Question
Mine was a 25 year marriage. And then I got to the stage where I felt I had had enough. Exhausted and near despair, I asked my husband for change, explaining that I was unhappy with the way some things were in our marriage. He was very very angry and said that if I wasn't happy, the door was open. Suggestions of marriage counselling were rebuffed. Further attempts at talking with him failed.
I had never seriously challenged him before. I had found his emotional absence so painful over the years because I felt dependent. Yet I also felt that he loved and needed me. So I took my very faltering courage in my hands and confronted him, in as gentle a way as I could. Maybe I could have done better. I don't know. His answer was to point to the door.
I couldn't tell him any truths about the way his behaviour was impacting on those around him because he wouldn't listen, preferring to blame me. I also couldn't back down as there were concrete, real and serious issues that needed to be addressed, stuff that I had effectively let him away with for years.
It's a very painful decision to try and make, to stay or to go. To stay, when there is no hope of any real change is as painful as making the decision to leave which I did. I struggle slowly to build a life for myself and it is by no means easy. I don't have the words to describe the upheaval and the hurt involved. I struggle every day with the painful feelings, especially with the anger, which I try very hard to channel - not always successfully - into worthwhile projects. I worry about my future and have to watch out for the regrets that get in the way. And I am frequently consumed by doubts and anxieties.
I need help to keep going. I know it's an old cliché, but I am still at the point where I feel his death would have been easier to deal with.
Answer
Of course your husband's death would be easier to handle. The decision to leave is always so fraught with doubts, that having the decision taken out of your hands has to be more attractive. It's not an old cliché. Pretty or not, that's how most people feel.
The indignity of not being loved is the hardest part to bear. You're absolutely right. It's painful to stay when there's no hope of change. And it's painful to go. After all, what you're trying to do is to put some value on yourself. But who believes in their own worth every minute of every day? When we're low, we wonder about the wisdom of our decision and a thousand thoughts clamour in our heads. Couldn't we have just shut up and put up? Couldn't we have created havoc, put our foot down, fought it out line by line? Couldn't we have been cleverer, wiser, more devious, more open, just different than we were? And basically the questions are the same, whether we stay or go. Except that when we stay, we're talking present tense, because we're still in their, taking the punishment.
Anger is often the hardest part. You're not alone in that. Maybe it helps to understand exactly why we're angry. First of all, it's a defence against grief. The pain of not being loved, of having someone so prepared to let you go, the lost dream, the tired review of all those years of effort and endeavour, the sense of waste, opportunities lost - all of that brings real grief. And our anger is a defence, a barrier against the danger of drowning in such sorrow. As a temporary measure such anger is fine, our mind's defence against the despair of defeat. Some day soon you'll be able to feel the grief, cry the tears, and let it rest.
There's also the rage of failing to penetrate an ex-husband's - or indeed an ex-wife's - defences. We all have such a need to be truly seen and heard. But isn't that the nub of the whole sorry mess? Loving someone is about seeing and hearing them. Not being seen or heard is the reason we leave. The speech is never delivered. The other person's ears are closed. That's what marital breakdown is all about. Of course you didn't get to tell your husband how he impacts on those around him. Of course you didn't get him to truly listen. If you had, you'd still be married, and happily so. That's the whole point.
Can I tell you what I think? I basically believe everybody makes the right decision for them. Well, that's everybody who has put in some effort, handled the pain, served their apprenticeship so to speak. I'm not talking irresponsibility here, or low frustration tolerance, or throwing in the towel too early. Since I'm starting to tie myself in knots, maybe I should be more specific: I think you made the right decision. You stuck it out for 25 years, then tried to challenge the status quo, and then left. In your darkest days believe in that bottom line. You took your courage in your hands and did what you had to do. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that you have to trust yourself. You are going to be alright. Believe me.
