For years I struggled with not being totally happy in my marriage. I had pockets of happiness, but throughout my marriage, I always felt like I was missing something. I’d ask myself was just me? Or, was it the fact that he was abusive? I’m sure the abuse did not help at all. In fact, looking back that was exactly why I didn’t feel I loved my husband the way I should.
Early in my marriage, my husband decided not to work any longer for his family. In fact, he decided he wasn’t going to work at all. It was then that I was told I needed to “pull my weight.” I was working in a place that the overtime was unlimited and boy was I pushed to utilized this “benefit”. I used to leave my home at 6 am to arrive at work by 7 am once there I wouldn’t leave the office until 12:00 or many times 1:00 am, and the next day I would start all over again. I worked like this for almost one year. I was tired, actually, I was exhausted. In the meantime, I would get home and he would be awake and want me to cook him a “midnight snack” as he would call it, so I couldn’t come home and go to sleep. He would accuse me of cheating on him. He would downplay the long hours that I was working. He would complain that the house was messy and I needed to pick things up. He would nitpick on how I folded clothes. You name it, it was never enough. This went on for years. He eventually got another job. He actually got a very good job. We had our highs and lows like any other couple. Yet, even in good times, I would daydream what life would be like to be alone. I longed to have a life that I enjoyed.
Our good times were good and our bad times were terrible. However, even in our good times, he would always yell, he would embarrass me, he would yell at me in front of others and then shrug it off like it was nothing. I became used to this behavior. This was my norm. I convinced myself this was okay and we were good. I hung on to the good moments, and that is what I kept in mind as my reminder that he loved him. It wasn’t until we had two children that it started to really hit home, he didn’t love me… he owned me. I wasn’t his wife, I was a possession. In fact, we were all possessions to him. He would talk to the children like he was a drill sergeant and they were soldiers. He would break their toys if they didn’t pick them up. They were 2 and 4 at the time.
I remember asking a friend’s mother who was divorced, “how did you know you wanted a divorce?” She told me, “I thought about off and on for years, and then one day I woke up and my feet touched the floor and I knew. I knew this was the day, and off to the attorney I went.” I told her I wasn’t happy and I didn’t think I wanted a divorce, yet I thought it about… often. She looked at me and said, “You’ll know when you wake up, and your feet touch the floor.” Well, seven years later, my feet touched the floor, and like her, I knew “today is the day I need to see the attorney.” And, off I went.
Keep Sparkling~
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