Yesterday morning I returned from walking the dog (which by-the-way is my salvation right now. I get to do it alone, without him!) and I put my car in the garage because we were expecting visitors so I thought I’d free up some space for them to park. I noticed a rug of mine which had been in storage in the garage was missing. I looked all around but it was not there. So, when I went in the house I said, sweetly and calmly to my husband: “Do you know what happened to my rug?” to which he responded by getting really uptight: “What rug?” (and without waiting for a response): “The rug that was in there you said you didn’t like because the dog had been sick on it.” (his agitation increasing – he is now pacing up and down in the living room): “I am absolutely stressed out by this. Why are you blaming me for taking your rug? Jesus. you blame me for everything and now you are blaming me for taking your rug. You didn’t even like that urg!!” I say, calmly, “I only asked if you knew what had happened to it?” but he is still ranting and not listening to me so I asked why he was getting so defensive and upset. He just kept ranting on about how I was always blaming him for stuff and shouting at him. Then he starts to pretend to cry and does this thing I have only ever seen kids do when they are trying to manipulate adults he pretended to cry whilst at the same time ranting on at me about how unfair I was to him.
I guess it’s better than hitting me, which he would have done before his Police caution. And in a way it’s actually quite comical, except that this is my husband we are talking about and I am, so far, married to him!! Of course, like you I realise that it should have gone something like this: I say: ” Darling, do you know what happened to my rug?” he replies: “Ah, yes, I’m sorry sweetie, I put it out with the rubbish because you’d said the dog had been sick on it. I thought you wanted to get rid of it.” To which I would have replied: “Oh. Okay but I wish you’d asked me first. I’d managed to clean it up and it might have come in handy one day but never mind.” To which he would have said: “yes, you’re right. I should have asked but you weren’t here to ask. I was going to tell you too but it slipped my mind. I’m sorry sweetie. Can I make it up to you?” to which I would have said “crack open the white later and pour me a glass.”
The good thing about this incident is that it served as a reminder to me as to why I am leaving. Why do I wait for a reminder anyway? Why can I not just have conviction in my decisions? But as H says, that’s a question for the future, not now.
A few disclaimers before I say what I’m about to say:
1. You shouldn’t ever count on a relationship to fulfill you or make you happy. That’s your job, and nobody will ever be able to do it better than you can.
2. You should be careful and slow with relationships you might start after leaving him, because you’ll have a habit of tolerating abuse and not setting boundaries, and that can draw some pretty bad flies to you.
Aside from all that, I wanted to step in here as the You From the Future to tell you something about this scenario:
I say: ” Darling, do you know what happened to my rug?” he replies: “Ah, yes, I’m sorry sweetie, I put it out with the rubbish because you’d said the dog had been sick on it. I thought you wanted to get rid of it.” To which I would have replied: “Oh. Okay but I wish you’d asked me first. I’d managed to clean it up and it might have come in handy one day but never mind.” To which he would have said: “yes, you’re right. I should have asked but you weren’t here to ask. I was going to tell you too but it slipped my mind. I’m sorry sweetie. Can I make it up to you?” to which I would have said “crack open the white later and pour me a glass.”
Leaving him will make this scenario a reality.
When I first began to think of leaving my husband, all I could look forward to was a relief of the abuse. I didn’t have the skills or imagination or self-esteem at that point to think of anything else. Then, slowly, I began to think of the way things *could* be. I thought, I could choose a boyfriend who was good to me. I could have sex that felt good. I could set standards of my lovers. I could choose not to spend a day with a boyfriend because I wanted to be alone. I could not date a man who wouldn’t accept this, who would call me constantly, whining, begging, angry. I could break up with any man who did this to me. I could, in fact, make an arbitrary stand of all my lovers, I could say, “I do not want to date anybody who doesn’t buy me a surprise present once in a while, just because,” and that was my right, and I probably *could* find somebody who would do that.
I developed this very silly fantasy in my head that I carried around, not telling anybody because I felt it was so embarrassing, but it meant something to me. I imagined my new apartment, unfurnished, lying on the floor in pajamas with the window open, eating fresh fruit and getting pleasantly drunk on wine with some guy I’d met at a cafe. I realized, I can have that. That can be real. I didn’t meet any guy at a cafe, but I did meet a guy, and I did have that, rolling around on the floor eating fruit and talking about books. I had that, and breakfast in bed, and cuddling, and presents just because, and somebody who loved to hear my laughter, loved to hear me talk. Wanting all these things had been embarrassing before, because my husband had mocked me for wanting them (not because I wanted them, I realized, but because he was so broken he couldn’t provide them). Not until I was out did I realize they weren’t embarrassing things to want; they were normal, good, and more than that, now completely *essential.* I will never again settle for less.
These are the things you can gain by leaving abuse. You can have a pleasant conversation with a husband who will apologize for a mistake, pour you a glass of wine, and kiss you on the cheek.
*You can have that*