I am the friend people come to for advice on relationships, even though I haven’t had many, or even very successful ones. Most tell me how they broke up, got back together, broke up, or even married, divorced and married again to the same person. I tell them all, when they ask, that if it didn’t work out the first time, it wont work out the next 100 times unless you work out the issues that plagued you the first time, if the issues are still issues, they wont just go away, they will just be fuel for the next fight.
Now here I am, with the man who broke my heart and who’s heart I broke as well. I’m a hypocrite, we didn’t work anything out. I avoided him, scared of the yelling, accusations and mistrust. All it took was a few ‘you’re beautifuls’ and I was hooked again. He asked me to take him back and that was exactly what I did. Its just not the same, I’m not sure if I’m making it awkward, if I’m scared to let that wall down again or if its him thats different. We hadn’t worked out our issues, we haven’t even spoken of them. Am I wrong for going back to him? I wanted to get over him it just didn’t happen. I saw him all the time and it was like my heart was breaking all over again. I can feel that I am happier now but still a little hesitant. I try, I put forth effort, but I’m not sure if I’m seeing it in return. I also can’t tell if I am nit picking everything, trying to find a fault, trying to find a reason to not get in too deep, to run and hide again, maybe hes scared too, maybe he thinks I will hurt him again, Communication is the key, I am just too scared to ruffle the feathers. I know being hurt is a part of life, and I’ve been alone long enough to understand and accept that I don’t need a man to complete me. Granted the first time around was amazing, he made me feel like no one else ever had, he more than told me I was beautiful he made me feel it too.
Take Backs?
An Unlikely Teacher
I’ve had many teachers in my life, some who succeeded in teaching me something valuable, and some I ignored. But one person has taught me more than anyone I’ve ever met.
Because of him, I have a strong work ethic so I don’t get fired time and again.
Because of him, I pay my bills on time and manage my money well so I don’t end up mooching off my friends and family.
Because of him, I respect my child and am respected in return.
Because of him, I keep my promises so my friends and family don’t think I’m a flake.
Because of him, I am honest so people aren’t always wary of my words.
Because of him, I donate my time, money and self lest I be thought of as selfish.
I am constantly learning from him. My ex-husband.
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The bitch
My husband had an affair.
I lost all sense of myself the day I found out, but I gained 40 pounds and a drinking problem in the subsequent months. He had an affair with an ex girlfriend that lives in another country. They actually re-consummated the relationship in 2007 during a business trip that he had me book for him.
I bet your wondering how I found out three years later. The bitch has twitter and a blog. I say "bitch" because this is anonymous and I’m changing her name to protect her, of course.
I made up a twitter account and befriended her. Trust me, I am about as proud of those actions as I am proud that I married a man that I knew lacked character and values. Eventually I told her who I really was and she told me everything. She confirmed dates and gave me information that let me know she was telling the truth.
Today, it’s 9 months later and I feel dead inside. I’m overweight and over medicated. I spend days crying in bed and I don’t reach out to my family or friends because I’m ashamed of how I look and who I’ve become.
Now I have my own Twitter and a Blog and guess who I found out is a regular reader?
The "bitch", of course.
Staying for fear of leaving.
I daydream of divorce.
Like fantasizing about winning the lottery, it’s the kind of vision that feels so very unlikely it’s quite fun to map out in my mind. I’m uncertain exactly how long I’ve been feeling this way. I’m pretty sure now that more years of my marriage have been spent wishing I were single than those I can count where I was content.
I can recall vividly distinct moments when I vowed to myself I would get out by a specific time. During a particularly ugly argument in our first home I remember my husband saying something about how things would be in our "next house." In my head I distinctly retorted, "There won’t be a next house."
But there was.
As I approached the age of 30, I held that landmark up as the date by which I fully expected to be out of this marriage.
But I wasn’t.
Other age-based milestones came and went with similarly unkempt promises to myself. One holiday, I wrote all his relatives sentimental notes letting them know how much I cherished my memories with them through the years. They were intended as farewell cards – as explanations. Instead they were just overly sappy greetings followed by standard fare on the next family occasion. I’m a people pleaser, always have been. I’m deathly afraid to disappoint. (Except my husband, apparently, whom I’ve become quite adept at letting down.)
For a spell I convinced myself that only after my grandparents passed away should I be allowed to leave. I was determined to hold it together while they were alive. To be honest, I simply wouldn’t have been able to withstand their judgment. Or more likely, the judgment I imagined they’d have.
Deep down, I LIKE being part of the esteemed group that has managed to defy the odds and stay married. Other characteristics of our courtship and ourselves (too personally identifiable to include here) made our chances of success even more slim; hence, our feat appears all the more remarkable from the outside looking in.
My husband is not a bad man by any stretch of the imagination. A good wife; however, I haven’t always been. In an unhappy, immature phase of my life I acted out with a love affair, both extended and emotional. He begged me to stay and pledged to never speak of it again. Predictably, I stayed and he spoke.
The leverage over me this misdeed has created in the half dozen years that since passed is overwhelming. Initially it took the form of guilt. Frankly, it has morphed into bitterness. And I still live in fear that if we part, the lurid details of my past will be told. To my in-laws, to my pastor, to my parents, and – in the absolute worst case scenario – to my children…
Once I was ready. REALLY ready. Then I happened to flick through the channels on late night t.v. and witness a young man confess that his life of crime and addiction was clearly attributable to his parents’ divorce during childhood. It terrified me.
And so I stay and play the part. It’s not that hard. Better that I manage in this ho-hum state than turn my kids’ worlds upside-down. Better their happiness be preserved than my own, which was already so selfishly sought after in the most inappropriate of ways years before.
Anyway, there’s no compelling reason to depart calling my name out from afar. The daydreams I entertain are of independence, not of another man. I have nothing to escape except the absence of bliss. So goes the status quo…
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Always a bridesmaid
By the time this year is over, my boyfriend and I will have been to eight weddings together. In five of those weddings, I will have been a bridesmaid. Two of those weddings will be uniting couples that started dating after my boyfriend and I, and we will be attending a wedding next summer of anther couple that started dating after us. We’ll have another similar wedding (summer 2011, dating less than us) scheduled soon if our mutual friend follows through on his plan to propose to his girlfriend next month.
I hate to admit it, but I’m jealous. My boyfriend and I have been dating for five years, and we have been living together for one and a half. It’s been years since I told him that I loved him and wanted to spend my life with him, and I rearranged my life to do just that. He still tells me that he’s “not ready.”
I find this infuriating. I moved cross-country for him, away from my job, my friends, and my family, and, while I don’t think that he “owes” me marriage, I do think that he owes me to make some sort of decision. I’ve given him everything that I have, and the best he can give me is that maybe someday he’ll decide to choose me. I know that he loves me, and we’re very happy together, but it drives me insane that he doesn’t want to commit to me.
I feel silly threatening to leave him over not getting married; it makes me feel like a flighty girl who is just after a diamond ring and a frilly white dress, but it hurts me to my core that he doesn’t want to give me what those things symbolize. Helping my friends pick out floral arrangements and dresses is like a knife in the gut. Obviously, I’m happy for them, but each new engagement kills me just a little more.
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A letter to the woman I wronged.
I’m sorry I had an affair with your husband. To this day, it is my biggest regret. When you said your farewell to me via email over four years ago, expressing your disgust with me and your utter pity for people “like me,” I did not respond. You told me you never wanted to hear from me again. I never got the chance to apologize. I never got the chance to defend myself. I did not beg you to see me as anything other than the woman who ultimately ruined your marriage. I let it go. However, on the inside, my despair over your judgment was palpable. I wanted nothing more than to respond immediately and beg for you not to hate me. I wanted to give you all the reasons I had acted the way I did. I wanted to show you that I was not the bad person you had envisioned.
Truthfully, I was selfish. I was greedy. I was careless. I put my needs before those of anyone else. I hurt innocent people, like you. Like my ex-boyfriend. I’m sorry to him too.
Back then, I was a bad person. Clearly, there were things going on in my life that made me act out in that way. I, too, was in a relationship with another man when I first met your (now ex) husband. While I was not married, my actions were still deplorable. I do know that. I still judge myself for that to this day. I did a lot of things around the time that I met your ex-husband that were morally questionable. Why? I suspect it was because I was going through a big life change at that time. I was reacting to my life changing in a way I had not anticipated. Of course, this is no excuse for my behavior. Ultimately, I was a bad person.
I am sorry that I disregarded your marriage by sleeping with him. I am sorry that I believed him when he said that your marriage was over. I am sorry that I called you those times I was afraid because he was seriously mentally distraught and I feared he might do harm to himself or to me. I am sorry I didn’t listen to you when you warned me, “He will hurt or kill you.” Four times. I am sorry that my existence in your life cause you pain.
I now believe that part of the reason for my actions was that I was looking for a way to get out of my current relationship. Again, this does not justify my actions. I ended my relationship with your ex-husband over two and a half years ago. I finally realized that if I did not do so, he likely would kill me. I do not sleep with married men now. In fact, I went to therapy for quite awhile to figure out why I behaved that way. Additionally, I had to figure out why I stayed with a man that beat me both physically and emotionally. Now? I am nearly recovered. I no longer believe I am a bad person. But I still feel incredible guilt for what I put you through. Perhaps one day I can let go. This letter is a step in that direction.
For all of these things, I am truly sorry. I hope that your life is full of happiness and laughter now that both he and I are a distant memory.
Smartly Comment policy: Comments are not needed if you are going to bash, be critical or name call. We are not here to be judge and jury. We are hear to read. To listen. And to hopefully allow the writer to tangibly express emotions that have yet to be fully articulated. Remember you do not HAVE to comment, so if you do Smartly asks that you comment responsibly. Thank you.
Hating Utah
I hate Utah. Provo and Orem specifically. I’m here for the foreseeable future because of my spouse’s job. I pray daily that I’ll live long enough to see us leave this state but until then I’ve caught myself perusing job ads and considering other means to escape this place. I’m happily married; I’d like to leave together. I’m non-white and non-Mormon and a non-mother. Which means that I’m left out of conversations, get-togethers, and don’t get the nods and hellos that strangers get in other places. I’m more often greeted with a fearful look, or an overly sweet smile with a lot of curiosity about “my country” (which is America, btw). It’s like I don’t exist. I spent the first handful of years here trying to fit in. Not converting, but trying to dress modestly, speak modestly, act modestly and the result has been a mild depression from simply not being myself. I’ve given that up and been much happier. I’m generally a happy person; I like people, love friends and family. And after fifteen years I think I expected to find a comfort level and friends that hasn’t happened yet. Friendships here are hard won. My experiences with friendships between non-native Utahns are that we can be uncharacteristically clingy, desperate, and co-dependent because we’re looking desperately for a lifeboat. In the past eight years, I’ve met wonderful people and found many things to do in Salt Lake City, forty miles away, but creating meaningful friendships takes time and time moves like amber here. I’ve never had problems making friends in other states, and when I tell them about how things are going they smile sympathetically and volunteer to vacation with me, requesting that we meet outside of Utah, please. I beg my parents to visit, and my polite, sweet mother finally confessed that they just think it’s boring. I miss being in a place where strangers smile at each other and being different is ok. I feel like a sea mammal, holding my breath and bearing things as best I can until I dash for SLC, take a gulping breath of air, pant a bit, and head under again.
Love.
I married him because he was the first one to ask me and I hated my job. I saw him as a viable way out of my dead end job and my lack of direction. I had no idea what I wanted out of life, or if I did-I had no plan on how to get there. I had many boyfriends. Always popular that way, but no one ever asked me to marry them. And I was approaching my late 20’s. He had a good job and was good in bed and most importantly he actually wanted to marry ME. For reasons I still can not understand. So we got married. It appeared to everyone, that we were madly in love.
It has been 16 years now. We have 2 children. I understand why I married him now. It is clear- I realize I was sacrificing out of a panic of being alone my whole life. But what still baffles me- is why he married me. He could have had his pick of women, many more beautiful -but he picked me. Now we behave more like roommates or business partners, running this busy life of working and raising children. We discuss our daily activities, who gets to take the new Volvo and who left their shoes by the front door. What is for dinner and when report cards are due. We do all this, side-by side. We are kind to each other. Friendly. But love? Seems to be so far far away. Like a fantasy. A dream. Stuff that romance novels are made of…and not anything real people get. Real people are too busy living their lives to be ‘in love’. Real people, have real problems and real issues. Love is not real.
My husband isn’t interested in what I have to say…
My husband doesn’t read my writings.
Not my personal blog. Not any of my Smartly essays.
It’s not that he won’t. I think it’s more an issue of he just has no interest in them.
On one hand, I tell myself that it really doesn’t matter. I write because I enjoy it, because it brings me satisfaction. Even if no one wanted to read any of my writings, I would still write.
But, then I think about all of the people who DO read my stuff. My parents. My husband’s parents. All of our siblings and grandparents. The majority of my Facebook friends. Strangers that I’ve never even met.
And when I think about that, I can’t help but feel like my husband – of all people – should be reading my written works. The thing is, though, I don’t want to make him. I don’t want to sit there and force him to read everything I have written. I want him to WANT to read my stuff. If he has no interest, then there’s really not much I can do about that. But it still hurts.
Don’t get me wrong, we have a great marriage. In every other facet, we’re genuinely happy. I guess I can’t figure out how I feel about this, and it’s just a nagging thought that I can’t get out of my head.
Whenever I have an essay published or I write a new blog post I mention it to him and he always says congratulations, and is happy for me, but that’s the end of it. He never asks if he can read it.
My husband has ADHD, and he’s not a big reader in general; his interests tend toward faster-paced entertainment like video games or action movies. Because of this I have chalked his ambivalence up to the fact that he probably finds reading blogs and essays to be boring.
And that’s okay. I mean, if he were to create a video game, I would be excited for him, but I’m not sure I would want to play it; that’s just not my thing.
Still. He is my best friend. I can’t help but wish he wanted to share in this with me.
Sexless marriage; oxymoron or the norm?
I don’t have sex.
Which is pretty astonishing considering I was very promiscuous prior to meeting my husband 10 years ago. As a matter of fact, I was the girl who slept with the guy on the first date if I felt like it. I had no problem with that either. I always figured it helped me eliminate a whole lot of ‘candidates’….because finding a good sexual partner was really the most important thing to me. Well that and being handsome and gainfully employed. I was just one of those highly sexed people. I loved it. And I am guessing I still would-if I had a partner to have sex with…
It wasn’t the kids. We used to have crazy awesome sex during pregnancies and even during those sleep deprived years. Nope not the kids. I have gained some weight since we met, but hell so has he…and really I still look pretty good naked even if I can’t still fit into my wedding dress. Men still hit on me. I still must be attractive to SOME PEOPLE. But for some reason he just doesn’t want it. Let me clarify- he doesn’t want ME.
Basically for the last several years we had obligatory sex, on holidays, birthdays and on the rare occasion the kids were out of the house for the night. And then even that stopped. He would go to bed early. Be snoring by the time I got all the kids to bed. And I sit there, watching commercials with happy couples riding bikes in the park together to advertise some heart medication and think ‘they must be having sex if she wants him to beat the heart disease’. Because when you are not having sex, your mind sees every couple and wonders….’do they still have sex?’
No one would guess my husband doesn’t want to sleep with me. We seem like happily married people. As marriages fail around us, we are still standing. But I wonder- is this really the best thing? Sure it is good for the kids. And I love to beat the odds and stay married. And my husband is still funny, charming and has every single OTHER quality that made me want to marry him on that sunny Connecticut day many many years ago….but there is NO SEX. He says he is tired. He still loves me but he is just stressed. And tired and blah blah blah……a whole bunch of excuses when I cry and beg him to tell me why he doesn’t want to have sex anymore. I think I could learn to physically learn to live without ever being touched and caressed and pleasured….but the rejection? It is killing me.
So here I sit, stuck in a ‘happy’ marriage that will never make me happy.
And I wonder, how abnormal is this?
