What I Deserve…

What do I deserve?

I’m not even sure.

I’m still decompressing from my failed marriage and I’m sure that will take a long time. Sixteen years married. Eighteen years together.

He isn’t a bad man. He’s a broken man who never learned the proper way to treat people. He never learned how to love.

A friend told me today to quit burying everything. But that’s what I do. It’s easiest on everyone. Usually on me, too. So that I don’t have to deal with the repercussions of what I feel.

I’m a pleaser. I learned that. I’m codependent. Alcoholic parent. Co-dependent parent. Co-dependent me.

As I drove home from work today I was reflecting on some of the things that I’ve buried and couldn’t react to…

During Lamaze class I was told (as so was the rest of the class) that my sciatic pain was NOTHING compared to his pain during a colonoscopy.

After giving birth I was looked directly in the eye after I asked if he’d stay with me in the hospital and was told, “What am I going to do? Sit here and stare at you?” Then he left, went home to watch tv and I was left alone with a baby in NICU.

Spending time in the hospital trying not to give birth pre-term during another pregnancy, I found out he was watching porn while was I was. He just laughed. He wasn’t concerned about me or the baby for even one night.

When I was working through the induction of labor for one of the kids, he left the hospital to get something to eat. He was gone for hours. I had to call him to come back. He was home drinking beer and watching a sporting event.

When my face was paralyzed from Bell’s palsy, he made fun of how I spoke.

There was no celebration when I became pregnant each time. No husband-wife trips to the OB to hear the heartbeat.

When the babies first came home, I slept on the couch because we were too loud. He needed the bed.

When our daughter had her tonsils out, despite his unlimited time off, he went to work and I took her to the hospital alone.

When stress was getting the most of me and I was having chest pains, he refused to take me to the hospital and asked me what I thought the neighbors would think if I called EMS. I didn’t call and prayed it wasn’t heart attack.

I vividly remember begging a friend not to leave because I knew he’d start screaming as soon as she did because one of the kids had bumped a glass of wine he had put on the floor (who leaves red wine on the floor when you have young children and pets?).

I spent years crying in the car on the way home, but had to “freshen up” my face before I got home because it wasn’t acceptable to ever be unhappy.

I stopped having friends over because he would stay and listen to our conversations and quiz me later.

I stopped going out because I was afraid to leave the kids home alone with him and they’d call me non-stop asking when I’d be home.

I stopped talking on the phone when I was home because he’d listen to my calls and get in on the conversations.

I’d get reprimanded when my raise was the industry norm of 2.5%, but could not say a word when he got a pay cut. I was told to demand more money, but he wouldn’t do a thing.

I’d keep moving from the moment I walked into the door until after he was asleep as he sat on the couch complaining about how messy the house was.

For a period of time, he was watching the checking account and comment on where’d I’d been spending money before I was two steps inside the house.

When my grandfather died, he didn’t go to the funeral because he didn’t want to miss work.

When my father had a heartattack, he wanted me to wait until the end of the week and see how his work week played out before I went to see him.

That was my life.

No one knew.

It was all about appearances. No one could know. I couldn’t admit it to myself.

Anyone who knew me would never have guessed. I was someone completely different when I wasn’t with him. I was closer to being me.

He was presentable in public. Everyone thinks he’s a nice guy. He’s not a bad guy. I still don’t think he is. But he’s not a “nice” guy.

I can’t even read this over. It’s too raw. Some day I’ll heal. Not now. Not yet. I’m not ready. I still jump when he says a word even though he moved out almost five months ago. I still let him affect my emotions.

It will take time. Probably a long time.

I had dated someone recently who was nice to me. But because of things he’s going through told me that he can’t give me “what I deserve.” Wow. What do I deserve? I don’t know. He was nice. That was more than I could hope for. That was more than I’d had in a long time.



5 thoughts on “What I Deserve…

  1. You deserve whatever your heart desires. You deserve a chance at happiness. You deserve to have someone look at you like you’re the only person in the room. And after reading your post about the joys of being over 40, I know you’ll agree it’s not too late to find all that. Peace.

  2. This is a good description of some of my life too. I am so sorry I never knew. But I also understand that, not letting others know. I also write about my life. This was written beautifully even though the subject is what it is. I have never shared my writings. Maybe you would like to read them someday. Mine are written in poem ish form. Thank you so much for sharing this me. Maybe if we could talk sometime you would understand my life and reasons why I am who I am. If you have not been is this type of life it is too hard to actually understand. You may be able to actually understand. I am so proud of YOU!

  3. Pingback: Daily Prompt 10/20: Release Me | The Forgetful Genius

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