Marital Spats in the Age of Technology

I left my husband a week ago and we haven't spoken with each other since (nor have we texted or emailed or chatted or IM'd....)  How is it then, that I feel like we just had a huge fight?

We each use the "Notes" application on our phones. This application, being tied to an email address (or addresses) can also tie together every cell phone that uses a common email address for the application.  I have several email addresses that I use on my phone.  One of them is the "family" address, which Todd also uses.  I'm not sure if he is technologically savvy enough to switch back and forth between addresses depending on the content of his notes.  His notes are mostly boring old shopping lists or wish lists, but when I had all accounts showing on my Notes list, one particular title stood out:

"Why Does Bridget..."

Hmm, I thought, that didn't sound familiar.  I clicked on it, not realizing it was actually Todd's note.

It turned out to be a critique of my parenting.  "Why does Bridget allow [our son] to eat junk?" and he proceeded to make a list of all the junk the boy apparently ate on a particular day.  I don't remember the boy eating all he listed... probably because I was WORKING, and not sitting on my butt looking for fault to list in my Notes.

I started to add on to the note in reply, answering his question with a string of questions.

Why, as a parent, was he observing this and critiquing rather than participating? ...but then I remembered, since the only way he seems to know to "discipline" is in anger, maybe I shouldn't ask a question that would only invite abuse.  I thought better of it and backspaced it out.  

Take a deep breath, Bridget.  Pity him.  Pity is more appropriate than anger.  

He told our daughter that he can see that it would probably be better if he were not around us, but he doesn't want to be perceived as having deserted his family.  There's that concept again: Perception.  Once again, image is more important than honesty, or his children's ability to grow up in a safe, loving environment.  He doesn't want to look bad.

He may very well wait for me to make the first move.  Then he can play the victim.

Romance? Ha!

When we first reconnected (that is after he realized who I was), Charlie asked me a series of questions about Bridget. He was trying to flesh out her character, and on some level, I think he was trying to figure out my motivation to open communication with him after all these years. Were my intentions devious? Was I trying to trap him in some way? What exactly did I expect?

The honest answer: I didn't know. 

Maybe it was more of that self-sabotage stuff. I thought he would confirm what Todd had told me about him (and about me) for all these years -- that he had just been playing a game to get in my pants -- that the intense connection I thought we had was just my once over-active imagination, delusional thinking. I thought he might negate that sliver of a belief that we had shared something real (and that it therefore might be possible again with another someday). Maybe he would prove me to be the fool once and for all -- put me in my place as an unlovable joke, and cause me to never again waste a moment on unrealistic desires. 

One of the questions he asked to figure out the Bridget character was, "Does she read romance novels?" Since I am Bridget, that was an easy one to answer. I told him of my disdain for romance novels -- they only set us up for disappointment. And that old adage: "Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall not be disappointed," is the easy way out, so I take it again and again. Lower the expectations, numb the heart so it cannot be broken.

As I'm attempting to learn more about myself through Bridget, however, I continued to consider that question. The immediate answer that had popped into my head when asked if Bridget liked romance novels, was, "No, unless by 'romance' you mean..." And then I ran through a string of unlikely titles, like "Fight Club," "The Hours," "Fried Green Tomatoes," "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," and "The Shining." What started out as a bit of a joke of a list, got me thinking about what I did see as a romantic story. I started to realize that the only romance I could believe was tragedy. "Romeo and Juliet" and other such stories in which the characters realize too little, too late.... 

Last night I was in one of those hopeless places. The riff between my eldest daughter and I, although cordially "okay," continued to bother me. And then her boyfriend (fiancee, actually) made a comment that was meant to be helpful, but just ended up compounding my stress level (which was already teetering on edge of sending me to the ER). I just wanted it to all be over with. 

Thinking of how all the times I had been tempted to "off" myself, I had fought the urge for the sake of my kids, I now found myself dwelling on all the ways my "trying" to make things right failed and fell short, on what a disappointment I was even to my own kids.... The effort I had put into sticking it out now seemed as ridiculously insufficient as my efforts to move forward.

Romance? Ha! Unlikely. The last thing I wanted was to be with anyone. I'd rather be alone, numb, but free from pain. Free from feeling. 

But that's not entirely true. That sliver of hope remains, mocking apparent reality, peeking through the crusted scabs of slashed wrists (metaphorically speaking).

This is as romantic as I can get for the time being (and even this is a stretch)...

"Guilt Baby"

Twice in the past couple weeks, I've been asked why I had so many kids if I was unhappy in my marriage.

Fair question.

Uncomfortable answer. Or perhaps I should make that plural. Answers. It wasn't always the same. The answers do point to more of my own embarrassing issues. Mainly self-sabotage.

I've been talking to Charlie lately. Had I admitted that yet? Anyway, the fact that I had a child after Charlie's was news to him. When he asked the question, it didn't take me long to realize I had done it out of guilt--as if giving Todd a chance to father a son would "fix" things. (Yes, I do realize that was a 50/50 crapshoot.) 

But then my oldest daughter asked the same thing. Surely having so many children is evidence that there once was love. Right? 

I found myself doing inventory. As I've said before, I married Todd to try to justify the physical relationship we were already having. The children were like a natural continuation of that.

A friend was recently going on and on about how "love is not a feeling--it's a commitment." He said it over and over as if it were a mantra. Perhaps he needs to convince himself of that because the wife he refuses to give up on is actually living with a different man.

"Love is a commitment," he kept saying. I nodded numbly, as if in agreement, but what I was really agreeing to was the fact that his statement was familiar. I've heard it so many times that it just sounds right.

Yes, I understand the fact that feelings fluctuate, and if you are relying only on feelings, any relationship is pretty much doomed to fade at some point or another.


But as the days since I heard Jeff repeating his "Love is a commitment" mantra have passed, I've been dissecting that sentiment, and I think it's overly simplistic. Oh really? The way some apply that premise is as if "Love is nothing more than a commitment." That's pretty close to the way I have lived for 25 years, and I can tell you, it is sad.

If that's all love is, then how is it different from joining the military, or picking fur off furniture if you have OCD and a long-haired cat? Hitler's followers were committed, but was there anything beautiful about their devotion?

Does the fact that I have remained more or less committed to self-sabotage, especially after breaking up with Charlie, mean that I love Todd? Few would think that for a minute, but they still can't deny the level of commitment that prompted me to add years on to what essentially already felt like a prison sentence by having another child. On some level, I wonder if I was afraid to leave and so I trapped myself.

When I see how cruel Todd can be to our youngest child (his child), I find myself wishing I had not been so committed. My "guilt baby" was born of commitment, and that is not the same thing as being born of love.

Something's About to Hit the Fan

I've heard and read about the proper protocol when it comes to informing family members of a decision to divorce. The spouse should know before the kids. It makes perfect sense. 

Then yesterday happened.

Todd is home all the time now. We used to get a breather from his moods, but ever since he came home from the hospital following his accident, he is home. all. the. time.

It was one of those moods you could slice with a knife yesterday. The kids hadn't been keeping up with the cleaning like they should, and Todd had had enough. He started on one of his clean-like-a-madman and make-as-much-noise-as-you-possibly-can-so-no-one-misses-out-on-the-fact-that-you're-doing-something-you-shouldn't-have-to-do rampages. 

My son came in and politely and calmly asked, "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"No. It's too late!" Todd bellowed, continuing to flail about with a broom, crashing it into the walls carelessly as he swept, and scaring the gentle boy out of the room.

Then, instead of just sweeping under my great-grandparents' antique settee like we always do, he hurled the fragile piece of family history away from the wall, causing it's rickety old wheels to squeak, creak, and groan as they slid without spinning.

I've been disconnecting myself from things for some time now. Even more so since Todd came home with his mood swings magnified, and the glass stove was mysteriously cracked from corner to corner (just about the same time I heard him crashing around pots and pans in the kitchen.) I can't care about things and keep my sanity with a near-sighted bull raging about in the china.

My daughter was home, however. And she cared. "That is not acceptable," she said calmly, but emphatically. He didn't listen, so she repeated it. He played ignorant, like he didn't know what she could possibly be talking about. She explained about how that particular piece of furniture had endured many generations, and it had done so by NOT being treating like that.

He muttered something like, "Well, what am I supposed to do?" 

I ignored the biting sarcasm of his tone of voice, and suggested that he might have accepted his son's offer to help... then he wouldn't have to be doing this.

"Oh, is that so?" He flung the words at me like manure being flung onto a pile of more of the same.

"Yes," I replied, "it is so. If you had allowed him to help you'd have half the work and you'd be building positive memories instead of the sort you're building now."

"Well, it's too late," he muttered.

"It's not too late if you're still cleaning." I should have known better than to challenge his thinking in any way.

And so began yet another one of our typical altercations. I resolved myself to not let him get to me, but that resolve waivered. 

He mocked me with his tone of bitter sarcasm for being bothered by his tone of sarcasm, as if he were some sort of a misunderstood saint. "Well, I guess I can't do anything right," he retorted.

Oh boy. I know what those words mean. They indicate the fact that we are speaking from two entirely different realities. No need to continue: Your words will only be twisted.

I retreated to the other room, to find my daughter sitting there. She had heard the whole thing. "It's okay, Mom," she said.

But I could feel the tightening in my chest. I could feel my health being depleted. I knew it wasn't okay. "I can't take this anymore," I let the words escape.

"I know," she replied.

"I know I shouldn't say this to you... not to you first, that is... not before I say it to him," the words just poured out... but I didn't have to say any more.

"I know, Mom," she said. "You don't think I know? You don't think we all know? It's obvious to everyone." And she went on to bring it up. The words I couldn't quite say, she extracted and gave voice to...

SEPARATION

. . . and she wasn't devastated.

. . . and when I said it could be the best thing for everyone -- even Daddy, SHE AGREED. 

So, I admitted that I had been rehearsing the words to say to her daddy, just the night before -- the words to tell him it was over, but that he would be okay.

"Your brothers each went though divorces, and they were okay," I had said as I drove alone in my car the previous night. "Your mother, too. And life went on..."

My daughter and I sat there conversing in hushed tones as the storm continued to rage in the very next room. 

I had let the cat out of the bag. 

She understood. 

Just like a good friend had nearly predicted when he said, "You've got to have a little faith that your friends and family will understand."

It feels like the wheels have been set in motion.

That's a scary feeling. But it feels good, too. 

I can't stop the momentum. That would be heartless. It would be slipping back into apathy, which is the opposite of love. 

The most loving thing I can do for myself, for my children, and for Todd, is to stop standing idly by and enabling him to be whatever sort of jackass he feels like being without any consequences. 

I'm prepared for him to argue. I'm prepared for him to make promises to change. I'm prepared for him to play the persecuted victim. 

And I'm also prepared to answer:

"It's too late."

Terminology of Love

“Where there is no terminology, there is no consciousness. A poverty-stricken vocabulary for any subject is an immediate admission that the subject is inferior or depreciated in that society. Sanskrit has ninety-six words for love; ancient Persian has eighty; Greek three; and English simply one. This is indicative of the poverty of awareness or emphasis that we give to that tremendously important realm of feeling.… Of all the Western languages, English may be the most lacking when it comes to feeling” 

~ The Fisher King and the Handless Maiden, Robert A. Johnson

Outside of Time

Time holds me hostage 

for what price?

I'd pay, if I just knew.

No note requesting ransom sent,

My days are fading, only spent 

In the embrace of clock arms set 

To run indefinitely,

and never set me free.

How can they hold, yet

never touch?

I cry, but hear no sound.

Time's arms, like bars, my soul encase,

Future indefinite I face.

I long to rest in such a place

Where arms of flesh can hold,

See love that's true unfold.

Vows conspire with time 

to trap me

in airtight cask, I’m drained

‘til left a void, an empty shell,

surrender hope, abide in hell,

pretend that all is good and well

I truly am alone.

This world is not my home.

Outside of time lies

Hope and mercy.

He bids me wait and watch.

Guard my frail heart and body,

Though my flesh is heaving, sobbing,

And my weary head is dropping,

I’ll wait to see His face.

That’s where I’ll find my place.

The Different Faces of Love (The Moon, the Crazy Moon, part 3)

This started out as a response to a comment on my last blog, but it was getting so lengthy, I decided to just post it as a separate blog. It may only make sense in the context of my last blog, though, so you might want to go back and read that (and the comment) if you haven't.

-----

Perhaps it all boils down to me being an abysmal communicator (that may have been my problem then, just as it is now). . . or perhaps it's the dramatist in me, embellishing in the wrong way--adding a flare of romance to the story when it's really a different sort of love I'm speaking of. I mush it together in my description because there are similarities, but really what I'm talking about is more like the love and loss I felt with my sister and when she passed away, and yet my own failure with words paints it as something silly. It may be that I'm thinking too much of an audience--what words could I use that they would understand? I can get caught up in the idea of trying to word something in a clever way, a universal way--such pride, however, is not conducive to successful communication.*

Call it two-faced, but I feel misunderstood. And I'm using the backspace key a lot now in trying to explain. How should I expect my words to be clear enough for my readers understand me, when it's all still so much in process? I don't even understand me. Does denying that you have questions and making haste to cover the holes over with the quickest biblical patch to be found make one's God bigger?

I feel like I'm being pushed to action out of the expectations of others that I figure it all out already and DO something. That probably wasn’t your intention, but that’s how it felt. Why is reality so hard for me? What reality? How can reality be hard when you don't know what it is? It's the inability to identify reality that is hard. Of course, I could simplify it by ignoring the intricacies--the threads that don't line up with a particular presumption of neat, tidy fabric. But that, in my opinion, would be the sign of a belief in a small god.

Yes, the recent line of questioning with Doug may be a distraction, but I wouldn't call our friendship a sideshow. It's a distraction just like maneuvering all the kids' birthday celebrations, skinned knees, and last-minute homework and costume needs is a distraction. It's a distraction like my parents' waning health and a friend who needs help moving is a distraction. It's a distraction like the stopped up sink is a distraction. Life is full of distractions. True, the way I've worded things in the three blogs in which I've talked about Doug may make it seem like I've been obsessing, but the reality is, we have a deeper history than I have even come close to putting into words here. If anything, I’ve given voice to an over-active imagination in the “he hates me” or “he doesn’t care” side of it.

When I read “You are acting like you are trying to solve some hidden hurt, but you are justifying flirting with another man who is not the one you are pretending to be yoked to. You can't honestly love someone from that long ago to whom you have never lived with or spent much actual physical time with. Love is more than fatal attraction, or fantasy boyfriend love affairs of the mind,” that hurt. Don't stop commenting, though. Hurt is okay. We grow through it. And do keep praying that my eyes will be open, because that has been my prayer, and I do believe in the power of prayer and since I have also been praying that God would reveal to me any ways in which I’m deceiving myself, I believe He will.

What may have been missed in that blog, probably due partially to the Moonstruck references (which are about a romantic love), is the longevity and depth of the friendship history Doug and I have (and the connections he has with my family as well), and the fact that if a close female friend or one of my brothers or parents would have come to me with the same news that Doug shared yesterday, it would have sent me reeling in the same way. To me, all love is important.

It’s interesting timing that yesterday a boy came to ask Todd and I permission to date one of our daughters. The term “just friends” came up in the discussion--they no longer wanted to deny that they were more than “just friends.” I cautioned them about the logic behind that term, saying that romantic love, if it is not built on a firm foundation of friendship, will actually grow into something that is “less than friendship.” The love between friends is not something to be trivialized, and it can in fact have a more enduring quality than love that is contorted to fit the mold of romance.

Even though I wanted to know if romance was the cause of the dark period between Doug and me, I am NOT interested in romance with him now. Our friendship has weathered too great a length of time and too many storms of life to ruin in that way. Even if it seems like an excuse to some who read this, my main reason for digging and wanting to know that part of the past truly was because of the questions about relationships that my daughters have been asking me. I want to understand, so my advise to my girls will not be born out of my own dysfunctional confusion. I take it as an answer to prayer that even when one of my daughters broke up and another started a new relationship, in the midst of my own personal struggles and without me having yet found “the answers to that dark pivotal day in my past,” I was still able to offer them what I think was wise counsel. Maybe I don’t have to know the specifics of what happened back then in order to be able to find mental and emotional health now.

The appearance of silliness confirms to me that some ground is better not to be dug up because it stirs the flighty emotions of that time period. (Yes, I did get a bit caught up in it.) Doug and I have grown past that--there is no need to bring it back up--that was proved when I was able to talk to my daughters with confidence. Also, I don’t want to confuse Doug by stirring up emotions from the past that he has already worked through, so I will be careful what I say from here on out. Maybe I feel like that wounded little girl more because of my current hurts than because of anything “back then.” I will try to not let the past distract me from dealing with the issues of now, mainly the issues with Todd, but I don’t think God would have me deny the impact of a dear friend who is facing a very serious disease--that is also in the present. You would understand that he is very much like a brother, if I were to share our full history.

Hey--that just made me think of a slightly silly, yet related, little side-note:

When I was in elementary school, I had crushes on at least two of my cousins. I even said with certainty that I was going to marry one of them. All these years later, I can interact with those cousins at family reunions and there isn’t any weirdness or shame or romantic attraction, but I still love them... and I grieved when one of them was very sick... and I rejoiced when the surgery he required was successful... I sobbed when he lost one of his own children...

Love affects us that way.

It doesn’t have to be romantic (and it may actually help if it isn’t romantic). So, I’m sorry if anyone judges me for expressing my love for Doug. I was probably misleading in connecting the Moonstruck clips. The wording of that statement about love just gets me, and I tend to apply it to all sorts of love. When you love someone, they are capable of driving you crazy--there is a much deeper truth to that than what we see on the surface of Loretta’s mom’s words. My love for my dad drives me crazy. If I didn’t love him and desire his love, it wouldn’t drive me crazy when his words and actions lead me to believe that he is more proud of my brother than he is of me. Talk about issues--I’ll have to blog on that someday. Any mother knows that her love for her children can drive her crazy. And, I can't even tell you how long it took to be able to function again after the sister I loved passed away. Love can drive you crazy.

Anyway, if you’re able to get past the apparent “inappropriateness” of me admitting that I “love” Doug (realizing that it may not mean to me the same thing that it does to everyone else), I would appreciate you saying a prayer for his health. The initial blow when I got the news wasn’t like, “oh no, I’m going to lose my fantasy boyfriend if the cancer takes him!” It was more the fear of going through what I went through with my sister again. Not another sibling! Selfish, I know, but I’d rather be the next one to die than have to see another loved one go through such a painful end.

* At the risk of drawing more parallels with films that confuse, I'd like to share a clip from a favorite that touches on the complexity of love. Not saying that it has anything to do with the kind of love I was referring to--just that love is not always as neat and tidy as we'd like it to be.

Richard to Clarissa: “Oh Mrs. Dalloway, always giving parties--to cover the silence....I wanted to write about it all, everything that happens in a moment...all our feelings, yours and mine, the history of it, who we once were, everything in the world, everything all mixed up--like it’s all mixed up now. And I failed. I failed. No matter what you start with it ends up being so much less-- sheer f-ing pride and stupidity. We want everything, don’t we?”

The Awful Fear of Loss (The Moon, the Crazy Moon, part 2)

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about how I took a scalpel to an old emotional wound, opening it up in hopes of bringing healing.

I took the risk and asked my friend Doug to help bring clarity to a decades' old misunderstanding between the two of us. When his first reply didn't satisfy my curiosity, I pried further. Then waited. The more time passed with no reply, the more my imagination went to dark places, chiding me for being so foolish to have bared my soul.

My note had left off with:

"I don't know if I've ever confessed to you that I was often rather intentionally contrary with you. In a world where people are constantly battling over their differences, it's weird to say that it was our lack of differences that frightened me. I thought that if I were to admit that I liked too many things that you also liked that I would appear like one of those ditsy, game-playing girls who I had so little respect for... and so, when you said you liked something that I adored, I'd often down-play my admiration... and likewise I was perhaps a bit overboard about those things we disagreed on (food, for example).

"In that way, I guess you could say that good came out of the crumbling apart of our friendship, because I did learn that when you care about someone transparency is important--I should have trusted that the over-all complexity of who we are would be enough to prevent any apparent 'overly-compliant' aspects from being interpreted as fake.

"How stupid of me to BE a fake so as to avoid looking like a fake! Talk about feeding confusion. But have I really learned that lesson if I still find it hard to admit the biggest thing that I never dared to be transparent with you about--the thing that I was so certain would make you not want to be my friend any more? Hmm... I can't claim that I was immature then (as if it's any different from now) if I'm still unwilling to admit 20+ year old feelings for fear of ruining a friendship.

"Yep, I'm still an immature, insecure, fraidy-cat. But all that is self-centered. I don't want to be self-centered. I want to be transparent. I say that all the time, and then I draw my curtains... hesitating because I over-think everything. Could transparency itself be selfish??? What if there are truths I long to speak that others don't want to hear? What if speaking such things destroys the environments others have build for themselves and like?

"I'm sorry to bring you into my madness, [Doug]. These are things I probably just have to figure out for myself--things I shouldn't be burdening anyone else with. Rather than explanation or clarification, all I should really be asking for is prayer--prayer that God would strengthen me according to His word. He is able. I really do believe He is able. I just need Him to help my unbelief. And to know that when my heart melts with heaviness it is safe only as it flows into His hands.

"Thank you for tolerating me after all these years. Someday I'd like to tell you more of the things wiped out by the stroke of a back-space key, things regarding one of my dearest friendships that I keep veiled by a curtain of fear. I know that perfect love casts out fear--why must I be so far from perfection?"

Days went by, then weeks . . . and no reply. I started to take it as confirmation that the friendship was a lot more lop-sided than I'd been willing to admit. I even started imagining that I had been little more than a pawn in a plot of folly and mixed messages, the punchline of a cruel joke. That's why life could go on for Doug, smoothy, comfortably, while I was desperately itching at my scabs.

Today, I got a message from Doug. He said he sent the note because we needed to "keep the dialogue alive." Then, he went on to tell me that about 10 days ago, he went to the doctor because of a mole that had obviously changed. The doctor agreed with his concern and excised it. And today, the pathology report came back as a full-blown melanoma. "The good news," he said, was that "the depth of it was less than one cm--about a third of that." He explained that if it had been deeper, "it would have been serious, with more excision and pulling lymph nodes under the arm and all that."

His good news didn't sound good to me. One-third of a centimeter sounded way too deep, so I looked it up online and learned that anything deeper than a millimeter is of great concern because that is when it's deep enough to reach blood vessels and be spread to other parts of the body. It took a while for me to even be able to write a single line in reply. I was reeling. I couldn't stand the thought of the worst case scenario (which I have already seen play out in the lives of several people close to me.) Most of the people I have known with melanoma haven't survived. And now I was faced with the possibility of loosing someone to whom I couldn't even admit my true feelings for fear of them being taken as "inappropriate."

Finally I managed to ask him to please tell me that he meant to say "mm" instead of "cm." I sent the message, but then I had to get away to a quiet place. Todd had just returned from the store, and the boys kept demanding my attention, so I snuck out to the van in the driveway and hid in the back seat where I returned a call to a dear friend. It was helpful talking it out with her, but I was away from the computer, so I didn't check for Doug's reply until about an hour later. Oh, the relief to see that he had indeed made a typo. He meant "mm" not "cm". That still doesn't guarantee that he's in the clear, but the prognosis is A LOT better.

Needless to say, my chest has done some of those crazy contortions today. Like her mother said in reply to Loretta's declaration that she loved Ronny Cammareri something awful, "Oh God, that's too bad!" and "When you love them, they drive you crazy." (Moonstruck, 1987)

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation." (C.S. Lewis - Four Loves)

The Moon, the Crazy Moon

I felt that pain in my chest today. Not the kind associated with medical maladies, but rather that deep sobbing that may not even make a sound, but it feels like it's capable of turning you inside-out. Was it something Todd said? you may ask. No. Not at all. Todd has hurt me but he has never moved me to tears like this. This was the rare tug--the pull of true loss. I felt it at my sister's funeral, and I felt it when I was driving home after Charlie and I split up, while his child was still growing inside my womb.

What would bring about such internal contortion? Nothing Todd could say or do. I'm growing immune to his prodding. I think that comment he made a few weeks ago, "I didn't say 'we,'" in reference to moving back to the midwest, coupled with his accusation the following day that I had intentionally fainted at our wedding to get out of saying the vows combined to form the last straw. He can tick me off or annoy me... but really move me? Not so much.

What was it, then? I guess you could call it another silly self-therapy move. I wonder if I could get my own show on the DIY network.

I was reading excerpts from the book, Living with the Passive-Aggressive Man, and I started to feel really paranoid. I ran from room to room, closing the blinds on the windows and making sure the doors were locked, disassembled every smoke detector and heating vent to be sure there weren't any hidden cameras, dissected the phones in search of bugs, and peered into each closet (and the refrigerator) looking for spies. How could Scott Wetzler, Ph. D. know so much about what goes on in our house without the assistance of surveillance technology? What I read planted a tiny suspicion in my head... the thought that the problem between Todd and me is not completely about me being "crazy and impossible to talk to." Maybe I wasn't just imagining the mind game olympics that have been leaving me confused and feeling emotionally spent.

But then I went back to the log-eye thing.

Don't think of yourself more highly than you ought, I told myself. Todd's not the only one who has accused you of being an awful person, Bridget. Maybe it's true.

My mind went back more than a couple decades to that fateful, pivotal day when Doug told me everything that was wrong with me in one sitting. He didn't want to spend time with me anymore. It was over. Every time I walked by his best friend on campus, I'd hear him mutter the words, "hateful" or "Jezebel." Accusations like that don't just spring out of thin air, do they? Way back when this was happening, I confronted Doug's friend, asking him why he called me those things. All I was ever able to get out of him was that I had hurt Doug. When I tried to get him to tell me how, all he would say was, "at least you weren't married."

All of these years, that whole series of events has been confusing to me. I still don't know what happened. I still don't know what I did to hurt Doug. I've suspected that he liked me as more than a friend and he took my lack of response to his hints as a rejection, but I've never confirmed that. As those of you who have been following this blog know, Doug and I have been reconciled for quite a while. We're actually good friends now. But I still never figured out what went wrong way back then. He chalks it up to "we were young... naive... immature..." That's never really been enough clarity for me, but you can only dig so much when the others involved are pouring concrete and constructing buildings on the spot in question. I've let it go, wanting to know more every time one of my kids comes to me seeking advice on similar situations of the heart, but knowing that the only way to find out would be to come right out and ask him... which I still guess I fear might scare him away (I may also be a little afraid of what a blow it would be to my self esteem if I were to find out after all these years that he never did like me as anything more than just a friend, and that I was delusional to think that that was what had hurt him.)

Anyway, I finally did it yesterday. I finally broke down and told him that I really need to know what it was that I did, didn't do, said, or didn't say that caused him such great hurt that he didn't want to be around me anymore back then. What did I think knowing would accomplish after all these years? I may not have really known when I sent the message, but it couldn't be un-sent. As the day went by, I came to realize that it was, at least in part, self-sabotage--fishing for ammunition to use against myself. Perhaps he would raise accusations that would collude with what Todd says about me, confirming that I really am an awful person. You see, on the flip side of wondering how it was that I hurt Doug, part of me has always wondered IF I really hurt him... or if it was really just part of a game. He had spent time with me when he didn't have anyone else to spend time with, and then, when our mutual "friend" who was interested in dating him came into the picture, he tired of me, and the "you hurt me" story was just a convenient way to get rid of me. For all I know, that's just as likely to be true as the he had a crush on me delusion.

He did write back. And what he said didn't bring any more clarity.

"i appreciate the fact that you're trying to work through some really aweful pieces of our mutual past. however, i honestly can't remember any feelings about you that would have caused me to react to you in the way you described.

"here is my conclusion: like many people, i was a very confused and certainly a very insecure person. as we've discussed, i had my own issues with [our mutual friends]. i'm sure this included trying to impress them to the point of trying to make myself look like someone i wasn't--to the extent of acting out the immense insecurity that still haunts me to this day.

"knowing [the guy who called me "hateful"] as i did, he (like me) was often sarcastic and enjoyed the folly of mixed messages. i honestly cannot make any connection between you and the biblical jezebel in my wildest accounts and interpretation of what was going on back then. everything seemed to be about being funny, getting the laughs, and actually feeding each other in ways that were never conducive to real friendship or mutual understanding. the reality is, if we had the tools, we didn't apply them to all relationships to make them what they needed to be. rather, we did what we needed to do to make certain relationships work.

"if you were to see [those old mutual friends] right now, you wouldn't recognize them. they both have grown into truly godly, really terrific people, and the stuff we knew 26-plus years ago is no longer part of who they are. in fact, if we were to broach it, they, too, would likely be embarrassed and even repentent. i suspect that this would be the necessary connector for you: knowing that we all were young and immature, which doesn't necessarily cover over the multitude of sins, but helps to bring understanding for what we may continue to feel.

"here's a start. i'm happy to keep this going in processing through with you."

And I did reply to that message, but I'm not holding my breath in anticipation of anything that will bring any more clarity at all. It was while I was writing that reply that my chest did the contorting on me--while I was imagining all the horrible truths that could come out if I kept digging.

What will I do if he does at some point reveal to me that my suspicions of our friendship having always been a whole lot more lop-sided than I was willing to admit are true? I suspect it will be more of those deep chest contortions... hurting something awful... but it will be worth it to have the truth, right?

On another note, to celebrate my anniversary (a day late and alone) I watched a movie called Ira and Abby. It's a pretty cynical look at marriage, and therapy . . . How fitting!

Love this exchange:

Abby: Do you have a girlfriend?

Ira: No, I have a fear of perishables.

For some reason, as soon as it finished, I thought of the lines about marriage in Moonstruck:

Ma: Do you love him, Loretta?

Loretta: Ma, I love him awful.

Ma: Oh God, that's too bad.

It's kind of a relief that I don't love Todd awful. It's kind of a comfort to be numbed to that pain in the chest.

Is Honesty the Best Policy? Even on a Holiday?

Our anniversary is coming up next week. I've been dreading it. Dishonesty is suffocating, but honesty is difficult to phrase in a way that won't be interpreted as unloving. While dishonesty might appease Todd's fantasy that everything is "okay" for the time being, it will not hold us forever.

How often--when Todd has erupted at the inconvenience of having dependents--has it crossed my mind that the very best anniversary gift I could give him would be a divorce? Then he might at last have a chance to see if he would be satisfied by the type of happiness he seems to think he deserves (all the stuff he wants, when he wants it, without anybody else in the way . . . blocking the screen, or using the last of the milk on their cereal when he needs it for his coffee, or asking him to remember to deposit some of his pay in the household account before the automatic payments cause overdraft charges again . . . )

He blew up on Mother's Day. The kids had done a pretty good job cleaning up the kitchen, but then we had pancakes and Todd decided it was time to get the youngest (we'll call him Matt) to load the dishwasher. I guess Matt didn't hop to it quickly enough, or he asked if he could finish what he was doing first... something didn't fit Todd's template and he started yelling until our son was crying. Then he yelled at him for crying. The altercation broadcast across the entire house. Happy Mother's Day.

"Why are you crying now?" Todd drilled.

"I don't know," Matt answered, sobbing. Matt has a bit of a speech impediment, and as is common, he becomes more difficult to understand when he is emotionally upset. I could understand him fine from the other room, but Todd gets impatient and doesn't really listen to others if the answer isn't what he wants to hear.

"What?" Todd blared.

"I don't know," Matt answered.

Todd mimicked the speech impediment, making our son cry even more.

"I don't know why I cry," Matt answered, getting even worse. "I try not to, but I can't help it."

Matthew was obviously embarrassed by the fact that he couldn't control his crying. I know that feeling. I've been there.

Todd started slamming the dishes around, putting them in the dishwasher himself, and when Matt tried to help, Todd told him to go away. This prompted Matt to cry even more. He has a tender heart, and is my most cheerful helper of all the kids. He wanted to help and now he was not only being mocked, he was also being denied the opportunity to do the right thing. Todd wanted to be sure that he felt badly about himself.

Matt ran out of the kitchen crying so hard he was shaking. I took him in my arms, calmed him and thanked him for being willing to help. I told him not to be ashamed and to walk back in the kitchen and calmly tell his daddy he was sorry for not helping when he was asked, let him know that he was ready to do the dishes and that Mommy wanted him to have a second chance. I thought, if a child came to me and sincerely said that, I would give him another chance, and surely Todd would see treating his son decently as a sort of Mother's Day gift.

Matt put on his brave face and tried, but Todd just yelled at him to go away, saying it was too late. When Matt ran to his room, I marched into the kitchen, determined to call out this ridiculous emotional abuse.

"It's Mother's Day, and I want Matt to have another chance to do the dishes," I said forcefully.

"No. I know what I'm doing," Todd answered. I could tell that he was holding back from fighting with me, I suppose because of the day it was. (Could you say that holidays promote evil because forced goodwill is dishonesty? Maybe that's why I've come to dislike holidays--all holidays--more and more with each passing year.)

"What? Are you trying to make him hate you?" I asked.

He laughed it off, like I was stupid and he was some sort of expert in child rearing, his plan incapable of failing. I tried to reason with him, but he was cocky about it and refused to listen.

Was I so wrong to want peace in the house and an opportunity for my son to learn about mercy? Especially on Mother's Day--the day that was supposed to be for me? (I guess that would have been asking for a show, a lie . . . the very thing that I'm most dreading as our anniversary approaches.)

As that day draws near, I've been asking myself: Is honesty the best policy? I know that enabling bad behavior is not good for any of us, but are there days that we should refrain from calling out the things that are not acceptable? Are there special days and seasons when we should just hold our tongues and put up with the &#@%?

I was talking with a colleague the other day, and finally broke down and told her what was going on with Todd. She was a good listener, but she kept trying to connect Todd's behavior to the fact that he is grieving the loss of his mother. I don't doubt that the grief could exasperate the emotions that already are out of his control so much of the time, but the truth is, I really haven't seen any discernible difference in Todd's behavior since his mother passed away last fall. He's the same old @$$#*?% he was before. This colleague said you have to give a person a full year to "get back to normal" after a loss like that.

"Get back to normal?" I thought. Why would I want him to get back to his normal?

This is his normal. He hasn't changed. I'm the one who has changed; I've just finally gotten to the point that I can't take business as usual any more.

There are truths that need to be spoken, expectations and boundaries that need to be declared out loud . . . before they are allowed to simmer to the boiling point and explode. But things keep coming up--getting in the way of honesty: holidays, illness and death, the demands of work . . . It seems that there is always a reason to put off speaking the hard truth . . . but lying is not loving.

Oh, what a paradox: Could saying "I don't love you" possibly be the most loving thing a person could do? Or is it better to get a sappy generic card with sentiment you don't believe, go out for a dinner you can't afford, fake enjoyment of company you can barely tolerate, and smile a plastic smile to cover up the pain just because it's another one of those holidays . . . another one of those evil holidays?

I've tried to think of a kind, gentle way to say what is on my heart, but everything comes off as sounding potentially bitchy. After all, that's what a woman who is disagreeable is--a bitch, right? A man I'm working on a project with said something about his ex-wife the other day and the word just rolled of his tongue: "She's still a bitch," he said. I haven't known him long, and I've never met his wife, but this man is gruff and domineering and I couldn't help but wonder what he meant by "bitch" -- Perhaps, I thought, he meant that she was just like him, but female. It's still kind of that way in much of our society. We make excuses for him: "He's strong-willed," "more of a leader than a follower," etc. Guys laugh it up. "That's just the way he is. It's funny!" But an assertive woman? Get ready for the personal attack and the label.

What label would you give me if I gave my husband an anniversary card that said something like this:

"I'm tired of trying in vain. I'm tired of being met with mockery or derision every time I try to bare my soul. I'm through. It's our anniversary, but as far as I'm concerned we're not even married any more. We haven't been for some time. We both know that God instituted marriage to be a picture of His love for the church. We know Ephesians 5, but we don't know how to live it. I can't feign respect for you any more than you seem to be able to make sacrifices to show me love. If you want another anniversary, you're going to have to woo me back. I don't trust you enough to try anymore. You're going to have to prove to me that I can trust you. If not, who are we fooling? We might as well end the charade."

The front of the card could show a picture of a tennis ball bouncing in front of a net along with the words, "The ball's in your court now..."

What do you think?

Would it be bitchy to drop the charade less than a year after his mother passed away? Or while his dad's still in the rehabilitation center, waiting to to learn if he'll ever be able to return home again? Would it be bitchy to speak the truth on our anniversary? Maybe I should do it the day before our anniversary so he can save the cost of a dinner we can't afford, but that would still be during the grieving grace period . . .

How many more evil holidays must we endure?

A Puzzle of Love

"We live in the Shadowlands. The sun is always shining somewhere else, around the bend in the road, over the brow of the hill..."

I’m looking at a table full of puzzle pieces. I know they will ultimately make a cohesive picture, but for now they are disjointed splashes of color and texture. “What is it?” you may ask, and I will not be able to answer. Here is a line where the sky meets the water. This may be the wispy residue of a fleeting cloud (or it could be the cotton peeled off the rim of the new vitamin bottle that accidentally drifted on to the blue floor tile.)

Progress. It may not be immediately obvious, but I have been grouping similar experiences, examples in literature, advise from friends, and so on into like color and texture, finding occasional notches that hold things together. The neat edge pieces are easier to line up, but they are in the minority of the massive collection of bits in search of meaning. This may take some time.

A friend’s advice that I quoted a while back included this statement:

“I predict he [Todd] will blame you with your own religion. I believe he will brow beat you with the Bible verses. You have to believe that they are lies and manipulations.”

Todd hasn’t done this, but I must admit I’ve been going through the wringer when it comes to examining how scripture applies to our situation. Brow beating is usually easiest when pieces of scripture are taken out of context and used to support preconceived notions. That’s what I would say I have to believe is not true. It’s like taking one little minute piece of a 1000+ piece puzzle and saying that what is seen in that piece is the entire picture. However, I do believe that the Bible (taken as a whole--the big picture) is reliable. It’s never let me down when I’ve given it a chance to sink down and illuminate the depths of my soul.

A few days ago I was declaring the battle hymn of the laundry room. The war was on, and the enemy was Todd. Then, in church today, the pastor continued our series on Ephesians, focusing on chapter 6, verses 10-17 .

He reminded us that when we have conflicts with our spouses, our spouses are not the enemy. The battle is against the one who doesn’t want to see God glorified in our lives, the one who is out seeking to destroy us. The battle is much deeper than the surface one that we see of “flesh and blood.” That’s why we see it over and over again: people divorce, people remarry, and people divorce again... because they never deal with the true enemy.

My beliefs may cause me to linger longer in an unpleasant situation--it’s called “longsuffering” (which some may see as a negative thing, but I truly believe is capable of building character and developing perspective... if one is willing to step out of numb resignation while in that place.)

Numb resignation could mean giving up on the battle too easily, but it could also mean accepting a status quo that even God doesn’t find acceptable. The only godly sort of longsuffering must be proactive.

A little comment on my Dirty Laundry blog set off an emotional response that is probably fairly typical of someone in a situation like mine. Anonymous said: “If nothing else you will not repeat the same mistakes next time around.” The words, “next time around,” jumped out at me and I immediately thought, What?!! Never again! I would never want to go through this again, so if I were to end up single again I would be more than content to live out the remainder of my life single, alone, but in peace. The crux of the issue is: I am so tired of walking on eggshells--of not feeling safe emotionally. I just want to feel safe for a change.

Then, after the admonition in today’s sermon to look at those we are in conflict with as fellowmen who are also under attack by external spiritual forces (as people in need of our prayer, not as enemies), I returned home and watched the movie Shadowlands with Todd.

In the movie, Jack (C.S. Lewis) starts out playing it safe. He responds to his perceived need for safety (and avoidance of pain) by denying himself the experience of deep true love. When he finally takes the risk of being hurt by loss and admits how he feels about Joy Gresham, he learns a lesson that books and lectures could never have taught him.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from the perturbations of love is Hell." (C.S. Lewis, Four Loves)

I could let the hurt that I’ve gone through with Todd drive me into the hell of actually finding that “perfectly” safe place. I could let the situation rob me of the ability to love and be loved... The condition of my soul, however, is much more important than my external situation. I need to continue to “call out” those things that are not acceptable in our relationship. If Todd reacts in a way that I find threatening, rather that closing myself off as I have been doing, I need to find others who can support me in continuing to bare the truth and be vulnerable.

The picture is not complete. I do not know what it will ultimately look like. I will continue to dig in scripture and lean on Jesus to see me through this... not because I’ve been brow beaten or brainwashed to do so, but because the way I’ve seen the pieces of my life come together so far, they’ve always made more sense when they’ve been lined up with God’s word. His word, I’m finding, is overflowing with mercy... and so, I will trust that the suffering He asks me to endure will not last forever, and it will bring growth and joy in the long run... as long as I am honest and open to ways in which my preconceived religion doesn’t line up with it.

The verses on wives submitting and respecting their husbands from Ephesians 5 must not be taken out of the context of the chapter, the book, or the rest of scripture. While re-reading Ephesians 5, a through-line emerged that spoke freedom to me. Through my unhealthy relationship with Todd, I’ve felt so stifled when it comes to my life being a witness to the truth of the gospel. What am I to do if Todd continues to claim to be a believer and yet does not “walk in the way of love”? When he calls himself a Christian, and yet his life is marked by quite the opposite of thanksgiving?

Ephesians 5:6-7 says:

“Let no one deceive you with empty words, for because of such things God’s wrath comes on those who are disobedient. Therefore do not be partners with them.”

Verses 8-11 tell us to “Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth) and find out what pleases the Lord. Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them.”

This is tricky terrain to navigate. I don’t want to ba a hypocrite, expecting perfection from Todd while excusing my own problems. Matthew 7:1-5 warns against that.

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”

As a “help meet”, however, I should not be enabling, ignoring, or justifying bad behavior... I’m not told to refrain from pointing out the speck in his eye; I’m just told to be sure that I’ve got things in the right order. Examine myself first. One of my biggest frustrations has come when I have attempted to speak the truth in love (not saying that I’m better than Todd, but rather communicating that I know he is capable of something greater), and he has lashed out in anger, refusing to consider that my words might be good counsel. How are we supposed to grow in grace together if there is no room for discussion? When I think of how often that has happened, it becomes more significant and interesting that the verse that immediately follows the log eye/speck eye passage is:

“Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces.”

Oh how often I’ve felt torn to pieces in this relationship.

Please examine me, Lord. Give me the discernment to know what to speak, when to speak, and when to turn away. Help me to find my safe place in You, so that whether I stay with Todd or leave, my heart will remain tender and capable of the love for which it was designed.