Tag: marriage

22. Christ, if this isn’t therapy for beginners! 

We’ve had a sort of a break through.

That feeling when you feel so angry you can’t move past it, a complete cloud is covering you and nothing is visible outside it. That is what he’s been carrying for the last few weeks. It has filled the flat with it’s red mist. He would grunt, only say ‘hello’ with an accusation of things unsaid, Give a look that would say much but actually say nothing at all. . But yesterday, when the daughter was harangued for not doing something she was supposed to and then a whole pile of emotions were finally released, the fog finally cleared. He has finally let go of the anger. He said

And now he can see that we’re all hurting about this situation. It’s not just him, and it’s not just about him. He’s not being cast aside just because he’s the one moving out. And the fear he’s been hiding is now out there and spoken about and acknowledged. By him, more than anyone.

Christ, if this isn’t therapy for beginners! 

I had to explain that, while the daughter is indeed a pain-in-the-ass teenager and a bit slack at doing her share of chores around the flat, it’s not all she is. For, while our marriage ends, and we pick our way through the pieces and try to build a different relationship, one of the things we can be rightly proud of is that we grew a good human. She’s clever, kind, interesting, funny, thoughtful, wise, and lots of wonderful things that we helped her become. Yes, she’s many other things too. Aren’t we all? But the weight of all things negative have been placed on her lap and the tension between them both has been mighty of late.

I don’t want them to have a bad relationship. it would reflect badly on our history together if they did. It’s not a competition – who she get’s on best with – because the child / parent bond always changes over the years. She’s had times of being a Mummy’s and a Daddy’s girl. That’s how it should be. Kids should not the weapon of choice in any break up. It isn’t here, and I’ve helped that. And the flat feels better for it.

Next stage… shared custody of the dog!

20. It isn’t enough to say things clearly.

So often I’ve heard that communication is the key to good relationships. It’s a fair call. It makes sense that if you’ve made yourself understood that the other parties have a better chance of helping in a situation in a way you need them to. It isn’t enough to say things clearly, or even make sure someone has heard you, but to make completely sure that what you are meaning is, without doubt, clearly and totally received.

And that’s the key I have clearly missed of late… I thought I had made something obvious and I hadn’t.

It’s easy to go down the root of “does he not know me at all” but that really isn’t going to pay off for either of us. So I’ll swallow my retorts and start again. Breathe.

I cannot be here when he leaves.

I can help him pack, sort out things he’ll need, divide the stuff we’ve gathered over the years, but I won’t help him load a van and drive away. The thought of it still draws the biggest lump into my throat. It’s the moment I panic with the weight of it all. I said it to him last night and I could barely get the words out. How does he not know how deep this pain goes?

But this is not about what he should know about me, because, just maybe, that’s part of why we are over and starting down different paths. I have assumed things that I thought were obvious over the years, but they were possible only obvious to my way of thinking. I know we think differently. I can’t say one is better than the other (well, I could, but that wouldn’t really help) but I have to learn that from this point on to make things so damn clear there isn’t room for a misunderstanding. Not to rely on the fact that he used to ‘get’ me. Maybe he never did, it just seemed like it.

So, a lesson, a painful one, learned. But at least he isn’t expecting me to wave him off anymore.

16. And then I talked about our wedding.

I’ve been on a night out. Get me, socialising!

A group of people that I know on different levels, some are friends, some are good friends. A couple of newbies into the mix too. All of which made for a very fun and pleasant evening.

There was a big conversation about domestic violence. (No time for twittering smalltalk in Brixton!) It lead on to discussions on society’s expectations of women; whether marriage is still the standard for a relationship; and finally onto the event and traditions of a wedding itself.

Why is it that men still do all the speeches at a wedding? One of the men in the group said he regretted not managing the situation at his own wedding so that at least one woman gave a speech. We raged about wedding excesses, destination weddings, weekend, even week long, Hen and Stag doos, unreasonable costs and general over-the-top nature of many of todays nuptials.

And then I talked about our wedding. I was, and still am, proud and happy and touched by our wedding day. For a start we managed to pick the only sunny day in June that year – and thankfully so as we had our reception in our garden with very little option for a plan B. There were no fanfares, formalities or fineries, but a gathering of loved and cherished friends and family. My dearest and most precious girlfriend gave a speech – not because she was asked, but because she wanted to – and was very much the best woman for the job. The cake was a mountain of fairy cakes made for us by several baking enthusiasts among the guests, and placed on a large four teared cake stand I made a couple of days earlier. Our wedding car was our friend’s camper van. And the only dress requirement was that everyone wore a hat. Jeans and a t-shirt if they felt like it, but topped with a proper hat.

It was a joyful, warm and lovely day. Tears were shed, much laughter was heard and to be surrounded by those we cared about the most was very very special.

I shall always be proud of it. We haven’t lasted for ever. If I’m truthful some cracks were around even then. But it doesn’t mean it wasn’t a special day. Done the way we wanted it. Not for show, or to impress, but to have a rather splendid wedding, that people enjoyed, admired for it’s gentleness and calm.

If we can end half as well I will be proud of us all the more.

15. So now I have to pick my anger apart. 

Fridays are always my turn to do the early dog walk. Mondays, Fridays and Saturdays have always been mine since he gave up teaching totally and those are his yoga instructor days. I’ll have to get used to every day is early dog walk day – but that’s hardly the worse thing in the world.

Back to today, and it’s wet and windy. Lovely. You can never take a brolly on a dog walk but it would be nice if my hood stayed up.  I’m walking around Brockwell Park. It’s one of South London’s delights, lots to see and do, beautiful spaces and great views – well, not today obviously. And as I stomp around throwing a tennis ball for an increasingly muddy  dog I suddenly get cross. About an discussion I’m having in my head with the soon to be ex. I’m holding both sides of course ( don’t pretend you don’t do this! ) and his (?!) request is really making me cross. I know it’s not real. But it’s there all the same.

So now I have to pick my anger apart. 

He moves out between Christmas and new year. I don’t want to be here for it. I’ve decided to go up north with the dog for a few days, and especially over New Year’s Eve. I haven’t told him that. I am taking the car – it’s mine anyway as he can’t, and very much won’t, drive. But my anger is that I’m convinced he’ll expect me to help.

There is so much he hasn’t considered, let alone slightly planned for. He’s happy to be going, I can tell. I would imagine that he is trying to keep a lid on it. But how head-in-the-clouds can you be? Does he still expect others to be the grown-ups for him? has he even thought about the logistics, what he’s going to take, what he’ll need? What he’s going to pack it in?

I have. I’ve worked out what bedding he can have so we both have an equal amount of new stuff to get. I know we have plenty of cutlery, china, mugs to share out. I’m thinking about the pots I really like that I’ve bought over the years and which ones I’ll grudgingly part with. I look at the shelves of books and look forward to most of them going. I see virtually a wall full of vinyl going with the stereo. I have walls of pictures – I’ve taken so many over the years – and I don’t mind what he takes, I really don’t. I’ll happily help him pack.

I just don’t want to help him leave.

13. Reality is a real punch to the guts. 

We have a date for the move out, and, despite the fact that i’ve organised its possibility, some how that really hurts. It’s going to be a month sooner that I expected, and it’s reality is a real punch to the guts. I’ve just had conformation by email and he doesn’t even know yet. And I don’t know how I wan’t him to take the news.

I don’t seem to be taking it well at all. Reduced to tears, on my own. A proper low point.

So, how do we do this so it’s ok for me as well? Because, while I’m trying to be ok I’m really not, not right now. This wasn’t what I wanted. I’m scared and shaky and feel as if I don’t get a say.

I do. I won’t feel like this tomorrow, I’ll pick myself up, look on the bright side, and all the possibilities ahead. Blah blah fucking blah!

But once, just once, I want him to say how fucking brilliant I’m being!

12. All whistles and bangs.

I met a friend for a hot chocolate. We had other things to chat about, but then came the “how are you doing?”.

We talked about the ‘ we’re being nice’. How I still get to come home to a cooked meal – he still does much more of the cooking, possibly more so lately. If it’s out of guilt I don’t care, Because left to my own devices at the moment I’d don’t think I’d bother. I’ve stopped eating breakfast, really not much appetite. I can forgo lunch if no one at work suggests going to the cafe. I’m not starving myself, just really not interested. But I’ll eat with others and I’ll eat whats cooked for me.

It’s all still pleasant. There are silences, but they’re not too heavy, yet. There also seems to be a ceasing of hostilities between current husband and daughter, although she’s out such a lot it is hard to tell.

My friend and I talked about what means good in a relationship. I like good, I don’t even mind ok much of the time. I had ‘all consuming’ once. All whistles and bangs, not able to keep our hands off each other, not sure where the passion stopped and the rage began. The balance between the amazing sex and the fist in the wall by my head was a precarious one. That wasn’t good. And once I’d left, had some space, and healed,  I knew that I could never grow in that life. Nothing can. I didn’t want that, and I knew, have always known, that I wouldn’t go there again. Feeling safe, supported, left to be myself, is the route – should it be root? – that I sought.

The H (I really have to find a term) had one of those moth to a flame type loves. Five years of destruction that they kept going back to. I know she still appears in his dreams sometimes. (Will I, when we’re done?) Their rock and roll lifestyle (no music included) left him bruised and confused. But, in that land of passion, obsession, fixation, where nothing healthy appeared to flourish, was the foundation of what is expected of a relationship set in stone for him?

You’d have thought that these are the things we should know by now. But who picks apart the workings of a marriage when they’re in it. There didn’t seem a point at which to analyse everything, and nothing ever seemed so bad that I knew we were doomed. But may be  my choice to be somewhere in the middle, not on the edges where the ‘all consuming’ extreme lives is only enough for me. H may need the crazy times to feel that it all means something. I know I don’t. They don’t mean you love more, they just mean you’re loud about it. I have a loud laugh, that’ll be enough for me.