The first in a series of posts on the beginning of the end of my marriage, and a look back at our relationship, from meeting, dating, engagement, and the in-laws (that could be an entire blog in itself, but that’s a story for another day…!).
So, “where it began” really doesn’t even scratch the surface of the beginning of the end of my marriage, and I don’t think I’ve quite recounted that here yet, in almost a year. Perhaps part of it was purposeful, for not wanting to relive those moments, but now that I am so far beyond that, looking back feels more like continued healing, and, sharing the experience with all of you – those going through divorce as we speak, those recently separated, those who are well beyond as “freshly” divorced as me (September, officially). So, here goes…
It was late October, just after our two-year wedding anniversary, which came and went without so much as dinner out, no card, no romance, not much out of the ordinary. And, not that I’ve got high expectations or am high-maintenance when it comes to “stuff” in a relationship, but it just felt definedly different. And, Pete had been acting differently over the past month, sort of withdrawn, not himself, stressed out, lost in his own world. It didn’t feel terribly different than when he’d been stressed out at work in the past, as he sometimes shuts into himself and just deals with it on his own, but at the same time, it was much longer than normal, and he just wasn’t himself. We weren’t having sex, and we hadn’t for quite awhile (at least 2-3 weeks) and he was just withdrawn. There. But not. So, that night (I think it was a Sunday, but I don’t remember the actual date), as we were laying in bed and his indifference and quietness finally got to me.
I asked him what was wrong, he didn’t answer. I asked him if he was ok. He didn’t answer. I asked him if he was stressed. He said yes. I asked him if it was work. He said he didn’t know. I asked him if it was his family and he said no. I asked him if it was me – fully expecting him to say ‘stop being stupid’ – and he said yes. I asked him what he meant. He said he didn’t know. He was facing away from me in bed, and curled up, and he refused to look at me. I shook him slightly and asked him to explain what he meant. By that point, my heart had sunk, my body was shaking, my knees were knocking and I was scared. This felt real, and scary, and the first inkling in my mind that something was definitely – perhaps permanently – wrong. And to think it could be us was so infathomable to me at the time, that I was in utter shock.
Then he said it.
I’m not happy. Something is wrong with me. I think it’s us. I think I don’t want to be married anymore.
Blindsided.
I was crying, shaking, bawling, but at the same time, I was angry. I didn’t understand, I thought he was jumping to conclusions. HOW COULD IT BE US?! It has never been us. So, HOW COULD IT BE US? After almost 9 years together and 2 years of marriage and never a fight between us.
How could it be us?
I just didn’t understand, and I cried, and I tried to understand, and I just didn’t. I said that I refuse to believe that, that it can’t be us, that we have a wonderful marriage, we don’t fight, we are very compatible, we have a wonderful home, two wonderful cats, a brand new bathroom that we designed top to bottom, a circle of friends, good jobs…and each other.
So, how could it be us?
We went to bed that night agreeing that we needed to talk, and figure out WHAT this was. That it WAS NOT us, that maybe he should talk to someone, that maybe he was just confused.
The next day, I woke up and thought it was one of those nightmares that just you wake up from and realize it wasn’t true, and you feel a wave of relief. Yet, it WAS true, and I was scared, and ashamed, and sad, and crushed, and well, broken. I didn’t tell anyone, I was afraid to, I was ashamed to say it, for fear of making it real. But it was real, and I had no idea where to begin, what to do, how to save it, or fix it. I wanted to run away. I wanted to hide. And most of all, I wanted it not to be us, and for Pete to come back to me and realize what we had was one of a kind, and could never, ever be recreated.
I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the beginning of the end…but also the beginning of the beginning, of the most awe-inspiring year of my life.
Wow, writing this down brings me rushing back to that moment – I can feel my knees shaking, I can feel the bewildered look in my eyes, and in Pete’s, and I never, ever want to feel that way again. Tomorrow, part II of this post – and realizing, that at 29, I was going to get divorced.
To be continued…
~~
Broken. It’s how I felt. This song spoke to me, for months. I was broken, I didn’t how to fix it, I didn’t know where to go. Who used to “fix” me, comfort me, make me smile, make me feel safe – was him. My love, my best friend, my all….and he wasn’t that anymore. How do you feel anything *but* broken?
February 3, 2010 at 7:44 pm
I know it can’t be easy writing it down, but it’s almost always a good catharsis to write it out (at least it is for me). It’s just another part of the healing process.
February 3, 2010 at 8:57 pm
I read this and thought immediately of my old blog and an old blog entry that I wanted to send you. When I searched the blog for the word “broken,” it came up in over 30 entires.
Here’s the one I’d love if you read, because it’s about the stained glass you’re becoming.
http://sexysingleandcelibate.blogspot.com/2008/04/broken.html
I hope these revisits to the beginning of the end will prove to be immensely therapeutic and life-affirming.
February 3, 2010 at 9:08 pm
Wow, what a wonderful post, thank you so much for sharing! Stained glass is a great analogy, and the post was dead-on for what I was writing about, you are so right. I think it will be therapeutic, and life-affirming. Amazing what the power of words are, aren’t they?
February 3, 2010 at 9:40 pm
I ached for you when I read this. Pretty powerful writing. It always is when you write from the heart. And look at you, just over a year out. You’ve healed so nicely. I can’t even seen a scar. Nope. Just like Mary Poppins…practically perfect in every way.
Can’t wait for the next installment.
February 4, 2010 at 9:09 am
Aw thank you Nicki!! I do feel I have healed, so writing this feels good, because I am proud of where I’ve come since then. More to come tonight π
February 3, 2010 at 11:02 pm
Excellent post, though the subject matter is obviously tough!
February 4, 2010 at 9:10 am
Thanks Emma – it is, but it feels good to share it, and recap it here, finally.
February 4, 2010 at 2:13 am
This reminds me of those moments as well. For me, it wasn’t just one but a series of them and looking back – it happened so much sooner than I could have ever seen at the time. [[[hugs]]]
February 4, 2010 at 9:10 am
Thanks StudentMama – I’m sure it brings you right back to those moments for you too – and it feels good to get it out, share it, and hear your feedback as well, because clearly, we have all been there!! Hugs!
February 4, 2010 at 2:49 pm
That was tough for me to read Jo! Though our divorces came about for completely different reasons, the way we felt, the emotions, and the pain where all the same. It took me back to the moment I knew my marriage was over…sort of a catharsis for me too via you! And, i agree with Nicki (which I tend to do), I can’t find my scars and I certainly don’t see yours!
February 4, 2010 at 2:51 pm
Aw, don’t mean to bring YOU back to that time, too, Ames, but I’m glad you don’t see my scars either π XOXO. Stay tuned for more on this…I have a particular memory of one of our conversations that is so vivid in my mind…
February 4, 2010 at 5:06 pm
Wow. Powerful stuff. That brought me back to my own Beginning of the End, and it was very similar to yours. Different details, but many of the same emotions: shock, fear, panic, denial, anger, confusion. The feeling like someone impossible was happening.
Just like you, I didn’t tell anyone about it, because I didn’t want to make it real.
I look forward to reading the next installment.
February 4, 2010 at 8:15 pm
Thanks Snark, that means a lot – glad my post helps you – and others – identify, revisit (hopefully only in a good way) and realize life can be better on the other side, after all.
February 4, 2010 at 8:17 pm
Wow- this took me back to my own moments. I know that exact feeling. And thank you for sharing because it does help to hear that I’m not the only one feeling so alone in a room struggling.
February 4, 2010 at 8:44 pm
Thank you Shannon – so glad you can relate Alone in a room struggling, good analogy.
February 4, 2010 at 8:40 pm
[…] Who I am « The beginning of the end…where it really began. […]
February 5, 2010 at 6:27 pm
I have to say reading this breaks my heart all over again. Well written but so sad and I can’t beleive just how strong you are. Love you sis
February 5, 2010 at 7:39 pm
aw sis – thank you – but don’t be sad! I am only as strong as my family supports me to be, and I couldn’t have come this far without you. Love you!