Recounting: Part Deux
Sunday, April 2
I hadn’t seen him since we met for a non-romantic dinner on Valentine’s Day. He called but I told him I needed space in a major way. He semi-respected that.
I’d given the counseling idea a lot of thought and decided I do not want to continue couple’s counseling at this point and I need to let him know. So, I called him and asked to dinner at the Chili’s right next to his workplace. I meet him in the parking lot and we walk to the restaurant. It’s awkward.
During the course of dinner I tell him I don’t want to go back to counseling. I realize he’s hurting very badly right now and while I’m not playing “tit for tat” I’m hurting too, and he has hurt me a lot in the last few years. He says he’s never heard of a marriage breaking up over money. (Interesting since money is the cause for a lot of break-ups.) I told him it was not the actual dollars and cents but the attitude of operating independently. “If we’re supposed to be a team then we make decisions as a team.” I shared my feelings: “You operated independent of me and without regard for how your decisions would affect me or even us as a couple. You didn’t consult me or think about what was best of us and our future. You simply did what you wanted, acting selfishly, wanting to fulfill your own needs and wants.”
For example: In February of 04 he quite making his auto payments and by July/August of 04 his truck was about to be repossessed. So, he decided to sell it. He owed about 18 K (because he was upside down on the original loan) and he sold it for about 12 K. The bank said they would just lower his monthly payments so he could pay the rest over the course of the original loan. Then in December 04 I discovered he didn’t make a single additional payment on the loan. I, of course, didn’t think it was necessary to ask him if he was making his payments every month. I just trusted he was being responsible— silly me. We had separate bank accounts (even different banks) his choice, not mine.
In the meantime he’s driving his grandfather’s car which he received from the estate after his death. It’s a good car, very old, but needs work. At one point in time he thought it was going to permanently die and was desperate for a vehicle. He tried to buy his own car but because of his credit and having an auto loan that was charged off he couldn’t get financing at all. So, he asked me to finance a car for him back in February of 05. I declined.
As you can imagine, it didn’t go over well—at all. I knew that I would be the one responsible for it if he couldn’t make the payments and it would be my neck on the chopping block. I couldn’t take that chance. He then basically accused me of not loving him as much as he loved me because if the tables were turned he’d do it for me in a heartbeat. I told him to ask his Dad or his Mom (they’re divorced) and he said he had too much pride to admit to his Father the situation he’d gotten himself into.
For me, it is more the principle of the matter than the actual outcome. He chose to put himself first and me second, time and time and time again. I got tired of being his second choice. I said “You hurt me very badly by choosing everything over me and I don’t know how long, if ever, it will take me to get over that hurt.”
“The bottom line is, I don’t trust you. I don’t trust you to take care of me; I don’t trust you to put the needs of our family (while it’s only the two of us) first. I don’t trust you to look for the “greater good” rather than what you want. And right now I’ve got to take care of me. No one else is going to do that and I don’t trust you to do it.”
I cried, he cried. He said he missed me so much, I was his life, his rock, everything to him. He said he missed everything about me, everything about our life together. I said: “I know this will hurt you but I don’t. I miss what our life could have been, I miss what I wanted our life to be, but I do not miss what it actually was. I’m sorry but I just don’t miss what we actually had together.”
I cried all the way home. I mourned what I wanted out of my marriage, and in a way I’m still mourning the loss of what once had such great potential. I cried because I so wanted him to prove to me he could change and we could be happy. I cried because I wanted a family, and a home, and a loving and nurturing environment. I cried because although I am very independent, I’d like someone to take care of me for a little bit. I’d like to just give it all up for a while and let someone else be in charge and know in doing so they will have my best interest at the forefront. I cried because I was looking at 35 and a waning biological clock and the knowledge that I may not ever have children. I cried for the love not being enough to sustain.
In theory: I know his problems are not my fault; I know his irresponsibility is not of my doing. But somewhere deep down inside me there’s the feeling that if I’d been a little better, nicer, kinder, if I’d done a little more, paid more attention, organized more efficiently, life might be different. And, if he truly loved me he would have taken responsibility. If I were truly loveable he’d have done it. It must be me. I guess I'm just not worth it.
I cried. I cried. And then I cried some more.
I hadn’t seen him since we met for a non-romantic dinner on Valentine’s Day. He called but I told him I needed space in a major way. He semi-respected that.
I’d given the counseling idea a lot of thought and decided I do not want to continue couple’s counseling at this point and I need to let him know. So, I called him and asked to dinner at the Chili’s right next to his workplace. I meet him in the parking lot and we walk to the restaurant. It’s awkward.
During the course of dinner I tell him I don’t want to go back to counseling. I realize he’s hurting very badly right now and while I’m not playing “tit for tat” I’m hurting too, and he has hurt me a lot in the last few years. He says he’s never heard of a marriage breaking up over money. (Interesting since money is the cause for a lot of break-ups.) I told him it was not the actual dollars and cents but the attitude of operating independently. “If we’re supposed to be a team then we make decisions as a team.” I shared my feelings: “You operated independent of me and without regard for how your decisions would affect me or even us as a couple. You didn’t consult me or think about what was best of us and our future. You simply did what you wanted, acting selfishly, wanting to fulfill your own needs and wants.”
For example: In February of 04 he quite making his auto payments and by July/August of 04 his truck was about to be repossessed. So, he decided to sell it. He owed about 18 K (because he was upside down on the original loan) and he sold it for about 12 K. The bank said they would just lower his monthly payments so he could pay the rest over the course of the original loan. Then in December 04 I discovered he didn’t make a single additional payment on the loan. I, of course, didn’t think it was necessary to ask him if he was making his payments every month. I just trusted he was being responsible— silly me. We had separate bank accounts (even different banks) his choice, not mine.
In the meantime he’s driving his grandfather’s car which he received from the estate after his death. It’s a good car, very old, but needs work. At one point in time he thought it was going to permanently die and was desperate for a vehicle. He tried to buy his own car but because of his credit and having an auto loan that was charged off he couldn’t get financing at all. So, he asked me to finance a car for him back in February of 05. I declined.
As you can imagine, it didn’t go over well—at all. I knew that I would be the one responsible for it if he couldn’t make the payments and it would be my neck on the chopping block. I couldn’t take that chance. He then basically accused me of not loving him as much as he loved me because if the tables were turned he’d do it for me in a heartbeat. I told him to ask his Dad or his Mom (they’re divorced) and he said he had too much pride to admit to his Father the situation he’d gotten himself into.
For me, it is more the principle of the matter than the actual outcome. He chose to put himself first and me second, time and time and time again. I got tired of being his second choice. I said “You hurt me very badly by choosing everything over me and I don’t know how long, if ever, it will take me to get over that hurt.”
“The bottom line is, I don’t trust you. I don’t trust you to take care of me; I don’t trust you to put the needs of our family (while it’s only the two of us) first. I don’t trust you to look for the “greater good” rather than what you want. And right now I’ve got to take care of me. No one else is going to do that and I don’t trust you to do it.”
I cried, he cried. He said he missed me so much, I was his life, his rock, everything to him. He said he missed everything about me, everything about our life together. I said: “I know this will hurt you but I don’t. I miss what our life could have been, I miss what I wanted our life to be, but I do not miss what it actually was. I’m sorry but I just don’t miss what we actually had together.”
I cried all the way home. I mourned what I wanted out of my marriage, and in a way I’m still mourning the loss of what once had such great potential. I cried because I so wanted him to prove to me he could change and we could be happy. I cried because I wanted a family, and a home, and a loving and nurturing environment. I cried because although I am very independent, I’d like someone to take care of me for a little bit. I’d like to just give it all up for a while and let someone else be in charge and know in doing so they will have my best interest at the forefront. I cried because I was looking at 35 and a waning biological clock and the knowledge that I may not ever have children. I cried for the love not being enough to sustain.
In theory: I know his problems are not my fault; I know his irresponsibility is not of my doing. But somewhere deep down inside me there’s the feeling that if I’d been a little better, nicer, kinder, if I’d done a little more, paid more attention, organized more efficiently, life might be different. And, if he truly loved me he would have taken responsibility. If I were truly loveable he’d have done it. It must be me. I guess I'm just not worth it.
I cried. I cried. And then I cried some more.
posted by Ephemeral | 1:05 PM
1 Comments:
Are you at peace? No messy scenes or midnight calls begging you to reconsider?
I'm glad you have an outlet to tell your story. Blogging can be so therapeutic, and the steady hand of another--even some faceless friend who understands how brave you are---makes taking a big step a little less scary.
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