I noticed something else about this time. I began to focus on the tone of my husband's voice when he spoke to me or others on the phone.
When a man called he would give a hearty "Hey!" When a woman called it was a lower, more intimate, "Hey, what are you doing?" If I called him at work and he was "busy" he would answer with a very gruff "Ya, I'm busy." If he wasn't busy it was a "Hello, my love!" I realized he didn't want to say that in front of his co-workers so I asked him to just say hello and let me know he was occupied. He told me when he was busy he didn't think about being nice. I told him that when he talked to me like that it made me feel unwanted and second-class. When others called and he was busy he didn't answer the phone that way. He told me that it was different when I called. I was his wife.
It seemed like such a small petty thing. To demand someone talk to you in a specific tone when you called seemed so controlling. I decided it was a quirk I had to live with.
25 February 2011
The Best Policy
It seemed like every time I came home I would find something else. One time it was a couples seeking classified under the bed with an ad circled. The explanation was that he had circled this as a joke for co-worker and forgot to take it in.
Another time it was a comment dropped while out with friends about someplace my husband had been or something he said.
I noticed a trend when he traveled for the military. When he first arrived at a location he would call me several times a day, in the morning, at lunch, when the duty day was done, after dinner, before bed. Then he would tell me that he was going out to dinner with his work-mates. Then the afternoon calls stopped along with the after dinner calls. Then he would call only in the morning.
This meant something but I tried not to think about it. For military people, socializing is a big part of work. Forging bonds, drinking, and sharing war stories. Men who won't socialize are often ostracized and my husband was a very social person. I told myself I was being controlling again. And I was. If my husband was an honest person.
Another time it was a comment dropped while out with friends about someplace my husband had been or something he said.
I noticed a trend when he traveled for the military. When he first arrived at a location he would call me several times a day, in the morning, at lunch, when the duty day was done, after dinner, before bed. Then he would tell me that he was going out to dinner with his work-mates. Then the afternoon calls stopped along with the after dinner calls. Then he would call only in the morning.
This meant something but I tried not to think about it. For military people, socializing is a big part of work. Forging bonds, drinking, and sharing war stories. Men who won't socialize are often ostracized and my husband was a very social person. I told myself I was being controlling again. And I was. If my husband was an honest person.
24 February 2011
What's Goin' On?
I enjoyed my job which involved a lot of travel. I discovered that for me, out of sight was really out of mind. I simply traveled, worked hard, and didn't obsess over what my husband might be doing. No one made comments about his behavior. There were no broad hints from friends that perhaps his behavior was creepy or inappropriate.
But what the hell. I didn't need them to know what was going on. One Friday afternoon, while happily unpacking my bag, waiting for my husband to come home from work, and getting reacquainted with my dog, the phone rang. It was an automated call telling that it was my lucky day! Susie or Linda or someone had left me a message and I could claim it by dialing in. I called the number. It required a password. I took a wag, a wild ass guess, and I was in. The message said Susie or Linda had read my ad and was interested in meeting me. She thought I was hot and wanted to have sex with me. Badly. Only it wasn't me. It was my husband. I was floored.
I listened to the ad my husband left about how good looking he was, how big his chest was, how hot he was, and how ready to please some lucky woman he was. I left Linda a message telling her that I was this guy's wife and she was a slut.
I sat down and got my breath back. OK. I needed to leave this guy. This was over the top. This was sick. This was bringing it into my home, my life, again. This was not in any way acceptable and I needed to leave and divorce this man, yada, yada, yada. I knew I wasn't going to leave him. I knew this because as I sat there I knew this was all my fault. I wasn't desirable or good enough.
When I fell in love with my husband I thought I could conquer the world. I had finally met a man who was my match. A man who appreciated a hard-working, tough woman. A man who respected me for my capabilities and not my looks. What a liar I was. I lied to myself. My husband didn't love me and it was my fault. I was sick.
We were both in the military working in highly classified career fields. If we went to marriage counseling we would lose our security clearances. If we divorced in our small career field we would have to face each other daily and I would bear the brunt of blame, no matter what. My mind reeled. I didn't want a divorce. I wanted my husband. I called him on the phone. You scum I growled. You pig. You fucked up this time, although I already knew I would fold. I'm leaving you. Then I waited.
My husband came screaming home. Oh God, don't leave me! It's a mistake. I was only screwing around! I never met anyone, I was just bored and playing around. Please, please, please! I love you! I cried buckets. I begged and threatened and all the while I knew I would let this man use me. I didn't want to admit I had made a mistake and married this man. I didn't want the world to know I had made a terrible mistake. I didn't want to be a failure.
I wondered how many of our friends knew he was screwing around on me. I was humiliated...again. I screamed through the night. I screamed until I was hoarse. I cried until my eyes swelled so much I couldn't see. My beautiful husband cried too. He looked miserable. He promised if I stayed he would make it up to me. He would never do anything like this again. In the morning I walked around like a zombie. I refused to talk to him. He waited on me. I went back to my duty station and talked to him on the phone. He promised he would never do anything like that again. I begged him not to hurt me again. He promised.
And I learned to live with it. I let it go. I filed it away and convinced myself all men did these things. My only comparison was the men I worked with and they were always marrying, divorcing, and sleeping with others. This was what men did.
I never talked to anyone about it. I never told my family. I never went to counseling. I never told a friend. I was ashamed because my husband did this to me, because I wasn't good enough, and because I let him do it.
But what the hell. I didn't need them to know what was going on. One Friday afternoon, while happily unpacking my bag, waiting for my husband to come home from work, and getting reacquainted with my dog, the phone rang. It was an automated call telling that it was my lucky day! Susie or Linda or someone had left me a message and I could claim it by dialing in. I called the number. It required a password. I took a wag, a wild ass guess, and I was in. The message said Susie or Linda had read my ad and was interested in meeting me. She thought I was hot and wanted to have sex with me. Badly. Only it wasn't me. It was my husband. I was floored.
I listened to the ad my husband left about how good looking he was, how big his chest was, how hot he was, and how ready to please some lucky woman he was. I left Linda a message telling her that I was this guy's wife and she was a slut.
I sat down and got my breath back. OK. I needed to leave this guy. This was over the top. This was sick. This was bringing it into my home, my life, again. This was not in any way acceptable and I needed to leave and divorce this man, yada, yada, yada. I knew I wasn't going to leave him. I knew this because as I sat there I knew this was all my fault. I wasn't desirable or good enough.
When I fell in love with my husband I thought I could conquer the world. I had finally met a man who was my match. A man who appreciated a hard-working, tough woman. A man who respected me for my capabilities and not my looks. What a liar I was. I lied to myself. My husband didn't love me and it was my fault. I was sick.
We were both in the military working in highly classified career fields. If we went to marriage counseling we would lose our security clearances. If we divorced in our small career field we would have to face each other daily and I would bear the brunt of blame, no matter what. My mind reeled. I didn't want a divorce. I wanted my husband. I called him on the phone. You scum I growled. You pig. You fucked up this time, although I already knew I would fold. I'm leaving you. Then I waited.
My husband came screaming home. Oh God, don't leave me! It's a mistake. I was only screwing around! I never met anyone, I was just bored and playing around. Please, please, please! I love you! I cried buckets. I begged and threatened and all the while I knew I would let this man use me. I didn't want to admit I had made a mistake and married this man. I didn't want the world to know I had made a terrible mistake. I didn't want to be a failure.
I wondered how many of our friends knew he was screwing around on me. I was humiliated...again. I screamed through the night. I screamed until I was hoarse. I cried until my eyes swelled so much I couldn't see. My beautiful husband cried too. He looked miserable. He promised if I stayed he would make it up to me. He would never do anything like this again. In the morning I walked around like a zombie. I refused to talk to him. He waited on me. I went back to my duty station and talked to him on the phone. He promised he would never do anything like that again. I begged him not to hurt me again. He promised.
And I learned to live with it. I let it go. I filed it away and convinced myself all men did these things. My only comparison was the men I worked with and they were always marrying, divorcing, and sleeping with others. This was what men did.
I never talked to anyone about it. I never told my family. I never went to counseling. I never told a friend. I was ashamed because my husband did this to me, because I wasn't good enough, and because I let him do it.
21 February 2011
My Reality or Yours?
Over the years my husband showed a behavior that baffled me. He would often wait to tell me things until we were surrounded by our friends.
One night while out with a group he announced he was going TDY. Another that he was being assigned a new job. These were things I felt he should share with me first since I was the person closest to him. To share them with others at that same time as me reduced me to the status of a friend.
Naturally he didn't see it my way. He didn't seem sly about it, he simply said he didn't understand what my problem was. The things he announced were things he had forgotten about until that moment. He didn't think they were that important. It wasn't a big deal.
I questioned myself. Was I being controlling? Was this nothing but a control issue? Was it really that big of a deal? So he dropped a few nuggets that I felt he should have shared with me first. I convinced myself that the more I tried to rein him in, the more I tried to demand compliance, the more I tried to make him do what I wanted, the more he would rebel. He needed some freedom, after all, he was independent and headstrong. He needed some privacy, after all even I needed privacy. It must be me.
One night while out with a group he announced he was going TDY. Another that he was being assigned a new job. These were things I felt he should share with me first since I was the person closest to him. To share them with others at that same time as me reduced me to the status of a friend.
Naturally he didn't see it my way. He didn't seem sly about it, he simply said he didn't understand what my problem was. The things he announced were things he had forgotten about until that moment. He didn't think they were that important. It wasn't a big deal.
I questioned myself. Was I being controlling? Was this nothing but a control issue? Was it really that big of a deal? So he dropped a few nuggets that I felt he should have shared with me first. I convinced myself that the more I tried to rein him in, the more I tried to demand compliance, the more I tried to make him do what I wanted, the more he would rebel. He needed some freedom, after all, he was independent and headstrong. He needed some privacy, after all even I needed privacy. It must be me.
20 February 2011
My Husband's Keeper
In 1996 I was transferred to base three hours south from where my husband and I were stationed and from our home. It was a promotion for me. A chance to do a job a no other woman in my career field had done. I talked to my husband and we agreed that in order to get promoted I needed to show breadth of experience. So in November of that year I rented a small apartment and for next three years made the three hour drive home every weekend.
One day my husband called me and asked me if he could sponsor the bachelor party for a good friend of ours. This friend was in his late 30's and getting married for the first time. My husband wanted to hold it at our house and that meant I couldn't come home Friday evening as usual.
I struggled with this. I know what bachelor parties are like. My husband assured me there would be cigars, poker, and lots of booze but nothing sexual. "I don't get into that stuff! I have a reputation to protect!" he assured me. I was torn between being a trusting partner or an over-bearing wife. "Just say the word and I'll tell them no," he said. I never had children, I didn't want one now. OK, I agreed. Just please, don't get stupid.
The night of the party my husband called me several times to tell me how boring the party was and how much he missed me. That was kind of strange. The next morning I left very early so I could get home and survey the damage but to my surprise, my husband was up and doing dishes. The rest of the house was immaculate. This just didn't smell right. My husband was so cheerful and proud that he was able to host our friend and have a good time that I almost believed him.
Almost.
The next day he went to the store. I opened the drawer to his dresser and on the first pass found a video tape. The tape started with lots of young men lighting cigars and toasting our friend. The doorbell rang. Two very young women entered. They stripped. They lap-danced. They used my kitchen towels to wipe sweat off their breasts. They walked around MY house naked and sat on MY furniture. Naked. They went on my deck which overlooked all our neighbors homes and got beer from a keg. They sat on laps and made themselves comfortable. The video went blank. I wonder what happened next.
I packed my things and drove back to my apartment. My husband called me on my cell phone. I didn't answer. I was sick. I wanted to burn my furniture. I wanted to scream at my husband. I was insulted. Angry.
He called me when I got home. He was frantic. What happened? Where are you? Why did you leave? I told him about the tape. Denials. I can explain. It's not like it looks. I hung up. He called me all week. I'll come there he said. I'll drive down there. OK. Come down here. You owe it to me.
He arrived. Where's the tape? I sent it to the wives of your friends, I said. His face went white. No, I didn't do that, I only wanted to. Then the excuses. He didn't hire the strippers. Someone else called them. What could he do? Once they arrived he couldn't tell them to leave.
Why not, I asked. You know it's my home too. You knew I wouldn't approve. You live there, why couldn't you just say no? Because, how would that look? Look to who?? Then the coup de grace. You should have told me no if you didn't want this to happen.
So I should have been the one with morals. I should have acted like your mother. I should never trust you. We argued on and on. It was like talking to a wall. He simply refused to give an inch. What if one of them had brought drugs, would you have let that happen? That's different and you know it he yelled. Why? It just is.
Nothing happened, he told me. It was just some strippers. You know I don't get into that. The tape cut off because the party ended. You saw it all. On and on and on. I didn't believe him but I couldn't get to a divorce over a bachelor party. Surely he learned a lesson. Surely I was over reacting. Surely it was a momentary lapse of judgement but I wondered how a man could think so little of his wife that he wouldn't consider her feelings about something that went on in her home. I couldn't shake that thought. We shared a home but he didn't care enough to consider my feelings. And he wasn't honest enough to tell me that.
Like many storms, this passed. But like many storms, this left damage behind.
One day my husband called me and asked me if he could sponsor the bachelor party for a good friend of ours. This friend was in his late 30's and getting married for the first time. My husband wanted to hold it at our house and that meant I couldn't come home Friday evening as usual.
I struggled with this. I know what bachelor parties are like. My husband assured me there would be cigars, poker, and lots of booze but nothing sexual. "I don't get into that stuff! I have a reputation to protect!" he assured me. I was torn between being a trusting partner or an over-bearing wife. "Just say the word and I'll tell them no," he said. I never had children, I didn't want one now. OK, I agreed. Just please, don't get stupid.
The night of the party my husband called me several times to tell me how boring the party was and how much he missed me. That was kind of strange. The next morning I left very early so I could get home and survey the damage but to my surprise, my husband was up and doing dishes. The rest of the house was immaculate. This just didn't smell right. My husband was so cheerful and proud that he was able to host our friend and have a good time that I almost believed him.
Almost.
The next day he went to the store. I opened the drawer to his dresser and on the first pass found a video tape. The tape started with lots of young men lighting cigars and toasting our friend. The doorbell rang. Two very young women entered. They stripped. They lap-danced. They used my kitchen towels to wipe sweat off their breasts. They walked around MY house naked and sat on MY furniture. Naked. They went on my deck which overlooked all our neighbors homes and got beer from a keg. They sat on laps and made themselves comfortable. The video went blank. I wonder what happened next.
I packed my things and drove back to my apartment. My husband called me on my cell phone. I didn't answer. I was sick. I wanted to burn my furniture. I wanted to scream at my husband. I was insulted. Angry.
He called me when I got home. He was frantic. What happened? Where are you? Why did you leave? I told him about the tape. Denials. I can explain. It's not like it looks. I hung up. He called me all week. I'll come there he said. I'll drive down there. OK. Come down here. You owe it to me.
He arrived. Where's the tape? I sent it to the wives of your friends, I said. His face went white. No, I didn't do that, I only wanted to. Then the excuses. He didn't hire the strippers. Someone else called them. What could he do? Once they arrived he couldn't tell them to leave.
Why not, I asked. You know it's my home too. You knew I wouldn't approve. You live there, why couldn't you just say no? Because, how would that look? Look to who?? Then the coup de grace. You should have told me no if you didn't want this to happen.
So I should have been the one with morals. I should have acted like your mother. I should never trust you. We argued on and on. It was like talking to a wall. He simply refused to give an inch. What if one of them had brought drugs, would you have let that happen? That's different and you know it he yelled. Why? It just is.
Nothing happened, he told me. It was just some strippers. You know I don't get into that. The tape cut off because the party ended. You saw it all. On and on and on. I didn't believe him but I couldn't get to a divorce over a bachelor party. Surely he learned a lesson. Surely I was over reacting. Surely it was a momentary lapse of judgement but I wondered how a man could think so little of his wife that he wouldn't consider her feelings about something that went on in her home. I couldn't shake that thought. We shared a home but he didn't care enough to consider my feelings. And he wasn't honest enough to tell me that.
Like many storms, this passed. But like many storms, this left damage behind.
17 February 2011
Beyond Reason
There were more good times than bad and the human capacity to not think about things is truly endless. I simply didn't obsess over my husband's behaviors. I loved him. I adored him. He was wonderful and interesting and funny and smart and clever and talented and I loved him beyond reason.
Next up: The Bachelor Party.
Next up: The Bachelor Party.
16 February 2011
Hindsight
What is normal and what is not in a marriage? When do minor annoyances become pathological behaviors? Is it me, or is it really him?
This habit of abandoning me and ignoring me when we went out continued. I complained about it and he told me to grow up and start socializing.
It wasn't just that he talked to others, he would become annoyed when I found him and tried to hold his hand or participate in conversations. Later he would deny he was annoyed. He would say he didn't remember scowling or walking away or refusing to hold my hand. It must have been me.
Why could I always find him with guys half his age? The ones who were competing for the single women. The ones who were bragging about their sexual conquests. Why was he always the loudest, the most sexual, the most bragging? Why was he so attentive to the young women? How come he could find humorous things to talk about with them but not with me, his wife? Those were his troops he would say. He needed to be around them and let them know they could talk to him. It must have been me.
We disagreed about his daughter. When she came to visit he devolved into an adolescent. One of our biggest disagreements concerned this statement to her as he sped down the freeway at 90mph. "It's only illegal if you get caught."
I was horrified. Are you her father or her friend? What kind of role model are you? Don't you see what you're doing? If you want to speed, fine, but don't make it glamorous to you daughter. Why would you want your daughter's admiration as a rule-breaker instead of her admiration as a father? He simply denied he was doing that.
He never denied anything with passion or anger. He was always vaguely bemused. He would look at me completely unfazed by my accusations and deny them and then move on.
Looking back these behaviors seem like a warning. At the time my husband's behavior was pretty mild compared to what I witnessed among military men. It must have just been me.
This habit of abandoning me and ignoring me when we went out continued. I complained about it and he told me to grow up and start socializing.
It wasn't just that he talked to others, he would become annoyed when I found him and tried to hold his hand or participate in conversations. Later he would deny he was annoyed. He would say he didn't remember scowling or walking away or refusing to hold my hand. It must have been me.
Why could I always find him with guys half his age? The ones who were competing for the single women. The ones who were bragging about their sexual conquests. Why was he always the loudest, the most sexual, the most bragging? Why was he so attentive to the young women? How come he could find humorous things to talk about with them but not with me, his wife? Those were his troops he would say. He needed to be around them and let them know they could talk to him. It must have been me.
We disagreed about his daughter. When she came to visit he devolved into an adolescent. One of our biggest disagreements concerned this statement to her as he sped down the freeway at 90mph. "It's only illegal if you get caught."
I was horrified. Are you her father or her friend? What kind of role model are you? Don't you see what you're doing? If you want to speed, fine, but don't make it glamorous to you daughter. Why would you want your daughter's admiration as a rule-breaker instead of her admiration as a father? He simply denied he was doing that.
He never denied anything with passion or anger. He was always vaguely bemused. He would look at me completely unfazed by my accusations and deny them and then move on.
Looking back these behaviors seem like a warning. At the time my husband's behavior was pretty mild compared to what I witnessed among military men. It must have just been me.
15 February 2011
Filling the Shelf
My husband is a smart man. He grasps concepts quickly. His Bachelor's degree kept him pretty busy. He was a wizard with something I had never spent much time on, the computer.
The phone would ring and the woman would say, "Can I speak to Bill?" I always found this annoying. As a woman in the military I was very aware that when I called my subordinate's homes and their wives answered, I needed to let them know who I was. I wouldn't call another woman's home and demand to speak to her husband.
After talking to this woman on the phone my husband would tell me his study group was meeting and he would take off. This grew very old, very quickly.
The phone would ring and the woman would say, "Can I speak to Bill?" "Who's calling?" I asked coldly. "This is Shelley." "He's not in," I lied. I was becoming very suspicious of this woman. We had words over her calls. Why, I asked, is she rude and why when she calls must he leave? My husband was so patient when I mentioned this. "It's my study group." So why doesn't anyone else ever call? I dunno, he replied.
One night she showed up at the front door. My husband ran down the stairs and stepped outside. He shut the door behind him. I thought about opening the door and inviting this woman in, but I couldn't do it. He came back inside.
What was that all about? Homework. Why didn't you invite her in? Didn't think of it. You stood out there in the cold and didn't think of inviting her in? Yeah, I guess. I felt my temper ramping up. Nothing seemed right about this situation. Why don't you invite the study group here? We can't study here! Why doesn't anyone else ever call you? Why do you leave the minute she calls?
She needs my help! He finally snapped. Her husband got transferred out of town and she's here all alone. She needs my help because no one is here to help her! Warning bells screamed. Vulnerable woman in jeopardy. I've seen enough movies to know how this works. How does one make this feeling known without sounding heartless?
She needs to learn to take care of herself. Let other classmates help her once in a while. I have traveled all over the world and always took care of myself. YOU'RE DIFFERENT, he replied. You're different.
I'm different? How? You can take care of yourself. Well she should have moved with her husband if she couldn't take care of herself. She has a child. So what? More reason to stay with her husband. Who helps your other classmates with their homework? You're just mean, he stated.
Are you sleeping with this woman?
No! Oh, no! How could you think that? Some people like to help others. Some people care about others. Then care about her here, bring your study group here. I can't demand where the group goes! The group decides where to study.
Look, there are certain conventions that are followed. A married man doesn't spend this much time with another woman unless his wife is included. It is not acceptable. Acceptable to who? To you? You just don't get it....you just don't care about other people.
I am not sleeping with her! She needs my help, what don't you understand about that??
This was getting nowhere. Was I overreacting to a husband who was really a nice guy? My gut said no, my brain tried to override it. I didn't want to think he would do this to me. I found out her address.
One day I called my husband at his office. He wasn't in. I drove to her apartment. His car was outside. I thought I would throw up. I wanted to run away but I walked to her apartment and knocked at the door. No answer. No sound from inside. I knocked again. Nothing. I had to go back to work.
That night, my jaw tight, I asked him where he had been. Nowhere. Then why was your car at her apartment building? Oh, that! I forgot, I had to drop off part of my project. Why doesn't she come get it. Why did you have to go inside. I just stepped inside for a minute, how long did you wait out there? I couldn't tell him I had gone to the door. I couldn't tell him. I was sick to my stomach.
You're blowing this out of proportion, he told me. Between work, school, and working on the house, I don't have time to cheat! Why can't you understand she needed help?
The phone calls stopped. I never heard from her again. I pushed my fears to the side. I didn't forget them, I boxed them up and put them on a shelf and labeled them "Fear."
The phone would ring and the woman would say, "Can I speak to Bill?" I always found this annoying. As a woman in the military I was very aware that when I called my subordinate's homes and their wives answered, I needed to let them know who I was. I wouldn't call another woman's home and demand to speak to her husband.
After talking to this woman on the phone my husband would tell me his study group was meeting and he would take off. This grew very old, very quickly.
The phone would ring and the woman would say, "Can I speak to Bill?" "Who's calling?" I asked coldly. "This is Shelley." "He's not in," I lied. I was becoming very suspicious of this woman. We had words over her calls. Why, I asked, is she rude and why when she calls must he leave? My husband was so patient when I mentioned this. "It's my study group." So why doesn't anyone else ever call? I dunno, he replied.
One night she showed up at the front door. My husband ran down the stairs and stepped outside. He shut the door behind him. I thought about opening the door and inviting this woman in, but I couldn't do it. He came back inside.
What was that all about? Homework. Why didn't you invite her in? Didn't think of it. You stood out there in the cold and didn't think of inviting her in? Yeah, I guess. I felt my temper ramping up. Nothing seemed right about this situation. Why don't you invite the study group here? We can't study here! Why doesn't anyone else ever call you? Why do you leave the minute she calls?
She needs my help! He finally snapped. Her husband got transferred out of town and she's here all alone. She needs my help because no one is here to help her! Warning bells screamed. Vulnerable woman in jeopardy. I've seen enough movies to know how this works. How does one make this feeling known without sounding heartless?
She needs to learn to take care of herself. Let other classmates help her once in a while. I have traveled all over the world and always took care of myself. YOU'RE DIFFERENT, he replied. You're different.
I'm different? How? You can take care of yourself. Well she should have moved with her husband if she couldn't take care of herself. She has a child. So what? More reason to stay with her husband. Who helps your other classmates with their homework? You're just mean, he stated.
Are you sleeping with this woman?
No! Oh, no! How could you think that? Some people like to help others. Some people care about others. Then care about her here, bring your study group here. I can't demand where the group goes! The group decides where to study.
Look, there are certain conventions that are followed. A married man doesn't spend this much time with another woman unless his wife is included. It is not acceptable. Acceptable to who? To you? You just don't get it....you just don't care about other people.
I am not sleeping with her! She needs my help, what don't you understand about that??
This was getting nowhere. Was I overreacting to a husband who was really a nice guy? My gut said no, my brain tried to override it. I didn't want to think he would do this to me. I found out her address.
One day I called my husband at his office. He wasn't in. I drove to her apartment. His car was outside. I thought I would throw up. I wanted to run away but I walked to her apartment and knocked at the door. No answer. No sound from inside. I knocked again. Nothing. I had to go back to work.
That night, my jaw tight, I asked him where he had been. Nowhere. Then why was your car at her apartment building? Oh, that! I forgot, I had to drop off part of my project. Why doesn't she come get it. Why did you have to go inside. I just stepped inside for a minute, how long did you wait out there? I couldn't tell him I had gone to the door. I couldn't tell him. I was sick to my stomach.
You're blowing this out of proportion, he told me. Between work, school, and working on the house, I don't have time to cheat! Why can't you understand she needed help?
The phone calls stopped. I never heard from her again. I pushed my fears to the side. I didn't forget them, I boxed them up and put them on a shelf and labeled them "Fear."
14 February 2011
Give Sorrow Words
I have less sympathy for myself when I go back to the beginning. The only problem is, I'm not sure where the beginning is.
We bought our first home in 1992. We had a housewarming party. I was happy. My husband was wonderful and he avoided me like the plague. We had our first fight as a married couple over my finding him with a thin, giggling blonde slung over his shoulder. What part of housewarming was difficult to understand? What conversation between a man and woman he doesn't know ends with the man throwing her over his shoulder? Why wouldn't he spend time with me in our own home?
He called me clingy and I called him thoughtless. He said he was mingling and I said I needed attention too. He told me I was irrational and I thought I wasn't.
I thought we would celebrate our home and our love. I thought we would show the world what a strong and dedicated couple looked like, instead I was filled with jealousy and concern. I was obviously too overbearing and fearful. The fight passed.
We worked hard and we learned we liked home projects. We hiked and laughed and made love. We started building a life. He was so different from me. Often he would ask me if I wanted to go out to dinner and I would ask him if I needed to get cleaned up. No, he would say, we'll just grab a quick bite. But when we arrived there were all his coworkers. Surprise! He forgot. He didn't realize they were there. And so we would join this group of people and my husband, my beautiful, loving husband would forget I was there.
It was my fault of course for expecting a husband to be attentive. After all, we were with friends and they deserved to enjoy his presence. I was just too stuck up to enjoy our friends. I didn't know how to have a good time. I was jealous.
Our quick bite would turn into a late night with my husband to be found among the young, single men who tried to impress the young, single women. He's just competitive, I thought. He can't help himself. He sees a challenge and he can't help himself, but never, ever would it be more than that. I hated myself for being so old-fashioned that I expected my husband to associate with me, but I saw my friends attend to their wives and wondered what was right and what was wrong. Our fights increased over these nights out, but no matter how often I begged him to please tell me if we were meeting friends, he seldom did.
Several years after we married my husband began to work on his Bachelor's program. I was proud of him. He worked hard and he studied hard. All marriages have bumps. I was living my perfect life.
We bought our first home in 1992. We had a housewarming party. I was happy. My husband was wonderful and he avoided me like the plague. We had our first fight as a married couple over my finding him with a thin, giggling blonde slung over his shoulder. What part of housewarming was difficult to understand? What conversation between a man and woman he doesn't know ends with the man throwing her over his shoulder? Why wouldn't he spend time with me in our own home?
He called me clingy and I called him thoughtless. He said he was mingling and I said I needed attention too. He told me I was irrational and I thought I wasn't.
I thought we would celebrate our home and our love. I thought we would show the world what a strong and dedicated couple looked like, instead I was filled with jealousy and concern. I was obviously too overbearing and fearful. The fight passed.
We worked hard and we learned we liked home projects. We hiked and laughed and made love. We started building a life. He was so different from me. Often he would ask me if I wanted to go out to dinner and I would ask him if I needed to get cleaned up. No, he would say, we'll just grab a quick bite. But when we arrived there were all his coworkers. Surprise! He forgot. He didn't realize they were there. And so we would join this group of people and my husband, my beautiful, loving husband would forget I was there.
It was my fault of course for expecting a husband to be attentive. After all, we were with friends and they deserved to enjoy his presence. I was just too stuck up to enjoy our friends. I didn't know how to have a good time. I was jealous.
Our quick bite would turn into a late night with my husband to be found among the young, single men who tried to impress the young, single women. He's just competitive, I thought. He can't help himself. He sees a challenge and he can't help himself, but never, ever would it be more than that. I hated myself for being so old-fashioned that I expected my husband to associate with me, but I saw my friends attend to their wives and wondered what was right and what was wrong. Our fights increased over these nights out, but no matter how often I begged him to please tell me if we were meeting friends, he seldom did.
Several years after we married my husband began to work on his Bachelor's program. I was proud of him. He worked hard and he studied hard. All marriages have bumps. I was living my perfect life.
Past is Indeed Prologue
If I start with 15 December 2010 I can actually feel some sympathy for myself. It was Wednesday. I got off work about 4pm and headed home. My husband usually gets home about 5 or 5:30. I turned on my laptop and checked my email. 5:00. Nothing much going on. 6pm. I checked his email. Nothing of note. For some reason I checked his sent mail box and there were two emails, forwarded to a yahoo account with his nickname.
They were just some jokes but I had no idea he had a yahoo email account. It was unbelievably easy to get in. My husband is a creature of habit when it comes to passwords. There they were. My worst nightmare. Worse than my worst nightmare. Emails between him and a woman he worked with. His lover.
"I adore you" she wrote. "You are wonderful" he wrote. "This is who I am" she wrote, "I do feel your pain, I feel the ache... I feel the desire and feel responsible... I should have said no... " "There aren't enough words and using mortal words would be an insult to the beauty and joy that is, and always will be, Terri Beuerelein..." he wrote. "I so enjoy being with you" she wrote. Time stopped. My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. What had kicked me in the head? What was that? An earthquake? Did a meteor hit the house? A plane fall from the sky? How could the air be sucked out of the entire world?
Why does infidelity feel like horror.
I called him. Come home now. Why? Because we're getting divorced. Why? Because I saw your yahoo account. Dead air. Dead space. Dead heart.
I was incredibly cold and my first thought was to get a coat. My second, a gun. My third, save the emails.
He got home so quickly I hadn't even processed what happened. I remember this. Insanity followed.
It was awful. It was the end of everything and the beginning of a nightmare. I tried to breathe and be sane. I tried to use reason and be calm. I failed at everything. I raged at him and he lied to me. He begged and I howled. It was me. It was me. I failed at everything. I failed at making him love me. I failed at being a wife. I failed at making a home. I failed at growing older with grace. I failed at fulfilling him. I failed at taking care of him. I failed at marriage. I failed at love. I failed at life.
.
They were just some jokes but I had no idea he had a yahoo email account. It was unbelievably easy to get in. My husband is a creature of habit when it comes to passwords. There they were. My worst nightmare. Worse than my worst nightmare. Emails between him and a woman he worked with. His lover.
"I adore you" she wrote. "You are wonderful" he wrote. "This is who I am" she wrote, "I do feel your pain, I feel the ache... I feel the desire and feel responsible... I should have said no... " "There aren't enough words and using mortal words would be an insult to the beauty and joy that is, and always will be, Terri Beuerelein..." he wrote. "I so enjoy being with you" she wrote. Time stopped. My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. What had kicked me in the head? What was that? An earthquake? Did a meteor hit the house? A plane fall from the sky? How could the air be sucked out of the entire world?
Why does infidelity feel like horror.
I called him. Come home now. Why? Because we're getting divorced. Why? Because I saw your yahoo account. Dead air. Dead space. Dead heart.
I was incredibly cold and my first thought was to get a coat. My second, a gun. My third, save the emails.
He got home so quickly I hadn't even processed what happened. I remember this. Insanity followed.
It was awful. It was the end of everything and the beginning of a nightmare. I tried to breathe and be sane. I tried to use reason and be calm. I failed at everything. I raged at him and he lied to me. He begged and I howled. It was me. It was me. I failed at everything. I failed at making him love me. I failed at being a wife. I failed at making a home. I failed at growing older with grace. I failed at fulfilling him. I failed at taking care of him. I failed at marriage. I failed at love. I failed at life.
.
Valentine's Day
It's dishonest to say that Wednesday, 15 December, 2010 was the first day of my crash into darkness. It might have started sometime in May 1991 when I met the man who would become my husband. It might have started sometime in June 1992 when we had our housewarming party. It might have been any one of the events between then and now...the inappropriate attention to other women, the abandoned woman who needed extra help with her homework, the phone sex chat line, the ads for couples seeking...it should have been one of those but to be honest, it wasn't and that is my deepest shame.
I met my husband when we were both serving overseas in the military. If I believed in love at first sight I'd say it was. But I don't. I guess it was lust at first sight. He obsessed me. He was smart, strong, funny, and sensitive. He wanted me. I knew it could all end very badly but it didn't. It didn't end at all. It lasted and it turned into marriage, and marriage turned into a house and dogs and two careers. It was my perfect life. My wonderful perfect life with my headstrong, competitive husband who challenged my conventional view of life and who surprised me daily with his unconventional ideas. He released the sexual person in me and I loved touching him and holding him and all the things that belong between two people who make a vow to share their lives.
But the last 20 years are gone now. They don't exist because they didn't exist. I lived with a man who wasn't the husband I had created in a life that wasn't the life I had created. To look back now is pure pain. Deep and dark, hot and white. So our past must disappear because if it doesn't it will kill me. How do you grieve for a past that didn't really exist?
I met my husband when we were both serving overseas in the military. If I believed in love at first sight I'd say it was. But I don't. I guess it was lust at first sight. He obsessed me. He was smart, strong, funny, and sensitive. He wanted me. I knew it could all end very badly but it didn't. It didn't end at all. It lasted and it turned into marriage, and marriage turned into a house and dogs and two careers. It was my perfect life. My wonderful perfect life with my headstrong, competitive husband who challenged my conventional view of life and who surprised me daily with his unconventional ideas. He released the sexual person in me and I loved touching him and holding him and all the things that belong between two people who make a vow to share their lives.
But the last 20 years are gone now. They don't exist because they didn't exist. I lived with a man who wasn't the husband I had created in a life that wasn't the life I had created. To look back now is pure pain. Deep and dark, hot and white. So our past must disappear because if it doesn't it will kill me. How do you grieve for a past that didn't really exist?
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