She asked me if I was safe. That's when I realised my truth.
When the twins started senior school, I studied for a degree in something he 'approved' of. After all, he was paying the fees and wasn't going to waste a penny on me learning something worthless.
When I met X, he not only lit up the room but was hilarious, boyish and adorable. I presumed he was a player and paid little attention to him. I was bored with being played. When we married a few years later, I thought I knew the vulnerable side to X, and then our life got stressful. He became the most selfish, uncaring piece of shit, and it took me an astounding length of time to acknowledge his unacceptable behaviour was a sign to bolt. I didn't bolt, instead I let the man in and got pregnant - with twins. Of course, with twins. Mr competitive & Charming always wanted to go large or go home, and his sperm agreed. I was the one that got large and couldn't leave home for months on bed rest. Rest for a pregnant woman is to do absolutely nothing and to go out of one's mind with boredom. Yeah, not me, I was still servicing his needs in the kitchen and the bedroom. I look back and think what was I thinking? But I wasn't. I want to beat myself up for being stupid, but it's pointless. What he did was classic textbook manipulation and abuse, and my brain and body became his puppet. The kids grew a little older and the exhaustion of raising them permitted me to forget I existed outside of mothering and being a dutiful wife.
I stopped existing until I had the pleasure of an emergency operation and a stay in hospital.
A specific nurse hovered while this dickhead pretended to care for me. She waited until after visitation, sat next to me, looked me in the eye and asked me if I was safe. Did she need to contact someone on my behalf? I must have looked bewildered until the tears poured down my face into a pool of snot on the back of my hand and even though it hurt to cry, I sobbed for hours. She sat there silently patting my (clean) hand every so often until I was done. It felt like midnight when she left and the painkillers kicked in but I slept the deepest safest sleep in years.
It took me a further 5 years to leave my marriage. I had to plot and plan and pace my exit strategy. I got therapy by claiming I was the problem and I needed to heal my childhood. He loved that line, made him feel like he had rescued me and I pumped up his ego every time I came home and shared something I had learnt. I was finally playing his game on my terms and I knew I wasn't going to win, I just needed to get out safely.
When the twins started senior school, I studied for a degree in something he 'approved' of. After all, he was paying the fees and wasn't going to waste a penny on me learning something worthless. Then I started setting myself up for arguments with him. I wanted him to get sick of being married to me. It had to be his idea, his rules, his win. He started to come home later and later, and the little time he spent with the twins became even less when he took up 'golf' on weekends.
Golf became the nickname for his mistresses.
When he demanded we divorce and assured me I would get nothing for being a useless mother and wife I secretly smiled. He presumed I was dumb and incapable, but I had already collated the financial documentation. Evidence of costs, his lies, cheating, and abuse. He never found out, but sometimes I want to tell him how thick he was for not realising how smart I was. With all the support I had built up over the years, I learnt how to be unreasonable so he could share publicly how he was taking care of me. This tactic forced a fair settlement as he needed to feel he had the upper hand.
I knew it had worked when mutual friends shared how he drunk boasted at a dinner party he was screwing me over.
The kids, the true loves of his life, were expected to visit him every other weekend. Whenever a new lady came on the scene, he would suddenly be away for work and they would stay home with me. I knew this would happen, and my career allowed me to work from home before it was a thing. Holidays were booked to top destinations with bizarre flight plans that required the children always stop in some random European airport for a connecting flight home. I stopped making plans to go away, always on standby to deal with chaos, and I couldn't book a break with them until they returned because he always had a way of screwing me over with dates. They are older now, capable young adults to make their own plans with him, and yet I watch their faces drop whenever he lets them down - which is more often than not. I no longer intervene, say anything to support them, or make suggestions because it comes back to bite me.
'You hate Dad, of course you don't want us to go.'
I don't want them to go because I want to protect them, and I can't.
Meanwhile, we barely have had reason to communicate about anything except the twins, and even then, with mobile phones, they organise their time with him. I knew I had to be their stability, the constant and to always be prepared to cancel whatever I was doing. I stopped getting annoyed after three years or so when I realised he was still abusing and controlling me post-divorce. Some call this post-divorce abuse- and it is very very real.
I got lucky. I got the right help and support, had a plan in place and the ability to work to support myself. That kind act by that nurse saved me from waking up at 50 without a career, without being self-sufficient, and without support. You can't and you shouldn't divorce this kind of person without a team behind you.
If you would like to share your story or you are a professional who wants to share some insights, please email me at contact@angryexwife.com
