2018 was quite a year.
Here's some stuff that happened:
I started last year off on the wrong foot. I decided to give my marriage one last chance. In that ten year relationship we had broken up before around the five year mark. I was wooed by lots of red roses and promises of a better future. He wouldn't be mean anymore, he wouldn't ignore me anymore, he would try new things with me and go places and also get into counseling and take medication for his anxiety and depression. I got lost in the shuffle of planning a wedding, buying a house, and getting pregnant. Before I knew it, I had lost myself again. I decided to end the marriage after eight years together. He said, "fine. Do whatever you want." and then left for his studio. It wrecked me. I already felt like things weren't going great. I decided to stay. I thought that there was a strong bond of love behind it. We decided to try again and get pregnant. To summarize the multitude of the mistake I had made in the entire relationship I'll leave you with his gem: On the way to the ultrasound to find out the gender of our second baby, Justin was feeling irritated by Max. He hit him. We were walking down the street looking for Frankie to pick us up. I told him it wasn't okay. He justified it. Yelled about it. We all got into the car and as he's strapping Max in, he apologizes to Max but somehow twists the words and says he never hit him. We all saw it. Max felt it. He was crying from being hit. I was furious. I said nothing more than that it wasn't right and I needed space. When we got to the appointment, he was picking fights with me rather than lifting me up. Inside the room, the technician said it was a girl and he stormed out. I started to cry. I wanted a girl so badly. This was the price I was paying. This was a memory that will forever be tainted to me. Instead of a lovely memory of finding out my beautiful baby was a girl, I have that. That was just one example of a long ten years. I kept putting up with it. It kept getting worse.
Over the next two years, life got unbearable for us all. I cannot tell you how many times I saw him being rough with Max. I cannot tell you how many times he screamed at him over something really small. I cannot tell you how many times he would lie to my face about me witnessing it. He would pick fights with me on my way to work. I would be in my car, sobbing, and receiving message after message of how I am the worst and everything is my fault. His entire mood rested on my shoulders and no matter how much I did, good or bad, it was always a fight. I gave the fuck up. Max started showing some weird signs, I reported it, and he was banned from contacting us for a month. On the way out the door he said to me, "no one will believe you." He confronted me at the courthouse and told me I was a shitty person and I wasn't going to "get away with it." I was broken. More ways than one. After the no-contact period, I was being guilted and bullied into letting him come home. There wasn't anything proven to be wrong with Max, so why couldn't he come home? The thing was, I was happier without him. The house was quiet. It was clean. The kids stopped misbehaving. But, I was sad and lonely. And I, stupidly, let him back in. He bullied me until I let him back into the house. Anyway he could he would send me messages telling me how much he loved me and how amazing I was. The next messages would be about how I should feel ashamed for how much pain I caused him. I kept my chin up and I let him back in.
I made a mistake in doing so. January-April was by far the hardest part of my life. I was weaning Luna. I was working more. I was being belittled, guilted, and picked on daily. I got several missed calls and a stream of texts about how he dropped keys under the seat of the car and accidentally locked them in there. And guess what? It was my fault. There was no love and no romance in sex. It was a duty, if we ever did it at all. There was no kissing. There was no talking. It was mechanical and I would turn my head away and wait for it to be over. I was broken through and through. If I was too tired or too drunk after initiating anything, I was made to feel guilty for stopping.
By the time it got warm out, I used any excuse necessary to not be home. I would stay after work and drink beers to avoid him. It would kill me some nights because I just wanted to be home cuddling the kids. But, he was there. So I couldn't. I avoided him as much as possible. I stopped wanting to be present. I detached entirely. I began spending time in my room when he was in the living room. Vice versa. I didn't want anything to do with him. In June, I spent our wedding anniversary with my best friend at the beach. I wrote a lovely post about how much I loved him and couldn't wait to be home. He didn't acknowledge it. By July, I had enough. I didn't know how to get out of it. My heart was torn. I thought that I could never love anyone the way that I loved him. I thought that there must be something wrong with me that I can't help him through this. My friends began taking my phone away from me when he started a stream of texts meant to hurt me. They never bad mouthed him. They never told me what to do. They just encouraged me to grow. They told me I deserved better than that. They built me up when I was breaking down. I got so fucking strong from them. I am forever grateful for their encouragement and support. They told me to focus on the kids. Focus on being happy. Just keep being myself, even if he is a jerk. So I did. I finally acknowledged that I needed to get a divorce. Out loud. It was insanely freeing. And scary. I didn't know how to begin to say it to him. If he freaked out over how I did the most mundane things- how would he take the rejection of a divorce?
I got really strong. I told him, this is an emotional roller coaster and I WANT OFF. No thanks, 0/10 WOULD NOT RECOMMEND. I met up with his best friend. He asked me questions and I answered him truthfully. He told me that he would always be there for both of us. He told me that he really hoped we can work it out. He told me, it may seem like he's getting worse but he's actually getting better! Um, okay. He told me that when he's being a douche to him- he just leaves. Yeah, well. I left.
His best friend unfriended me.
I told him I wanted to end the marriage. There was no reconciliation. I tried. And tried. And tried. I made an appointment for a therapist. I was berated daily while he still lived with me for another few weeks. He wanted to know where I was going and what I was doing at all times. I was hanging out with people who lifted me up instead of tore me down. The less time I had to spend with him, the happier I realized I was becoming. The less time I gave him, the better I felt. He literally sucked all of the warmth out of me and I was beginning to get it back. He messaged my mother. My bosses. My cousin. My sister. My best friends. He tried anyway he could to get to me. He still tries. He made an ass out of himself instead of trying to fix it. He just made it worse. His true colors showed to me in the last few months. I really see him for who he is now.
From July-December I did a lot of building. I started remembering who I was and what I wanted out of life. I began expressing myself through art and writing again. I started exercising. I started Yoga Teacher Training- something that I had wanted to do for at least five years seriously. I kept putting aside my life for his dreams. He wanted to start a recording studio. He wanted to produce records. He wanted to burn records. He wanted an arcade. I encouraged him, looked for the money to pay for it, got several jobs to keep us out of debt and happy, I did everything I could. I was at that damn arcade every night I could while he was up in his studio smoking weed. I had keys and tokens and would do whatever I could to help out. I was there painting, cleaning, running around picking up supplies, etc. I set all of the things about myself aside for him to succeed. He didn't stop me. He didn't say, hey, actually, why don't you do some things for yourself instead? What he did say was, "what are your hobbies, anyways? You don't fucking do anything." Yup. He was right. I stopped. I stopped doing all of the things I loved. He needed to control everything. If it was my choice, then there was complaints. If there was something out of his control. There were complaints. If I was too happy, there were complaints. I literally could do nothing right. BUT, as soon as I wanted a divorce- it was back and forth between belittling and telling me I was amazing and he could never love anyone as much as me again.
The funny thing is that I have some really amazing people in my life who show me with actions how much I mean to them. There's no need to constantly be trying to convince me of things anymore. Life just is the way it is. I do things for people and they do things for me and we live in harmony. There's very little conflict. I lost myself years ago, but last year I found myself. I found my people and I found myself. I learned to appreciate myself and those around me. I can't say that I'm never sad or that I don't still get streams of texts about how I'm the only one for him and I should take him back or that I don't lose my shit some days- BUT, I'm overall, so much happier. I have the freedom to be happy with myself and that's something that I'll never give away to anyone again.
For the record, I hate red roses.
Here's some stuff that happened:
I started last year off on the wrong foot. I decided to give my marriage one last chance. In that ten year relationship we had broken up before around the five year mark. I was wooed by lots of red roses and promises of a better future. He wouldn't be mean anymore, he wouldn't ignore me anymore, he would try new things with me and go places and also get into counseling and take medication for his anxiety and depression. I got lost in the shuffle of planning a wedding, buying a house, and getting pregnant. Before I knew it, I had lost myself again. I decided to end the marriage after eight years together. He said, "fine. Do whatever you want." and then left for his studio. It wrecked me. I already felt like things weren't going great. I decided to stay. I thought that there was a strong bond of love behind it. We decided to try again and get pregnant. To summarize the multitude of the mistake I had made in the entire relationship I'll leave you with his gem: On the way to the ultrasound to find out the gender of our second baby, Justin was feeling irritated by Max. He hit him. We were walking down the street looking for Frankie to pick us up. I told him it wasn't okay. He justified it. Yelled about it. We all got into the car and as he's strapping Max in, he apologizes to Max but somehow twists the words and says he never hit him. We all saw it. Max felt it. He was crying from being hit. I was furious. I said nothing more than that it wasn't right and I needed space. When we got to the appointment, he was picking fights with me rather than lifting me up. Inside the room, the technician said it was a girl and he stormed out. I started to cry. I wanted a girl so badly. This was the price I was paying. This was a memory that will forever be tainted to me. Instead of a lovely memory of finding out my beautiful baby was a girl, I have that. That was just one example of a long ten years. I kept putting up with it. It kept getting worse.
Over the next two years, life got unbearable for us all. I cannot tell you how many times I saw him being rough with Max. I cannot tell you how many times he screamed at him over something really small. I cannot tell you how many times he would lie to my face about me witnessing it. He would pick fights with me on my way to work. I would be in my car, sobbing, and receiving message after message of how I am the worst and everything is my fault. His entire mood rested on my shoulders and no matter how much I did, good or bad, it was always a fight. I gave the fuck up. Max started showing some weird signs, I reported it, and he was banned from contacting us for a month. On the way out the door he said to me, "no one will believe you." He confronted me at the courthouse and told me I was a shitty person and I wasn't going to "get away with it." I was broken. More ways than one. After the no-contact period, I was being guilted and bullied into letting him come home. There wasn't anything proven to be wrong with Max, so why couldn't he come home? The thing was, I was happier without him. The house was quiet. It was clean. The kids stopped misbehaving. But, I was sad and lonely. And I, stupidly, let him back in. He bullied me until I let him back into the house. Anyway he could he would send me messages telling me how much he loved me and how amazing I was. The next messages would be about how I should feel ashamed for how much pain I caused him. I kept my chin up and I let him back in.
I made a mistake in doing so. January-April was by far the hardest part of my life. I was weaning Luna. I was working more. I was being belittled, guilted, and picked on daily. I got several missed calls and a stream of texts about how he dropped keys under the seat of the car and accidentally locked them in there. And guess what? It was my fault. There was no love and no romance in sex. It was a duty, if we ever did it at all. There was no kissing. There was no talking. It was mechanical and I would turn my head away and wait for it to be over. I was broken through and through. If I was too tired or too drunk after initiating anything, I was made to feel guilty for stopping.
By the time it got warm out, I used any excuse necessary to not be home. I would stay after work and drink beers to avoid him. It would kill me some nights because I just wanted to be home cuddling the kids. But, he was there. So I couldn't. I avoided him as much as possible. I stopped wanting to be present. I detached entirely. I began spending time in my room when he was in the living room. Vice versa. I didn't want anything to do with him. In June, I spent our wedding anniversary with my best friend at the beach. I wrote a lovely post about how much I loved him and couldn't wait to be home. He didn't acknowledge it. By July, I had enough. I didn't know how to get out of it. My heart was torn. I thought that I could never love anyone the way that I loved him. I thought that there must be something wrong with me that I can't help him through this. My friends began taking my phone away from me when he started a stream of texts meant to hurt me. They never bad mouthed him. They never told me what to do. They just encouraged me to grow. They told me I deserved better than that. They built me up when I was breaking down. I got so fucking strong from them. I am forever grateful for their encouragement and support. They told me to focus on the kids. Focus on being happy. Just keep being myself, even if he is a jerk. So I did. I finally acknowledged that I needed to get a divorce. Out loud. It was insanely freeing. And scary. I didn't know how to begin to say it to him. If he freaked out over how I did the most mundane things- how would he take the rejection of a divorce?
I got really strong. I told him, this is an emotional roller coaster and I WANT OFF. No thanks, 0/10 WOULD NOT RECOMMEND. I met up with his best friend. He asked me questions and I answered him truthfully. He told me that he would always be there for both of us. He told me that he really hoped we can work it out. He told me, it may seem like he's getting worse but he's actually getting better! Um, okay. He told me that when he's being a douche to him- he just leaves. Yeah, well. I left.
His best friend unfriended me.
I told him I wanted to end the marriage. There was no reconciliation. I tried. And tried. And tried. I made an appointment for a therapist. I was berated daily while he still lived with me for another few weeks. He wanted to know where I was going and what I was doing at all times. I was hanging out with people who lifted me up instead of tore me down. The less time I had to spend with him, the happier I realized I was becoming. The less time I gave him, the better I felt. He literally sucked all of the warmth out of me and I was beginning to get it back. He messaged my mother. My bosses. My cousin. My sister. My best friends. He tried anyway he could to get to me. He still tries. He made an ass out of himself instead of trying to fix it. He just made it worse. His true colors showed to me in the last few months. I really see him for who he is now.
From July-December I did a lot of building. I started remembering who I was and what I wanted out of life. I began expressing myself through art and writing again. I started exercising. I started Yoga Teacher Training- something that I had wanted to do for at least five years seriously. I kept putting aside my life for his dreams. He wanted to start a recording studio. He wanted to produce records. He wanted to burn records. He wanted an arcade. I encouraged him, looked for the money to pay for it, got several jobs to keep us out of debt and happy, I did everything I could. I was at that damn arcade every night I could while he was up in his studio smoking weed. I had keys and tokens and would do whatever I could to help out. I was there painting, cleaning, running around picking up supplies, etc. I set all of the things about myself aside for him to succeed. He didn't stop me. He didn't say, hey, actually, why don't you do some things for yourself instead? What he did say was, "what are your hobbies, anyways? You don't fucking do anything." Yup. He was right. I stopped. I stopped doing all of the things I loved. He needed to control everything. If it was my choice, then there was complaints. If there was something out of his control. There were complaints. If I was too happy, there were complaints. I literally could do nothing right. BUT, as soon as I wanted a divorce- it was back and forth between belittling and telling me I was amazing and he could never love anyone as much as me again.
The funny thing is that I have some really amazing people in my life who show me with actions how much I mean to them. There's no need to constantly be trying to convince me of things anymore. Life just is the way it is. I do things for people and they do things for me and we live in harmony. There's very little conflict. I lost myself years ago, but last year I found myself. I found my people and I found myself. I learned to appreciate myself and those around me. I can't say that I'm never sad or that I don't still get streams of texts about how I'm the only one for him and I should take him back or that I don't lose my shit some days- BUT, I'm overall, so much happier. I have the freedom to be happy with myself and that's something that I'll never give away to anyone again.
For the record, I hate red roses.
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