½ years later our second son joined our family. Throughout the years we had a myriad of dogs and cats, and moved several times. Our marriage was strong. Our friendship was strong. We really were best friends.
Obviously things changed. I think they started changing about 3 ½ years ago, and will delve into that shortly. This entry is about July 2, 2008: our first dinner with our new friends.
Our oldest son (I’ll call him Liam) is an avid hockey player. He loves it, which is funny, because he’s a pretty quiet, easy-going guy. But on the ice, he’s tough and strong and unfazed by the roughhousing and bullying going on around him. In fact he thrives on it. When he skates, the joy is noticeable. I think he is more comfortable on skates than he is in sneakers.
Brad was not a hockey player. He played pond hockey growing up, however his sport of choice was always basketball. But watching Liam play hockey intrigued him. Brad is not comfortable being a spectator – he has to get involved. So he volunteered to help the coach. This evolved into becoming an assistant coach, then becoming the head coach of our son’s team, and finally signing up to play hockey in the adult league. This is his style. He jokes that he has an addictive personality. I think the term obsessive fits too.
Anyway, adult hockey took place on Wednesday evenings. Off he’d go with his body bag loaded with several hundred dollars worth of shiny new hockey equipment. Afterwards, he and another player ( I’ll call him Mitch) who also happened to be an assistant hockey coach of our son’s team would go somewhere and grab a beer. Mitch’s son played on Liam’s team. He’s a terrific kid, and he and Liam get along really well. Brad and Mitch would have a beer and solve the world’s problems. They both were interested in Buddhism and investigating Zen and meditation and they bonded quickly. Brad looked forward to those beers almost as much as he looked forward to playing hockey.
On July 2, Mitch and his wife “Susan” invited Brad and me over to their house. Brad was so excited. He really enjoyed his time with Mitch and loved the idea of all of us becoming friends. I was happy too. Dinner was great. Delicious food, light conversation, lots of laughter. It was just adults too, which is a rare occurrence. There were five of us: Brad, me, Mitch, Susan, and “Nancy”, who is a friend of theirs. We chatted about safe topics since we were all getting to know each other and someone pulled out some Tarot cards. None of us knew how to use them and we were trying to follow the directions but really we were making a mess of the readings. It was a great first get together.
At the end of the evening we were standing by the door saying our “we-must-do-this-again-soon”s. Mitch was standing in the middle of the three, with Nancy on his right and Susan on his left, and I thought “Wow, it’s like he has two wives”. I got a chuckle out of my thought and shared it with my husband in the car on the way home. He wasn’t too happy with my comment. These are nice people and I shouldn’t be making fun of them.
But it’s a thought that revisited me just a few months later.
It’s amazing to me that things spiraled out of control and turned so horribly wrong in such a short time. My husband (I will call him Brad) and I met when we were just kids, 15 and 16 years old. We dated for 9 ½ years and married when we were 25 and 26. We lived a comfortable middle class suburban life. After five years of marriage our first son was born and 4 ½ years later our second son joined our family. Throughout the years we had a myriad of dogs and cats, and moved several times. Our marriage was strong. Our friendship was strong. We really were best friends.
Obviously things changed. I think they started changing about 3 ½ years ago, and will delve into that shortly. This entry is about July 2, 2008: our first dinner with our new friends.
Our oldest son (I’ll call him Liam) is an avid hockey player. He loves it, which is funny, because he’s a pretty quiet, easy-going guy. But on the ice, he’s tough and strong and unfazed by the roughhousing and bullying going on around him. In fact he thrives on it. When he skates, the joy is noticeable. I think he is more comfortable on skates than he is in sneakers.
Brad was not a hockey player. He played pond hockey growing up, however his sport of choice was always basketball. But watching Liam play hockey intrigued him. Brad is not comfortable being a spectator – he has to get involved. So he volunteered to help the coach. This evolved into becoming an assistant coach, then becoming the head coach of our son’s team, and finally signing up to play hockey in the adult league. This is his style. He jokes that he has an addictive personality. I think the term obsessive fits too.
Anyway, adult hockey took place on Wednesday evenings. Off he’d go with his body bag loaded with several hundred dollars worth of shiny new hockey equipment. Afterwards, he and another player ( I’ll call him Mitch) who also happened to be an assistant hockey coach of our son’s team would go somewhere and grab a beer. Mitch’s son played on Liam’s team. He’s a terrific kid, and he and Liam get along really well. Brad and Mitch would have a beer and solve the world’s problems. They both were interested in Buddhism and investigating Zen and meditation and they bonded quickly. Brad looked forward to those beers almost as much as he looked forward to playing hockey.
On July 2, Mitch and his wife “Susan” invited Brad and me over to their house. Brad was so excited. He really enjoyed his time with Mitch and loved the idea of all of us becoming friends. I was happy too. Dinner was great. Delicious food, light conversation, lots of laughter. It was just adults too, which is a rare occurrence. There were five of us: Brad, me, Mitch, Susan, and “Nancy”, who is a friend of theirs. We chatted about safe topics since we were all getting to know each other and someone pulled out some Tarot cards. None of us knew how to use them and we were trying to follow the directions but really we were making a mess of the readings. It was a great first get together.
At the end of the evening we were standing by the door saying our “we-must-do-this-again-soon”s. Mitch was standing in the middle of the three, with Nancy on his right and Susan on his left, and I thought “Wow, it’s like he has two wives”. I got a chuckle out of my thought and shared it with my husband in the car on the way home. He wasn’t too happy with my comment. These are nice people and I shouldn’t be making fun of them.
But it’s a thought that revisited me just a few months later.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
D-Day Plus 457: My First Post
D-Day Plus 457: My First Post
Yesterday my soon-to-be-ex-husband sent me the hardship letter that he composed for the short sale of our house. There it was, in black and white, depicting our separation and the impending divorce. Only it wasn't exactly right. As in "correct". It was so watered down, missing all the true elements of what really happened. What really got us here. And it hurt and made me mad, all over again.
Anger is new to me. I've always sucked at it. And in my marriage I just gave anger up altogether because it wasn't worth the effort. I felt worse afterwards instead of better. So I swallowed it. The problem is, when you deny yourself anger, I think you deny yourself other feelings too - the extreme feelings are blocked and you end up just allowing and experiencing the "safe" feelings. Not a good thing. Not something I recommend.
Anyway, D-Day for me was November 28, 2008. Four hundred and fifty-seven days ago. Two days after Thanksgiving. The day my husband told me that he had "feelings" for his best friend's wife. The two had a connection. And he wanted my permission to "explore" that connection. He said he still loved me, and that this was something that he wanted to develop as well. When I asked him what he meant by that, he said he thought we could decide this together.
I was in shock. And tremendous pain. Actual, physical pain. How could this happen? How did this happen? Get me out of this!!!! As you can imagine, I said no. I told him (through tears and hiccups and snot) that if this was what he needed, then he would have to explore it without me. He hugged me and said that it was fine.
The betrayal was immense. This woman he had developed a connection with was a friend of mine. Our families spent the weekends together. Our children were friends who played sports together. And all the while, behind my back, there was a "connection" being developed. So when I received an email from her inviting us to her son's birthday party, I asked my husband if he wanted me to tell her that we weren't going or if he wanted to do it. He couldn't believe that I didn't want to go. That I didn't want to spend any more time with these people. And then he became furious. That fury, combined with the betrayal, was the beginning of our end.
With this blog, I plan to tell the real story of what happened. The hardship letter being used for the short sale is a pitiful version. It is a lie. And the truth needs to be told. I've been silent and mild-mannered for too long. So, even though my wings have been broken, I'm picking up a broomstick and flying forward.
Yesterday my soon-to-be-ex-husband sent me the hardship letter that he composed for the short sale of our house. There it was, in black and white, depicting our separation and the impending divorce. Only it wasn't exactly right. As in "correct". It was so watered down, missing all the true elements of what really happened. What really got us here. And it hurt and made me mad, all over again.
Anger is new to me. I've always sucked at it. And in my marriage I just gave anger up altogether because it wasn't worth the effort. I felt worse afterwards instead of better. So I swallowed it. The problem is, when you deny yourself anger, I think you deny yourself other feelings too - the extreme feelings are blocked and you end up just allowing and experiencing the "safe" feelings. Not a good thing. Not something I recommend.
Anyway, D-Day for me was November 28, 2008. Four hundred and fifty-seven days ago. Two days after Thanksgiving. The day my husband told me that he had "feelings" for his best friend's wife. The two had a connection. And he wanted my permission to "explore" that connection. He said he still loved me, and that this was something that he wanted to develop as well. When I asked him what he meant by that, he said he thought we could decide this together.
I was in shock. And tremendous pain. Actual, physical pain. How could this happen? How did this happen? Get me out of this!!!! As you can imagine, I said no. I told him (through tears and hiccups and snot) that if this was what he needed, then he would have to explore it without me. He hugged me and said that it was fine.
The betrayal was immense. This woman he had developed a connection with was a friend of mine. Our families spent the weekends together. Our children were friends who played sports together. And all the while, behind my back, there was a "connection" being developed. So when I received an email from her inviting us to her son's birthday party, I asked my husband if he wanted me to tell her that we weren't going or if he wanted to do it. He couldn't believe that I didn't want to go. That I didn't want to spend any more time with these people. And then he became furious. That fury, combined with the betrayal, was the beginning of our end.
With this blog, I plan to tell the real story of what happened. The hardship letter being used for the short sale is a pitiful version. It is a lie. And the truth needs to be told. I've been silent and mild-mannered for too long. So, even though my wings have been broken, I'm picking up a broomstick and flying forward.
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